Life Is A Game Of Give And Get

I had a run of good luck last week.

It started on Monday, after I'd spent a day off from buying scratchers, courtesy of casino. Where I did NOT come out a winner. Just putting that in there for the Truth in Blogging Law. Anyhoo...on Monday, I headed for Country Mart's machines, and something pulled me towards the one on the left.

That was a nice little surprise, 10X a prize of $10, which all of us math aficionados know makes $100. I also had some other winners on smaller tickets, so I was able to pocket (or gambling-purse) that win for CasinoPalooza 3, which is fast approaching.

The next day, Tuesday, I put some of the other winnings back into tickets, and got this little gem from the gas station chicken store:

I had given up hope until all at once on the last row I hit that 2X symbol. Yuh huh. Two times $50 is, again, $100. See? I not only promote the vice of gambling, but I also teach kids their multiplication. As with the previous day, I had some other winners, and stashed this one for my trip.

Wednesday was not so productive, only bringing in part of my money back, and not a profit. So I didn't get my favorite Golden Ticket, which is quite pricey, and instead got a $10 Frenzy ticket for my big one.

Yes, I was happy as a gambling-addicted clam to get to this next-to-last chance winner for $100. Sorry, kids, no math lesson today.

We were busy the other days, what with Genius's lunch and graduation, so I didn't re-invest any of my money until Sunday.

However, on our trip to have lunch Friday, I told Farmer H that I could take $20 of our house money (as opposed to my gambling stake) and get us each two tickets when we stopped in Steelville at Casey's for gas. He agreed, and even though he's quite a loser (where scratchers are concerned), he won $10, and I won $25. So we made a profit on our original investment.

Farmer H wanted to cash that in on the way home, but I persuaded him to wait until Saturday, when we passed back through Steelville on the way to Genius's graduation. I have these hunches, you know, and when I'm on a roll, I just go with what feels right.

I cashed those tickets in for more Sunday, and Farmer H had a $40 winner (darn him, glomming onto MY luck) and I had a $15 winner. So technically, he won and I lost, but still, we came out with $55 for our combined $35 investment that day. And it had all started with just a $20 out of pocket back on Friday.

Even Steven is just taking care of us. We gave a loan to one of Farmer H's family members last week, and a generous payment to HOS for his manual labor on the freight container garage, and for his wife to take graduation pictures of Genius.

Gotta have a balance in life. You give and you get. While I may crow about my scratcher successes, I must say the former is more satisfying than the latter.

The Pony Is Coming, The Pony Is Coming!

No, you don't have to be on alert for an invasion by land. The Pony is coming home for Christmas, and is on the road at this very moment. He only makes it home about twice a year. Last Thanksgiving, he wrecked his car when he fell asleep at the wheel, and could have perished, had not the Nissan Rogue been a very safer automobile for driving off the highway into a stand of trees. This Thanksgiving, Farmer H and I made a trip to visit him at OU for Thanksgiving.

Now he's on the way, though. Thanks to planning that rivals the D-Day invasion of Normandy. Farmer H and HOS drove A-Cad and the truck out to College Town to meet with Genius this morning. They left the truck for the loading of Genius's apartment furniture he does not want. They continued to Joplin to meet The Pony at Steak 'n' Shake for lunch. Then HOS drove The Pony's car, and The Pony rode with Farmer H to College Town to pick up the loaded truck. That way, The Pony didn't get white-line fever on a 9-hour drive, and Farmer H got the truck full of stuff to bring back to The Mansion and BARn for storage, and A-Cad full of stuff to move to Kansas City on Monday.

Right now, I am expecting The Pony to arrive first. I will start making his requested supper of shell pasta and sauce when he gets here. Farmer H will arrive about an hour later, after his truck is loaded by Genius. HOS will arrive around the same time as Farmer H, but he's not planning on having supper with us. I guess Genius was busy using Farmer H's truck to deliver the washer and dryer, and the couch he had promised various acquaintances who wanted to purchase them.

