I Am Ashamed Of Myself. Really.

Let the record show that Mrs. Hillbilly Mom makes no secret of her fondness for playing the lottery. Scratcher tickets, specifically. It is a rare day goes by without Mrs. HM buying a ticket. At the end of the week, she buys two tickets specifically for Genius.

Even though Genius still lives in Missouri, and could buy his own tickets, what with the exorbitant salary he is raking in right out of college...I continue to send him two tickets per week. Just because I can. Let the record also show that I have cut off his $6 per week for Chinese food, which I continued in honor of my mom, who always sent him that, but passed away the second semester of Genius's sophomore year. I figure he can afford his own Chinese food now, and I doubt that he can find it for $6 in Kansas City.

Some weeks, I'm in a rush, and stop to get Genius's tickets on the way to the main post office to mail his letter. Other times, I'm prepared. I buy his tickets along with mine, all in one batch, and set aside two random ones for him once I get home. That's what I did today. Tucked them in the envelope already addressed to him, just like the money I send The Pony instead, him living nowhere near the Missouri border, with no wherewithal to cash in a winner if he got one.

Well. I had a particularly sad scratching session today. All the more disappointing, since yesterday I doubled my money! I was not content to have only ONE winning ticket, in the amount of $10. I kept thinking about Genius's tickets, laying within arm's reach, inside that envelope. He'd never know. I could get him two more tickets on the way to the post office. Surely, by the law of averages, there should be two more winners from the batch I'd bought today.

Usually, I can resist that thought. "No. I bought those for Genuis. They're meant for him. Hands off. You can get yourself more tomorrow." And that works.

Today, it didn't.

I took Genius's two tickets out of that envelope, and scratched them. The first one won $5. I KNEW there was a winner waiting! The second ticket appeared to be a loser, until I scratched its back. They don't all have playable backs. But this one did, and won $10.

That made me feel bad! Not only had I taken $15 of winnings from Genius, but I'd taken away the joy of winning, and thinking for a few nanoseconds that he might have a big jackpot. I confessed what I'd done to Farmer H over supper. He said, "You're not going to tell him, are you?" And I said that I WAS, and that I was also sending him the $15 with that revelation, AND two tickets to scratch.

I asked Farmer H if he had change for a twenty. He said all he had was a ten and a five. A likely story! I traded him a twenty for them, though.

So...my dishonesty has cost me five dollars of tip money to Farmer H for providing the smaller bills for Genius, plus ten more dollars to buy two more tickets, so I can send them as usual. Don't tell me not to send the tickets (which may be losers...or WILL they). And don't tell me to withhold Genius's rightful winnings.

I'm in the hole $15 for my lack of willpower. That'll learn me!

A Repeat Performance Of Non-Performance

Well, well, well...here we are, a week into a new month, and guess who didn't pay last month's electric bill? That's right.

MRS. HILLBILLY MOM!

I told you before...if I don't receive a bill, I don't pay that bill. How could I? I'd be paying something that didn't exist. On my radar, anyway.

This morning I was kicked back in the La-Z-Boy, writing down the money Farmer H frivolously spent on an MRI yesterday for his Poparm. You know. The arm where he tore his biceps muscle while wiping his butt. Anyhoo...I was scoping out the month's finances to see how I might budget, and I didn't see a record of paying last month's electric bill. BILLS, actually. We get two. But in the same envelope. One for the Mansion, and one for the BARn. So there I was, jotting down the phone bills and the DISH bill and the only payment we have, which is for A-Cad...and I didn't see the electric bills.

I went to the kitchen, to the bill-and-letter holder on the counter, and dug out the old electric bill. Sure enough, it was for January. I called the number on the statement, and punched through about 15 menus to get my balance and due date. WHEW! Due on March 12. I still had time. Oh, that automated line offered to let me pay the bill over the phone...FOR THE BARn. That wouldn't do me any good. I needed to pay both. So I kept punching numbers until I got a person.

Amy was polite, and spoke without an accent, but seemed to be hardened from her line of work. She got all my vitals, and then said that they're not set up to take payments over the phone. That it's done through Western Union, and would cost me two dollars and change. Which makes me no nevermind, but I'd just been offered that option before talking to her, but only for ONE of our two accounts. So Amy said that our Mansion account was linked to a different phone number. Huh. I don't know how that came about. She didn't tell me the number. Anyhoo...she got both accounts linked, and said that I should be able to deal with both of them now on the automated line. Or that I could pay online for free.

That's all well and good, but I'm not in the habit of setting up online accounts, because I don't want the money coming out of my checking each month without me having a hand in it. But I DID go down to my dark basement lair and set up an account, and user name, and password, and then play around trying to link the other account. Which I did. After 60 minutes of my valuable time that I was not on my way to town for a 44 oz Diet Coke.

Here's the thing. Amy told me that the bill was mailed on February 19th. I assured her I was not accusing her company of not SENDING a bill. Only saying that I didn't RECEIVE that bill(s), which had happened before, and that I was sure the problem was on my end.

