I'm Pretty Sure That Dude Scammed Me For No Benefit Of His Own

When Farmer H and I go to the casino, we always eat at Burger Brothers. I find their fare particularly delicious, even though their delivery methods are questionable. Their restaurant has a section with tables, and an order counter, right in the casino itself. It also has a more restauranty section with an entrance on the main walkway out front, which has its own ordering system.

Anyhoo...Burger Brothers used to give you a little disk when you ordered. Like a hand-held Roomba, about the size of a dessert plate. When your order was ready, that disk would buzz, and lights would flash. It was really convenient to take out into the slot area and play for the 15 or 20 minutes you were waiting. I don't know about YOU, but Mrs. Hillbilly Mom goes to the casino to GAMBLE, not to sit at a table waiting for food.

Okay. I only used the disk like that one time, when I was there by myself, having been dropped off by Farmer H and others on the way to a Cardinals game. Usually, I have a companion, like Farmer H or my favorite gambling aunt, and we chat about our big wins, heh, heh, while waiting for the food. Now, however, Burger Brothers no longer have those vibrating disks. For a while, they were calling names. Hollering out your first name when your food was ready. Now they've taken to giving you a verbal number. That's what they holler out. So you pretty much have to sit at the tables, and hope to hear your number. Hick gives up, and walks to stand like a creeper and watch the counter until he sees what looks like our order.

As you might have deduced by now, Mrs. HM hates change. Her favorite gambling aunt even went so far as to accuse her of having OCD. She's allowed. She's family.

Not only was the announcement of the order changed, but Burger Brothers also came up with a new sauce that they slather on the burgers if you don't tell them NO SAUCE. It's terrible. So you have to ask FOR things like pickles and onions, but ask NOT TO HAVE the sauce. That's not really a big deal, except that all of the order-takers are foreign. Okay. Maybe they are citizens. But their English is definitely not their first language. There's one little guy who's always polite, but it takes him a while to put in your order. He's making sure he gets it right, though. Farmer H thinks he is Bosnian. Not that it's here nor there.

That little guy almost always waits on us. Yet the order seems to be a few dollars or cents different each time. Once I thought he was giving us the senior discount. Another time I thought he was just being nice, waiving the less-than-dollar amount we went over my $20 food coupon. I also thought maybe he was confused.

Because there's been ANOTHER change in the Burger Brothers ordering system. Before, I would hand over my food coupon, and sign the receipt, and pay whatever difference. But lately, the little guy has been asking for my player's card. No big deal. I unhook it from its lanyard. I'm pretty sure the little guy checks the coupon online now. They've been pushing for people to stop the mailings, and present their player's card for their rewards.

The last time we were there, the man ordering ahead of us told the little guy to use his MyCash. It's money you earn while playing, and you can use it at restaurants, shops, for slots, or for cash. If you take it as cash, you only get half the amount. I think it's equal for restaurants and slots, and doubled for shops. Don't remember. Anyhoo...I normally use mine for slot play. For example, last time I had $14 and change, and I just loaded it on the last slot I was playing. I normally accrue around $10 each visit.

So this man ahead of us said to use his MyCash, and he signed for it, and that was that. Because the little guy had been asking for my player's card and scanning it, I did not get out my coupon. It shows the dates on them, but says to present your player's card to use your coupon. We ordered, the little guy asked me something, and I handed him my card. That's what I though he was asking for. He reached out his hand. And I thought he was asking me if it was my card, rather than Farmer H's card.

Anyhoo...he announced the total as $11 and change. HUH? I said it was usually just a couple of dollars. Same order. But he shook his head and asked for the $11 and change. Farmer H took it out of his pocket and paid. We were bumfuzzled by the new total. And Farmer H wanted to be reimbursed by me!

We played some more after eating, and didn't think about it again until last Sunday when we went back. I was going to use the MyCash, and checked the balance, expecting to see a little over $10. NO! There was only $3 and change.

THAT LITTLE GUY HAD USED MY MyCash BALANCE TO PAY FOR OUR FOOD, not the food coupon! Dang it! I can't gamble with a food coupon!

I guess it was just a failure to communicate. We had a different guy from a different country last Sunday, and he took the coupon, and put the rest on MyCash. I guess now I'll have to start using it up before lunch, because I'm pretty sure that snafu is going to happen again. It might even be the policy that the employees are being given.

Don't give me MyCash and then take it for food!

Mrs. HM Takes The Cake

Right now I'm in Norman. Oh, the miracles of scheduling on the innernets! We have brought Thanksgiving to The Pony. He's a simple beast. Not much of a turkey eater, must be coaxed towards ham, mainly survives on Sister Schubert's rolls, butter, and Oreo Cake.