I kind of complain about all the preparations I have to make for Christmas...but Farmer H will be spending 4 days on the road, what with Genius's pre-graduation lunch, his graduation, The Pony's arrival, and Genius's move.

Almost three down now for Farmer H, one to go. I only have Christmas dinner and the gift-wrapping left. It's way easier now that I'm RETIRED!

Cantankerousness

I'm thinking about pitching my own reality show. I'll call it Cantankerousness. No crazier than Ridiculousness (yes, I watch it) and that new show Amazingness (no, I don't).

Yes, blogfriends, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom has grown feisty lately. Not "Towanda!" levels of feistiness, but still more aggressive than her past persona. Funny how no longer having to be an unwilling role model can free one from the social mores of one's society.

My recent forays into standupforyourselfness have taken place at the casino. Farmer H has been volunteering to take me there weekly, to use my free play. Of course, he does not get as much free play as I, so I have to supplement his wagering. Anyhoo...it might come as no surprise to you that people have been pissing me off at the casino.

I sat down to play one of my regular machines, which is on the left end of a row of five. They're all the same kind of machine, and you can choose from four different games on them. An old lady was playing the machine on the right end, actually my preferred machine of this group, so I made do with second-best. Notice that I did not go down to her end and sit down right beside her. Nope. There were three machines between us. Which Old Lady managed to play in the space of about five minutes.

Uh huh. Old Lady was slot-machine-hopping, sitting down at one to play a few minutes, then moving closer to me on the next one, until she was right on top of me. Don't get me wrong. I've gone down a row of machines sometimes, just to see what will hit. But Old Lady camped out on my right. Just about grew roots into the carpet. I KNOW she was waiting for me to leave. Trying to run me off so she could play that last machine. But I'd had enough of her shenanigans.

Old Lady had gotten all talkative when she sat down there. I did not engage. I'm at the casino to gamble. Not to make new friends. Sometimes I'm counting in my head, planning my next move. I'm in the zone, and don't want to be wrenched out of my reverie. THEN Old Lady lit up a cigarette. It must have been the cheapest brand available, left in the glove box of farm truck parked in a hog lot for a couple decades, then towed to a desert junkyard, then discovered when Old Lady's great-grandson remodeled that farm truck. They were the most acrid cigarettes I had ever unwillingly inhaled.

I swear, Old Lady blew that smoke in my direction. She was like a real-life Popeye with the side of her face where her mouth opened. When that didn't work on me, Old Lady lit ANOTHER cigarette. I hit a little winner, and she commented, "Good one." Again. I did not engage. I knew her game. When she hit a big winner, she crowed about it, and looked right at me, waiting for me to compliment her. Nope. Not happenin'. In my hard-headedness, I actually played a little longer on that machine than I wanted to. Just to be cantankerous.

At another game, a big one, quite popular, I was sitting at the right side machine of three on a carousel. It's so hard to get those machines, I figured I was going to play it a good long time. The middle one, to my left, was vacated by a dude, and a younger dude sat down there. He kept trying to stuff a bill in it, and the machine kept spitting it back. Finally he hit the SERVICE button, and a worker came and told him that they needed to put it out of service, and the techs would be there shortly. Dude left, rather than wait for the fixing.

A feeble old lady sat down at it, even thought the screen was gray and said OUT OF SERVICE. She tried to put money in. I didn't say anything. I'm not a slot attendant, nor a slot tech. You live and learn. A lady on the other side told her that it wasn't working, so she left. And here came the fixers.

A guy tech stood by the machine, unlocked it, took out a drawer, and motioned for a gal tech to go ahead. I'd just hit the bonus on my machine, after ten minutes of feeding it money. Great. Now I couldn't enjoy it, being distracted by this two-ring circus performing beside me. THEN Guy Tech told me I needed to stop playing.

