This Snagglenail Blogger Has A Bone And A Cuticle To Pick

Now that I am growing long in the tooth, I am also growing sharp in the fingernail. It's like the slower I become, the more my body adapts to protect me from predators, whether four-legged or two-legged. One fingernail especially has become problematic. The ring finger on my left hand.

 

Fortunately, I've not had to use my fingernail as a weapon. Unfortunately, my fingernail is practicing, keeping sharp, if you will, by attacking my own body. My own ring finger on my left hand. The corner of the fingernail cuts into the flesh on the outer side of my left ring finger. I try to file it, but the edge re-hones itself overnight as if I rub it on a whetstone while slumbering. 

The only tool I have to fight my killer fingernail is a file on the toenail clippers in the master bathroom. It's a little file that rotates out from the middle of the nail clipper. It's metal, of course. The drawback is in knowing that Farmer H uses this nail clipper on HIS TOES!

I put NAIL FILE on my shopping list. The Pony reads it ahead of time, and didn't ask for clarification. He bought me a pack of six.

I don't know why the label says MINI NAIL FILES! They are 13 cm long, and 2 cm wide. That's about 5 and 1/4 inches long, and just over .75 inches wide. How is that MINI? Is the regular size a foot long?

 

Anyhoo... The Pony said he didn't get me a metal version because I didn't specify that. Well, I consider these to be EMERY BOARDS, but in The Pony's defense, the label says they are nail files. I don't have an issue with the length, nor the width. It's the THICKNESS that bothers me.

Each nail file is 4 MILLIMETERS THICK! In this picture, you can see that I've taken out one of the three green ones in this stack. They are like DOUBLE emery boards. Like two glued together. So fat that I can't fit them along the corner of my nail to hone it down.

It doesn't help that this fingernail has a cuticle issue. I think that's what you call it. The stringy part that runs up along the side of the nail, and comes loose, and gets dried out and hard and then gets irritated if caught on or rubbed against something. 

I filed my fingernail as good as I could. Then I slopped some triple antibiotic ointment on the corner where that problem cuticle was poking out, and covered it with a bandaid overnight. I'm not risking a red infection with a pus pocket like my mom and my sister the ex-mayor's wife have had. Sis had hers lanced and received antibiotics. Mom let hers go too long during the Great Icepocalypse of '06. Then she had surgery to scrape the infection from the bone. It was her pinky finger. The first doctor wanted to amputate it!

Anyhoo... Mrs. HM would not take kindly to a doctor who wanted to lop off her finger. No siree, Bob! I would NOT say, "Well, it's just my little finger, and I could get along without that." Nope. It's my RING FINGER, and I could NOT get along without it!

Don't you worry about Mrs. HM. The finger is not even red. The overnight treatment softened the cuticle, allowed for its trimming, and also some shoving of the fat nail file into the corner to dull the razor-sharp corner of the fingernail. I used a nail file that is white with green fern fronds on it. It was the easiest to get out of the package. C'mon, man! Surely you didn't think I'd use the one that says: choose happiness. That is SO not simpatico with my personal motto: PEOPLE PISS ME OFF.

I really like the pattern on the top green nail file. I thought it was penguins, until looking at this picture. It's just BLOBS! Black and white blobs on a green background. I feel so cheated...

In The Front Car Of The Even Steven Roller Coaster, With My Arms Raised

Mrs. HM is not a fan of real roller coasters. Not even the kiddie one at Silver Dollar City, with mild hills and a single circuit. But she will ride the Even Steven Roller Coaster any day!

Monday I stopped at the mailbox on my way to town. EmBee gave me a sudden roller coaster drop that took my breath away. It was an envelope from Waste Management. They're my old trash service. The one who had been overcharging us, apparently, for years. Which I discovered when I called to cancel my service, and they offered me a lowball price to remain with them.

THEY HAVE TAKEN OVER MY CURRENT TRASH COMPANY!!!

As in, they have bought the company, and I am now going to be trashed by Waste Management. I do not foresee this ending well. At the time I dropped them, I was paying $197 for three months of trash pickup. I got the new service in 2018, for $66 for three months. It has gone up over three years. I am currently paying $68 for three months of service! That seems like a perfectly reasonable increase.

Anyhoo... I went on to town, grousing about this misfortune. What a bunch of garbage!