I must admit that this was not my best result. Nor was the photo my phone gave me. It looks like we live in a medieval dungeon. I gave that cake my best effort, though. After having a headache on Monday and Wednesday, waking Tuesday night in my OPC (Old People Chair) to find something had gone horribly wrong with my GOOD knee! The left one. It is very painful in the front, just under the kneecap, in that squishy part towards the inside. I figure that in reclining, and rotating my left leg while crossing my right ankle over the left one...I dislodged some loose cartilage or previous scar tissue. That's the one that's been operated on twice. This must have relodged itself in the wrong place.

I spent Wednesday walking like a pirate with a peg leg! And Thursday, too. Farmer H had to do my trash dumpster duties, and I'm pretty sure he drove the Gator and pulled it along.

Anyhoo...I hope I'm ambulatory enough to make it up to The Pony's 3rd floor apartment. Farmer H has assured me that they are the "low" 7-inch steps. That seems pretty high to me. We'll see. As long as there's a good handrail, I think I'll make it. Though the quest to scale Everest might be easier for the young and fit than this attempt for me.

Anyhoo...I'm not a master baker (heh, heh, says my 13-year-old self). That cake is from a box mix, and the icing (we don't call it frosting in Hillmomba) is from a tub, and the Oreos are...well...Oreos! I couldn't find a cake carrier after hiking across The Devil's Playground, so I spent 88 cents for a pizza pan, and covered it with foil for The Pony's convenience of cleanup. It will be protected on the journey by the top of my own cake carrier, which will be making the trip home with us.

I'm sure The Pony will be pleased, no matter what his cake is resting on. I'm also pretty sure this is one of the foods he wanted most, but didn't ask for so he could spare me the work.

He's a good egg, The Pony.

Mrs. HM Sure Gets Herself In Some Predicaments

You never know which flavor Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is going to be noshing on from her daily box of chocolates. Which thread will weave itself into her rich tapestry of life. It's a crapshoot, really.

This morning I had a six-month routine appointment with my doctor nurse practitioner. I was told to arrive 15 minutes early. Which put me there at 8:00 for my 8:15 appointment. Let the record show that Mrs. HM barely knows this hour exists any more. But that she arrived at the stroke of 7:59, to see one woman already in the waiting chairs, and a man standing at the check-in window.

Being the respectful sort, I moved near the window, but did not creep up into personal space. Other people's medical business is no business of mine. However...I couldn't help overhearing this one, because he was quite loud and at times used profane language, haranguing the receptionist about a doctor, and demanding to speak to administration as soon as they were available. I don't know if the offices are equipped with a panic button, but if they are, that receptionist hit it.

She was trying her best not to engage. Nodding and agreeing and saying she understood his concerns, and that as soon as they could get someone there to talk to him, they would. Then she asked if he could step back so she could wait on me. He did, but he was antsy. I was kind of on alert, having my back to him, because I'd heard him say he had mental issues, and that the doctor was no good, and should be fired, and didn't care about helping anybody. Not my doctor, of course. He's just a nurse practitioner.

Pretty soon, the suits arrived. Two women in business suits. I can understand how a woman can calm a man down better. He doesn't have to compete, and be all aggressive to prove himself. He gets an ear lent, and at least a modicum of sympathy, not a challenge to make sure his facts are in order.

Patient rattled on while I was waiting. Even though the two Suit Ladies took him off to the side at a separate bank of chairs, I could still hear him. I totally understand why they wouldn't want to speak to him in the privacy of an office. Safety first.

Anyhoo...this guy went on and on about how he was in pain, and nothing could stop it, and he'd tried psychotherapy, which did nothing for him because the doctor is no good, and that the liar doctor had told him he could get Patient help free of charge, but didn't. And that he can't afford his pain medicine, and they won't give him any unless he pays. That he can't work, and has been in pain in his spine for 10 years ever since getting hurt playing high school football. That he's gone up to Washington University Hospital for tests, but then found out they wouldn't treat him because he doesn't have insurance. And that he can't hardly walk up the 4% grade of the parking lot hill here to get in the elevator, and he can't sleep because he's in so much pain, and he doesn't want to hurt himself, but he can't live in pain like this.

??????

I don't have the answer. Was he drug-seeking? Having spent 10 years in this kind of pain and not found some other solution? Or was he having a problem with the mental illness side? Crying for help while feeling trapped in his situation? Let the record show that he WAS physically crying a bit while he waited for the suits to come talk to him.