"I'm in the middle of a bonus. Just as soon as it's over."

"You don't have time to do that."

I wasn't quite sure what he was getting at.

"You mean I can't have my bonus? I'll leave, just as soon as my bonus is done."

"Just give us five minutes."

"Well, this bonus will be done in less than that."

I guess I am now a troublemaker. Because Guy Tech had summoned a THIRD worker to deal with me. She was a giant Amazon woman (as opposed to a dwarf Amazon woman) in dreadlocks, who looked like she could have moonlighted as a bouncer. She asked me politely to move so they had room to work.

"I can't finish my bonus?"

"Honey, you can finish your bonus. Just stand to the side. It won't take but a minute."

"OH! I thought they wanted me to stop playing. Sure." I got up and stood aside, and Amazon pulled my chair out of the way so Gal Tech could crawl under the machine and take out a black box thingy. Apparently, I am also a security risk, because Amazon stood in my line of sight so I couldn't see what they were doing. Made me no nevermind, because I was watching my bonus play out. Amazon even looked over her shoulder and commented that it was a nice bonus I had going. Yes. It was. Three figures. LOW three figures. Anyhoo...all they had to do was TELL ME that I could step aside to give them access. Those first two communicated like Farmer H, making me think they needed to shut down my machine because it was linked to the other one.

Speaking of Farmer H, he complained of people saving machines in his area of play.

"I see the one I want is empty, and then get there and I can't get to it."

"Yeah. They turn the chair around backwards and push it in. Then leave a cup on the console. I don't think they should be able to do that. People wait a long time to get some of these machines."

"I know. Or I've had them stretch their leg out on the one next to them. Or say someone is coming right back. I've a good mind to just spin that chair and sit down and say, 'Well, nobody is playing it NOW.' Cantankerousness material right there, our Farmer H.

I also messed with the looky-loos behind me, watching me play, waiting for me to get off that machine. I'd play it down low, with them thinking I was about out of money, and put more in. Or I'd hit a bonus and cash it out, them thinking I was leaving, only to feed it a smaller bill to continue. I didn't do that solely to mess with them. That's how I play. It's their misfortune that they were assuming. Cantankerousness, a happy accident.

I admit to racing a man across the casino to get to a machine that had just opened up. I was coming at the front of it, and he was opposite me. So I stretched out my arm, holding my player's card to insert, and beat him to the possession like a sprinter leaning for the tape. Cantankerousness in action.

You'd watch me on a reality show, right?

A Genius Of A Plan

I'm on the road again. You wouldn't know, it except for me confessing to it right now. Thanks to the magic of the Blogosphere, I am providing you with this slice of life while in actual life, I am a captive in the shotgun seat of A-Cad while Farmer H sweaves along the back roads of Hillmomba.

We've been to have lunch with Genius. A farewell lunch. He graduates on Saturday afternoon. Because College Town will be teeming with proud parents and (former) students dying to cut loose, we have taken Genius's suggestion to dine with him the day before graduation. For all I know, he has an evening of drunken debauchery planned. But we're fine with this schedule.

Farmer H had originally decreed that we'd just spend the night in College Town. Then we wouldn't have to worry about the weather and making it to the graduation ceremony on time. It was this weekend last year that saw the ice storm that nearly derailed us in trying to meet The Pony halfway home and herd him back to the Mansion.

I'd already made reservations for a room. Even a month ago, rooms were at a premium in College Town, with our old standby, Holiday Inn Express and Suites, already sold out. I found another quality facility nearby, with an indoor pool for Farmer H. The plan was to take Genius out to dinner Friday evening before his Saturday graduation, then come on home after the ceremony, allowing him to do whatever it is he wanted to do, with his friends and roommates.