At the Gas Station Chicken Store, that weirdo in the van who parks nose-in at the handicapped parallel parking space beside the building was in my spot. As I was giving him the stinkeye, a lady in a red sedan pulled in beside him, also nose-in! I parked over by the moat between the GSCS and CeilingRed's, Farmer H's pharmacy. I was so double-shaken and discombobulated that I left my stack of exact change sitting on T-Hoe's console.

When I got to the counter, Woman Owner was working the register.

"Helllllo! How are you today?"

"Oh, I'm disoriented from parking somewhere else, and I FORGOT MY EXACT CHANGE! At least I have a dollar in my pocket to pay for my soda after the lottery winnings are counted."

"NO CHANGE? I'm going to mark that on the wall! That NEVER happens!"

"Don't I know it! You don't know how wrong it seems for me to pay with a dollar bill."

"You know what? Let's just call it even today."

"Oh, you don't have to do that! I have it right here."

"I know you do. But you're in here every day. We can forget the 69 cents today."

"Well, THANK YOU!"

"You're welcome! See you tomorrow."

"You may be sorry. What if I use that tactic now? 'Sorrrrry. I forgot my change in the car...' You might have just become my enabler!"

Woman Owner was having a good laugh as I went out the door. She doesn't laugh much.

A Greaser, Line-Waiter, and Parking Spot Faker

I had a late start on my town trip Saturday, after food prep for Sunday's feast. It was actually refreshing to get out in the hustle and bustle, after being chained to my grandma's pedestal table from 11:00 to 4:00. 

 

You never know what you might encounter on a trip to Hillmomba. Sometimes you get The Pony's People, the kind who dive through a door like doomy-temple Indiana Jones under a falling rock slab, rather than hold it open for an old lady behind them. The kind who won't give you the courtesy wave when you stop and let them cross over the low water bridge before you proceed. Or tuck in their flannel shirts, trim their beards to Kenny Rogers specs, and jump the line ahead of already-waiting customers...

 

Anyhoo... I was coming out of the Liquor Store when I spotted a PENNY! Sorry to ruin this Saturday's surprise. I almost didn't see it, because I was watching a jalopy park next to T-Hoe, where there IS NO PARKING SPACE! Sweet Gummi Mary! There was a space directly behind T-Hoe, and four on the other side. But this dude had to make his own space.

 

Anyhoo... I saw the copper glint, and SHINY took precedence over an impudent parker. I had tucked my scratchers in my armpit, and was pointing my camera at the penny when this dude came around the front of his car.

 

"Hi there! How are you?"

 

"Found myself a penny!"

 

On he went. MY PEOPLE. They may park illegally, but they are friendly. 

In the Gas Station Chicken Store, a 20-something kid came in with greasy forearms (like he'd been working on a car engine) and a sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off. He was counting out several dollar bills. He was there ahead of me. I waited a respectful distance as I walked up with my magical elixir.

"Go ahead."

"Oh, no. I saw you come in while I was putting the lid on my soda. You were here first."

"No, go ahead."

"Well, if you're sure. Thank you!"

Uh huh. There are still some of MY PEOPLE around. Polite, just a little dirty, bad parkers, and paying cash.

An Evening Of Invisible Airwaves With Genius

There might be a couple of interesting tales coming down the pike. PIKE! Not pipe. That's Genius's terminology. This is not a sewage treatment facility. Our news comes down the PIKE. Then again, it might not be any more interesting than the usual slop you get here. In fact, you're not even going to get it here. It will be on my not-so-secret blog, in a few days. Guess you'll have to go there for your news needs. As for here, I'll give you a teaser...

The Pony was fingerprinted! In Casino Town!

But enough of that. It's how rumors get started. Instead of delving into that matter, you will be treated to a Genius communication from Friday night. I hear from him about once every six weeks, when something is needed from me by him.

You may recall that I send Genius (and his roommate Friend) a holiday treat box, which includes snacks and lottery tickets. I also send him two scratchers every week. Lately, I've been sending him three, because he likes the $3 crossword and bingo tickets. He keeps his winners until he has a stockpile, and then he mails them to me for redemption, and I send him a check. Which of course I have to reimburse the house money fund, since I use the winners to cash in as I buy myself new scratchers.

 

Tuesday, I sent Genius a text:

 

"Mailed your Easter box. Should arrive Friday. Sadly, it contains jerky, and four sausages, and lottery tickets, since you're on the keto and don't want candy."

 

"Cool. I'll watch out for it. We will put those tickets in the mail today or tomorrow."