Patient was still there talking when I left after my appointment. I heard a Suit Lady tell him that they'd go down to the financial office and put him on a payment plan. He'd already told them he spent his last $20 which was actually his dad's $20 for his truck so that he could get his medicine.

This is a tough one. I'm leaning towards drug seeker. But then, I have a cold, cold heart.

I'm glad nothing went down while I was up there for my appointment.

I'll Find A Way To Break Farmer H Of This Habit

With Farmer H now fully retired, my household duties have increased. Two CANNOT live as lazily as one.

Since he's home more, Farmer H makes more trips in and out of the house, tracking mud in his clodhopper work boots. You don't think he takes his shoes off or wipes his feet every time he rushes in to poop (we won't even talk about the condition of the toilet seat) or have lunch or grab a set of keys to one of his thousand vehicles, do you? That's a rhetorical question.

I have told Farmer H that he's on his own for lunch. He never eats at the same time twice. Some days he comes in around 10:15 for lunch, others it's 2:30. I am NOT on call for his meal preparation. He gets supper, whether he deserves it or not, and he's left to his own devices for breakfast and lunch.

It's like pulling teeth to find out what Farmer H wants to eat. Yet if I make something that I have handy, or something that I like, it sometimes gets a lukewarm reception. I know it can't be my cooking skills!

Even though I'm pretty sure The Devil would do business with Farmer H, I ask him what foods he wants on hand for his lunches and breakfasts. Breakfast is the easy part, because he likes the frozen breakfast croissants. Not exactly healthy, but healthier than Casey's donuts. For lunches, Farmer H said he'd make sandwiches, and listed off items he'd like. Bologna, pepper jack cheese, Wonder Bread, potted meat, pickle slices, spicy mustard, hot dogs, buns, Ruffles potato chips. Enough to keep him going. Simple enough to make.

Here's the deal. Farmer H eats his suppers for lunch! Then he expects me to come up with something else for supper! I cry shenanigans! I'm not some homesteady wife like Sarah Plain and Tall. I am allowed to live my life doing other things besides serving him! It's easiest for me to prepare the evening meal mid-morning, while I'm waiting for my thyroid med to kick in, and before I go to town. Otherwise, after my errands, I only have an hour or so to do what I want to do, then I have to go prepare supper, and that messes up the time of my walk.

I figured Farmer H could feed himself breakfast and lunch. He's outside working on his projects until dark. I do my walk at dusk. Then I warm up the supper.

But NO! Like the soup I made last week. I'd let it cool, and had just put the whole pot in FRIG II before I left for town. When I returned, Farmer H was roaming around, and told me he had eaten soup FOR LUNCH!

"It was just right. Still warm. I didn't even have to put it in the microwave."

Never mind that we were having soup for supper, with Oberle cheese and garlic toast. Oh, he still had that for supper. And said it was good. But then the next night, he kind of acted all nose-turned-uppy at the announcement that we were having soup for supper. Seriously. I don't make a pot of soup for just one meal. It's not my fault he'd already made two meals out of it.

I should have told him we were having potted meat sandwiches for supper.

Is Mrs. Hillbilly Mom The Only One Who Requires Three Vibrators To Make Her Comfortable?

My headache has finally ebbed. It lasted right at 24 hours again. Funny how that malady punches a time clock. I'm really starting to think it's the smoke from the casino. Even though I sometimes get a headache after being outside walking, or in and out of the car shopping for several hours, those never last very long, and acetaminophen will sometimes alleviate them.

So...I mentioned yesterday that the only way I've found to get relief from those headaches is a session (or two or three or ten) with my vibrator. I usually call it my head vibrator. I used to have one that was shaped like a little dog, white with a black spot on his back. No, I didn't call him Spot. Just My Dog Vibrator. That was a good thing, especially when out in public with my kids. No big deal if they said something about it. Even though some kinky people might have looked askance at me, throwing that word DOG in there kind of made it more acceptable.

Unfortunately, My Dog Vibrator wore out. And by wore out, I mean that it was dropped and broken. So I needed a new Dog Vibrator. I looked all over the internet. And by all over the internet, I mean I did a search on Amazon. There was nothing on there like My Dog Vibrator. You have to be careful doing a search for vibrators on Amazon, you know.

I'm pretty sure that back when I got it, that thing also came in different animals. Maybe a bug. I don't remember. They were marketed for kids with sensory issues. They were cute, and that hum and vibration soothed the kids somehow. Anyhoo...I finally found what I was looking for a year or so later. That was a LONG year without My Dog Vibrator.