Let the record show that plans change. Genius remembered that one of his roomies was being commissioned. A U.S. Army commission. They all wanted to attend, which would cut into the time of our Friday night dinner. Genius said he'd need to get ready for it at 5:00. So he switched to a Last Lunch instead of a Last Supper. That was fine. We'd be there anyway. But then what were we going to do all evening? Swim in the indoor pool for Farmer H, I guess. But we'd have to get out at 11:00 the next day, and graduation wasn't until 3:00 or 4:00. So we'd have to find somewhere to go. I don't think even Farmer H could spend four hours in Goodwill.

Farmer H decided that I should cancel the reservation, and we'd just drive down Friday for lunch, and then home. We could go back Saturday for the graduation. No packing to deal with. No idle time to kill. No motel fee. We're only two hours away, in good weather.

Genius decided that he'd like to invite some of his buddies to lunch. A couple of the other guys' parents had come down a previous weekend, and taken them all out to eat. So it was only fair to reciprocate. Not a big deal to us. Genius decided on pizza at one of the places there that he doesn't go to because of the expense. Not that it would break us, of course. It's still pizza, not a steakhouse. Then Genius decided that since it's lunch, it might as well be at 1:00 instead of 3:00. And he's only bringing three people, because some girlfriends couldn't make it, and some guys had last-minute things to do.

Whew! This post-graduation intimate dinner with Genius has turned into a pre-graduation lunch with Genius and Co. That's okay. We still love him.

And we're SO VERY PROUD of him.

Genius's campus boss, the head photographer for the university, has offered to take graduation pictures of him with us after lunch. So we'll avoid that crowd on Saturday, too.

Almost one down...one to go.

I Wonder If This Is How The Hatfields And McCoys Got Started

Farmer H went to the bank the other day to wire some money to a relative in need. We've become the First National Bank of Hillbilly lately, our mouths writing checks for other people's rumpuses to cash. You'd think we were a soft touch or something.

Anyhoo...later that night, he had a tale of outrage.

"I saw your nephew at the bank. Your sister the ex-mayor's wife's boy."

"Yeah...? I know who it is. I only have one nephew."

Let the record show that we all live in the same area, but don't do a lot of social things together. Christmas and an occasional barbecue. Or our CasinoPalooza trips.

"Well...he couldn't even be bothered to speak to me! I think it was him..."

"Did he see YOU?"

"I think so."

"You haven't seen him in a while..."

"I know."

"Are you sure it was him?"

"How many people have a red beard?"

"I don't know...all redheaded men? About 2 percent of the population? About 120 people in Bank Town?"

"Well, he didn't speak!"

"Did YOU speak to HIM?"

"No."

"Maybe he wasn't sure it was you. You HAVE been growing that crazy Santa meth beard..."

"It's not a meth beard!"

"It's pointy and not very long. And gray with a white stripe. It's a crazy meth beard, and you're trying to fool the kids into thinking it's a Santa beard."

"I wish there was somethin' to put on it and bleach it all white."

"It's 8:30 on the night before you play Santa. I think that's how it's going to look. You didn't have that last time you saw Neph. You just had the regular goatee thing."

"Well. He should have spoke to me. Who does he think he is?"

For all I know, it wasn't even Neph. Leave it to Farmer H to start a family feud a couple weeks before Christmas.

This Is Why We Can't Spare Live Things

Once upon a midnight dreary, in my lair, caffeined and feary
Hoping not to hear the noises that I'd heard so many times before,
While I net-surfed, Christmas shopping, suddenly I felt a plopping
As of something gently dropping, dropping to my foot upon the floor.
"'Tis just knee-ice juice," I muttered, "dripping to my foot upon the floor--
Only water, nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember how it was this mid-December
And my not-so-very limber aching foot upon the floor.
Suddenly I noticed scuttling, down below my desk was something
Scrambling off my black sock, black thing--black thing? NO! I must implore--
Do not let this be a run-in with the insect I abhor!
I'll be shaken to the core!