 

"Okay. The check is in the letter I mailed Thursday."

 

"I got it yesterday."

Anyhoo... Genius had said that he had $190 in winners. So I'd enclosed that check in his last letter. But Friday, I got a text from him.

 

"I have a dilemma sending these tickets back. One of them is a $30 ticket, and it's too large for any envelope, AND it's a $100 winner. Do you think the top part above the scratching could be folded over?"

 

"Yes. As long as the scan part is okay."

 

"Alright. I just rescanned all the tickets Friend manually counted before, and it's actually $269."

 

"That's why I always scan. I had a $50 winner that I thought was only $20. I will send the difference next week."

 

"That's fine. We got the Easter box. Haven't scratched the tickets yet."

 

"Okay. Good luck. My luck was terrible over the days I bought Easter tickets. I figure one of you got my luck." [Including The Pony]

 

"We will be scratching them tonight, I think. I'll let you know."

 

"Okay. Sounds like a great Friday night! Have a drink for me."

 

"It's been an exciting Friday. I got a Costco membership. It was like going to Sam's as a kid."

 

"Wow! Movin' on up. Like the Jeffersons. You already have the deeeeluxe apartment in the sky."

 

"Now the issue is we don't have enough space for all the bulk goods I want to buy at Costco."

 

"Don't buy the giant can of Beefarino for your borrowed Hansom cab horse Rusty!"

 

Funny how Genius quit responding. I KNOW he knew what I was talking about. He was always a Seinfeld fan.

 

I hope that doesn't mean he actually bought a giant can of Beefarino... 

__________________________________________________________________

16 seconds - Kramer feeds Rusty the Beefarino

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ugazcvzOM0Q

42 seconds - Kramer's Price Club purchases

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OyNh8BNEXrs

___________________________________________________________________

Issues With Tissues, Phoney Baloney With The Pony

Farmer H got the re-chargable batteries to fill our four versions of the house phone. I guess around here you'd call it the MANSION PHONE. The phone by my OPC (Old People Chair) took to the batteries like a Labrador Retriever to water. The phone in my office took to it like a transplant patient to a new liver. Tries to reject those new batteries, but is limping along with countermeasures in place. It seems to work to make a call, but kept showing INSERT BATTERY every time I put it on the charger.

The Pony wanted to fold up a Puffs With Lotion strip, and stuff it between those batteries and the cover. I think NOT!

"No. That might start a fire!" I said as I ripped off a corner of an index card to use instead.

"Oh. Like that WON'T? It's still flammable."

"But not as much."

"I'm done with you!"

"Why? Because you don't like MY idea?"

"No. Because it's obvious you don't want to listen to MY solution."

I sent a text to wise old Solomon Farmer H about the issue with the tissue.

"Might be charger try phone from by tv"

"The Pony said it is charging. He wants to stuff a tissue in the back of this one and I said no. The batteries are not loose. They're making a connection, locked in place."

"Well see after it has time to charge don't stuff nothing"

So I left the phone alone and it sat there mocking me on the charger with INSERT BATTERY plastered on its face. I picked it up and went through the menu, in case there might be something that needed resetting. Nope. I turned it off and put it back on the stand-up charging cradle. Since then, it has been showing its normal face of time and date. But at the bottom says CHARGING. Normally, that goes off. I can deal with it, as long as the phone works. 

 

We'll see how the patient responds after 24 hours.

I Hope The Pony Doesn't Have To Unstrap The Old Feedbag For "Refunding"

A couple times a week, The Pony eschews my FREE freezer-food concoctions, and cooks for himself. It's almost always pasta, though he HAS made a foray into FRIG II's freezer for chicken strips and fish portions that do not lend themselves to a meal for three.

 

The Pony prefers to eat his daily meal around midday. Usually when I'm gone to town, or he starts preparing it as soon as I descend to my lair. Wednesday, I could tell when I left the garage that The Pony's meal was done.

 

"I bet you could smell the garlic all the way down at the mailboxes!"

 

"You know I like garlic. You should be glad I'm doing my part to keep the neighborhood vampire-free!"

 

Just one more service The Pony offers. Vampire-Be-Gone.

 

"You actually smell the garlic bread I made to go with my pasta. If I get sick later, it's because the bread might have been moldy. I used the Steak Rolls--"

 

"Are THEY still in there? I bet it's been a month since I bought them!"