The new ones I found at The Devil's Playground. It was around Christmas, I think. At least Christmas shopping season. Which was probably the day after Halloween. I first saw them, and though of getting one for my mom, because she got really bad sinus headaches that sometimes lasted three days, and made her teeth hurt, too. Then I decided this might be the time to give up on my quest for My Dog Vibrator, and try one of these. I think they were less than $5.

That new vibrator worked great! I went back for more, but they were out! Only one was in the box, and it didn't work. Maybe just a battery issue, but you can never be sure. Thank the Gummi Mary, I was able to find more after Christmas. Now I have THREE!

That's my stable of vibrators right there. They're all thoroughbreds, not a nag in the bunch! It's handy to have an extra in case one has to be put down. But mainly, I have three because I keep them in different rooms.

The purple one on the left resides in my dark basement lair. The pink one is on the TV tray that I use as a table next to my OPC (Old People Chair). And the blue one on the right sits on the table beside Farmer H's La-Z-Boy. The silver button on the front is the POWER that makes them vibrate. The ridges on the back are just for looks, I guess, or maybe a grip. They have a plastic flap door on their butt area that is where two AAA batteries belong.

They're really handy when you have a cold, too, and your head is all stuffed up. It relieves the pressure over your eyes or along the sides of your nose. When we go on a long trip, such as to Oklahoma to visit The Pony, I always make sure I take one along in the car. There's nothing more miserable than a throbbing headache when you're visiting your little Pony you only see a couple times a year now.

While still in high school, The Pony, with his dry sense of humor, never passed up an opportunity ask me about my vibrator. Usually in the presence of colleagues. "Mother, I bet you can't wait to get home to your vibrator." Or, "Don't you wish you'd brought your vibrator to use on your plan time?"

I really miss The Pony. Sometimes as much as I'd miss my vibrator if I didn't have it.

Was There Something In The Air That Night?

Whew! I have a headache that's been kicking my butt all day.

I figured it would arrive last night, after Farmer H and I spent a couple hours at the casino. The smoke was thicker than Heinz Ketchup in there! The last two times we've been to the casino, I came down with a headache that evening, which lasted about 24 hours. It has to be the smoke. Unless Burger Brothers is putting MSG in their burgers.

I'm sure that headache couldn't be from riding in the car with Farmer H for an hour each way. Though now that I think about it, I DO get a headache when we drive to Oklahoma to visit The Pony. Maybe it's the dry air lately, with this cold snap, and the electric furnace running more, drying out the Mansion. Maybe the feds have been flying over the Mansion, filling the atmosphere with contrails designed to make Mrs. HM's sinuses ache. I'll have to ask Farmer H to ask his new best friend Bev for her opinion.

He was over there today, working on her electromagnet machines that ward off evil spirits. Farmer H said she even offered to send me a stick with contrail information on it, but he refused! First of all, I had to ask what kind of stick. Was it engraved? Notches recording days of spray? What in the Not-Heaven was this "stick?" When Farmer H roundaboutly revealed it as a flash drive, I said NO THANK YOU! As you may recall, my internet went down the very next morning after Bev's husband invited himself in to use my internet to download something to his laptop.

So hard is this headache kicking my butt that it might be drafted by the NFL. Maybe it's an altruistic sort, and could spent its time helping alcoholics and drug addicts relieve themselves of their respective habits.

I feel like I might need protective gear to deal with this headache. It hurts so much that the back of my neck is on fire, right down to the area between my shoulders. Those muscles feel like a loaded slingshot, stretched back as far as it will go. I hope they don't snap. My flying head could severely injure someone.

Right now, after today's blood pressure pill, an acetaminophen, about 36 oz of Diet Coke, lunch, and several Life Saver Wint-O-Green mints...the headache has dialed back a notch. Now it's more like a toddler kicking the back of my airplane seat.

After supper, I might retire (RETIRE!) to my OPC (Old People Chair) with my vibrator. I'm not talkin' about my OPC's built-in vibrator, by cracky!

I'm talking about that hand-held plastic vibrator that I use on my sinuses.

I Wonder If This Kind Of Thing Happened When Cowboys Tied Their Nags To A Hitching Post

The Universe is messing with Mrs. Hillbilly Mom again! She is not feeling the love to which she is entitled. It's as if her entitledness went on the fritz. Pennies are not winking up at her from the pavement several times a week. Every scratcher is not a winner. Not only do people not hold the door open for her, but they close it right in her face and hold it shut! Convenience store clerks give her the wrong lottery tickets. The Devil's Playground is out of tasty Chicken Bacon Ranch pinwheels. And you can bet her very special parking spaces are taken. TAKEN! Like theater seats at the Paradise Twin.