Oh, the cricket, fresh from leaping, still is creeping, STILL is creeping
Somewhere in my basement lair, six hairy legs upon my floor.
Better than when he was clinging (had I known I'd been hand-wringing)
To my knee, so nightmare-bringing, knowledge I a cricket wore!
Will I let him go the next time saving clean up of the gore?
Says Ms HM, "Nevermore."

__________________________________________________________________

Yeah. That freakin' cricket that I let go the other day was ON MY KNEE, unbeknownst to me, until it dropped onto the top of my foot. I thought it was just water dripping out of my baggie of knee ice that I had folded into my sweatpants leg. Yet when I glanced down and reached to see if there was a leak, I saw that darn cricket hop off the top of my foot and run across the floor and under the cabinet.

I HATE CRICKETS!

Darn this one for being silent. There's probably a whole colony of mutant crickets that don't chirp, living in my dark basement lair, which shall remain lighted indefinitely. Nothing wrong with their legs that make them unable to get around quickly. They don't hop like a normal cricket, or rub those legs together for noise. It's been at least two months since I HEARD a cricket in here.

Somethin' ain't right, people. You can quoth me on that.

Mrs. HM's Sympathy Knows Know Boundaries

Don't you hate it when old people have to work to make ends meet these days? I sure do. Even when those old people are younger than me, maybe. I always go thinking somebody is old, and then I'm shocked to find out they've got 10 years on me.

Anyhoo...today I patronized the Dollar Store. No, I wasn't looking for a dollar calculator this time, but a graduation card for Genius. Let the record show that I looked for one at The Devil's Playground, but seemingly The Devil doesn't have room for crap like graduation cards, what with two of the four card aisles being devoted to Christmas cards. I know that Dollar Tree has a card section, because I've bought some cute ones there before, when Genius first went off to college, and I was missing him. Absence DOES make the mom grow fonder.

Anyhoo...I wasn't going all the way over to the town with Dollar Tree, so I recalled that the Dollar Store also has cards. I found one, too! Sure, it looks cheap. Like it might have come from the Dollar Store. But it has a STAR on the front. And my closing lines for a Genius card or letter, when I'm feeling especially empty-nesty, has always been, "You will always be my shining star." So this card is perfect.

Anyhoo...I rooted around that rack to find a matching envelope, and got in line. After first asking three women if they were in line. I couldn't tell. They were spilling down my aisle and looking at things, even though their cart was parked in the checkout line. Strangely enough, none of these three women took offense to my simple query of whether they were in line. In fact, the head woman insisted that I GO AHEAD of her and her mom and daughter, because all I had was a card! That's politeness for you right there, a quality better found in women in Hillmomba than in men in Backroads, where they throw a box of donuts on the counter of Casey's and get all in your face for trying not to jump line.

Anyhoo...while I was waiting in line, another checker opened up a second register, so the fourth person in line moved over. I stayed put, thinking those nice ladies could move over there and be second in that line if they wanted. Besides, I saw a rack of Gourmet Lollipops at this register. They were 2 for $1, and even though I only wanted three, I took four. Two Bubble Gum, one Strawberry Banana, and a Cotton Candy.

Anyhoo...I got up to the register, and this old man who was pretty slow for a cashier took my card out of my hand. As if that would speed things up rather than letting me lay it down on the counter. I put down my Lollipops, though. He took one of them and scanned it four times. Then he picked up the rest and DROPPED THEM INTO THE BAG ON THE BAG CAROUSEL!

You know that that did, right? It made a horrendous THUMP four times. Let the record show that I have not been buying my Gourmet Lollipops at the checkout of The Devil's Playground lately, because they are all broken and crushed. I was nearly livid at the audacity of this working elder. He should know better! Would he drop a coffee mug into that bag? NO! He'd set it in. I hope.

Anyhoo...my Gourmet Lollipops LOOK like they're okay. Or at least fractured into fairly large hunks that will fall apart when unwrapped. I'm just sayin'...

I try to have sympathy for these elder workers. But it's really more like self-pity for myself.