 

"They were only expired a few days. They looked all right to me. But when I was wrapping up the bag to put it away, I saw mold on one! The one right next to one I ate."

 

 

There it is. Top left. I can barely see it, but upon closer inspection in real life, that's MOLD, baby! Pity The Pony didn't use his flaring nostrils to take a whiff of the rolls first. Surely he's inherited Farmer H's gene for sniffing out mold.

 

Maybe the feedbag being strapped on too tight has caused him to lose such a talent.

Who You Gonna Call? Not Mrs. HM If You Want An Answer.

I don't ask for much. A daily 44 oz Diet Coke. Alone time with my innernets. Help carrying things up and down the 13 rail-less basement stairs. My DISH TV to work so I can watch my reality shows. Scratchers and casino trips in moderation. Not all that much, really.

I do my best to help (to borrow a line from Kevin McCallister's sister in Home Alone) what the French call 'les incompetents.' Meaning Farmer H and The Pony, both of whom I've spent hours of paperwork on this week.

Anyhoo... in order to enjoy the meager activities which give me joy, I need to have access to a phone. The landline. That's in case a call comes in that might actually need answering. I can't be running up 13 rail-less steps to the main phone, even IF it could be heard in my lair. Likewise, if I'm kicked back in my OPC (Old People Chair) enjoying a DVR of Tough As Nails, I shouldn't have to wait on the slow slow inclination of my recliner to jump out and run to grab a phone.

Farmer H and The Pony, and Genius before them, have already dropped the ball on the OPC phone. It sits under the lamp, on the table within reach, but it is DEAD. Deader than a doornail. Not, contrary to Genius's beliefs, deader than a doorknob.

I have told the guys for at least three years that my phone needs batteries. They hem and haw. "What KIND of batteries?" Take the back off of it. Look at the batteries. "Oh. I'll have to see if I can find those." And they NEVER DO!

So I gave up on that phone. We still had three others. My lair. The main one in the living room. And the one on MY side of the bed, that I used to answer every time the security company called Farmer H in to work because alarms went off when a bird got inside the building.

Wednesday afternoon, MY LAIR PHONE DIED! It didn't have X's for eyes, but it had a blank face. I took out the batteries and carried them upstairs. It takes two re-chargable AAA batteries. I told Farmer H, in his recliner, that I must have batteries for the phone on my lair desk.

"That's how I call the bank to see when checks are deposited, how I balance the checkbook, how I see what the credit card balance is, how I answer your calls when you're out."

"You go to the store all the time. Get some batteries."

"Um. I'm pretty sure Save A Lot and Country Mart don't have those batteries."

"It only takes a C battery."

"I don't know what phone you've been looking in, but these do NOT take a C battery. Here."

"Huh. Walmart will have them."

"I haven't been there since MARCH of 2020!"

"Oh. Well I don't go there."

"You go there all the time, looking for guns and ammunition."

"The Pony goes. He can get you some."

I don't know why it's so hard for Farmer H to do things around the house that you might expect a guy to take care of. It's not like I'm asking him to plan and prepare supper every night and put away leftovers and wash the dishes.

Anyhoo... Farmer H got to looking on his phone internet, and saw that they are only available online. Or at Best Buy. Which we don't have around here. But lucky for me, Farmer H is taking his Cancer Girlfriend to the city on Friday. So he can stop by Best Buy and he'd best buy me some batteries!

Meanwhile, I took the two batteries out of the bedroom phone to bring downstairs to my lair. Farmer H declared that we could put regular AAA batteries in the bedroom phone. 

"Pony! Get them triple-A's and put in your mom's bedroom phone."

"I don't think you're supposed to use regular batteries!"

"It won't hurt." Said Farmer H and The Pony in unison. Until The Pony actually installed the batteries.

"Um. Dad? I don't know if we should do this. The phone is blinking a message: DO NOT USE ALKALINE BATTERIES."

"Bring it here. Huh. I thought it would go off. Wait. There. After I listened for a dial tone, it went off. Wait. Now it's back. It'll be okay. Leave 'em in there. Just don't put it on the charger."

So we'll see. Farmer H complained that TWO of the re-chargeable batteries cost $21. We'll need EIGHT. I'm sure the others are ready to expire as well. 

"I hope it doesn't destroy the phone, and then it keeps the other three from working. Then we'd have to get new phones, and figure out how to hook them up."

"All you do is plug them in, HM." Said Farmer H, obviously not caring about the cost of four phones, only about the cost of eight batteries.