I don't have a special parking space at Save A Lot. There's a whole row, and aside from the three handicap spaces, I am comfortable parking anywhere. IN THAT ROW. Sometimes, the row is full, what with a laundry and Subway on one side of Save A Lot, and a Dollar Store on the other. Sometimes, I have to drive around to the other side of that row. There are usually not many people parked on that side.

Today I stopped by Save A Lot to get The Pony what he requested for Thanksgiving. He's not coming home, but Farmer H and I are going to visit him next weekend. Imagine the feast if The Pony had been in charge of the first Thanksgiving. He asked for "...lots of chocolate, Chex Mix if any is available, real butter, and Sister Schubert's rolls." You can bet that Chex Mix will be available for my little Pony. I still have lots of chocolate left from his Halloween care package. So all I needed was butter and rolls.We really like the real butter from Save A Lot. The Pony is getting a box of 4 sticks of butter. Sister Schubert, though, resides in the freezer case at Country Mart. So I had two stops to make.

The front row of Save A Lot parking was full, except for one space down by the Dollar Store that I judged to be too tight for me to comfortably open T-Hoe's door all the way. As I've mentioned, it only has two notches: all the way, and too narrow for me to get my knees in comfortably. No big deal. I went to the other side of the row. There was a large selection of spaces there. I chose one that was in between the two Save A Lot doors. Figuring people parking after me would want to park by one door end or the other. I cheated T-Hoe over a little bit, leaving extra room on my side to get that door open. Just in case someone parked beside me. I didn't feel guilty, because that space I was crowding had a big concrete base of a light pole in it, and people rarely park in that one.

You know what happened, right? When I came out with my real butter and a pint of slaw (!), I saw that a white truck had parked beside T-Hoe. On the driver's side. Over the line. So close, in fact, that I could not even get the door open to the too narrow for me to get my knees in comfortably notch. In fact, I couldn't even get my ARM inside enough to lay my phone on the console. As you might imagine, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom was not a happy camper. But camp out was what she had to do! To await the arrival of that driver (I use the term very loosely) and the exit of the truck.

Notice that there is no reason to pick that particular spot. There is no other car nearby. The dude pulled all the way through, and the stores are actually behind him.

This backward angle is actually what put me in a pickle. Notice that White Truck Dude can swing his door open and get out. But that when I open T-Hoe's door, it hits the mirror. I did not really make physical contact, but I wish I'd beat the Not-Heaven out of that guy's mirror. I could only get the door open a few inches.

Sooo...I had to walk around and sit in the passenger seat until White Truck Dude came out. An interlude of about 10 minutes. Oh, yeah! I took a picture of him, too! That's as assertive as I got. You know I was muttering unkind things about him under my breath, though.

I normally don't post pictures of strangers on the innernets. But this guy really irked me. Even if I was a bony old gray-haired dude, I would not have been able to squeeze through the crack that T-Hoe's driver's door could open. So don't point the finger at Mrs. HM for being a portly thick creaky knee-joint-challenged matron.

Once White Truck Dude slithered behind the wheel and drove off, I hopped out of the passenger seat and hobbled around to get in. I headed for Country Mart for The Pony's requested rolls. Farmer H scoffed at my folly, saying we could just go to a Devil's Playground in Norman and buy them there. However...he has obviously not been in charge of preparing Thanksgiving dinner before. Because Sister Schubert's Rolls are an endangered species on the weekend before Thanksgiving. One year, we had to do without, and partake of Sister Schubert's square yeast rolls, which were not the same as the little rolls crammed in a silver pie pan.

Anyhoo...I drove over to Country Mart, taking my life in my hands, because a crazier group of drivers I'd never seen outside of a high school incentive day at a bumper car park. My special parking place at Country Mart was taken, but I didn't mind, because I had the next best thing only four spaces over.

Uh huh! I parked way down at the end of the building! NOBODY was going to pull up and pin me out at this store. I was in the last parking spot. Nobody could park beside me.

Or could they?

Take a look at THIS:

Not the white car. It's parked just fine. In fact, it's two spaces down from my rightful parking spot, which was empty by the time I got out to walk in. No, I'm not talking about that white car. Look behind it. That reddish SUV. You may think it's driving along the main road in front of the store, on the wrong side. But NO! It's PARKED! Parked BESIDE a parking space.

SWEET GUMMI MARY! You can see that there is no shortage of spaces. No need to park NOT IN one! There were even six or seven of the handicap spaces open.

WHAT, exactly, is wrong with people these days? The Universe and Even Steven and their sidekick, Karma, better be working on something fabulous to make up for this...