You know what happened the week of February 19th, right? Oklahoma Casino MiniPalooza. When HOS (H's Oldest Son) was taking care of our animals on February 21, 22, 23...and picking up our mail! I'm not accusing HOS of being careless or vindictive. Although in the past, he's forgotten to pick up the mail the whole time. And this time, Farmer H had told him to put it on the seat of his Trailblazer, but it wasn't there when we got back, and HOS said he had it in his truck. Which was a company truck that he had use of for his job. And when Farmer H brought me that mail, I said, "This is ALL we got in three days?" No. I'm not accusing. We are known to have terrible mail delivery. I'm just looking at ways this lack of a bill(s) might have happened.

Anyhoo...both are paid now. On time. I'm not going to be disconnected. This month, anyway. Let the record show that Amy said the next bill is going out on March 20. You can bet I'm going to be watching for it.

Just Say Yes

Yesterday I was in line at The Devil's Playground with just a handful of items, behind a woman with considerably more. I was perusing the impulse-buy section for Gourmet Lollipops (they had none) and Chapstick 100% Natural Lip Butter (didn't have the Pink Grapefruit flavor I wanted). I settled for a mini bottle of Germ-X with aloe. Farmer H says he has a bunch of clip-on mini bottles of hand sanitizer, as if for a backpack, in his storage unit stuff. But he hasn't given me any yet. So I was willing to fork over $1.53 to stay hygienic after my Devil's Playground adventures.

"PLEASE STOP DOING THAT!"

Well! THAT startled me back to the present. It sounded like there might be a rumble. I saw The Devil's Long-in-the-Tooth Handmaiden shoving a yellow family size bag of Lay's Potato Chips into a plastic Devil's sack on the carousel. Already in it was an identical yellow bag of Lay's. In case you've been shacking up under a rock for a couple thousand years with a Geico caveman...chips are fragile! I would not have wanted my chips Handmaiden-handled like that, either.

The Devil's Long-in-the-Tooth Handmaiden (TDLITTH) acted like she didn't know what she was doing wrong. She looked up at Customer. And kept doing it!

"NO! Don't shove that bag in! It breaks the chips! I'm sorry. But I hate broken chips. So just stop. Here! Give them to me." Customer reached over and took the bag off the carousel, and gently shook it a bit, then removed the pushed-upon bag. "See? You've put a box in the bottom. THAT'S why the bag won't go in." She set it aside by itself.

"Oh." TDLITTH acted like she never knew that. Despite the fact that I've seen her in The Playground for a while now.

That transaction wrapped up, the total being in the $200s, part being paid with cash, and part with a debit card. Customer offered a half-hearted apology for speaking harshly, but I think there was no need. You don't want to eat powdered Lay's until the next monthly shopping trip.

My items were already on the conveyor, and had been advanced to the ringing-up area. I put the Germ-X on last, since I picked it up last. I also had some PEEPS and some Chicken Bacon Ranch Pinwheels, No Sugar Added Oatmeal Raisin Cookies for Farmer H, plus a boxed mini No Sugar Added Apple Pie, a 5-pound bag of boneless skinless chicken breasts, and a bag of dinner rolls.

Let the record show that I'd put the cold stuff up front. Then the cookies and PEEPS and pie, then the rolls. It made sense to me. Bagging cold with cold, square containers with each other, and the rolls last. With the Germ-X in its little bottle.

TDLITTH asked if I found everything I needed. WHEN am I ever going to learn to just say YES? I had to mention how I can never find the six-pack of boxed raisins. Of course, TDLITTH didn't tell me where to find them. She asked if I had The Devil's app. NO. I do not. I'm not particularly interested.

Thus began a promo for The Devil's app. Did I have a smart phone? Did I know how to download an app? I could use it to scan items that I didn't know the prices of. How about THIS, how about The Devil marks his gosh-darn merchandise like he's supposed to? Huh? How about THAT? Oh, and if I made sure to download the right store, I could type in the item, and the app would tell which aisle to find it. Huh. First the automated checkout, now the app...why was TDLITTH telling me stuff that was about to eliminate her job? Oh! I see. They were having a contest to promote the app.

Yeah. My eyes were glazed over. I couldn't even busy myself with putting the bags in my cart/walker, because TDLITTH was a BACKWARDS CHECKER! She turned that carousel AWAY from me, not toward me. So my full bags were out of reach until they made a full circuit.

All at once, TDLITTH announced my total. Not in the $200s, thankfully. Less than a fourth of that. As I turned to jam my debit card at the chip reader (I'd forgotten to wear in my glasses on top of my head), I noticed that TDLITTH had put my Germ-X on top of the carousel. They do that sometimes, you know. Set an item on top, so it won't go in a bag with food. ASSUMING that you won't want it in there. JUDGING your purchases, even though you may want to take that Germ-X home and drizzle it over those rolls and snarf it down like there's no tomorrow.

So there I was, blindly trying to use the chip reader, all of which seem to be missing at least one screw, and flop when you touch them, so you have to bend down and find the card slot, while elbowing the creeper behind you away so you can stand directly in front of it. I was on my third try when TDLITTH said, petulantly, "Oh. I was going to show you that app."

Well. Nothing would do but for me to stand up and take a step toward her so she could wave HER OWN PERSONAL PHONE across my Germ-X, and show me the price (which I already knew), rather than type in SNACK RAISINS and find me the aisle, as long as she was being totally time-sucking and overly-familiar.

The chip reader kept beeping for me to punch in information, so I turned back to it and squinted and declared that I didn't want cash back, and the total was fine, and typed in my PIN while holding up that broken-down contraption with the other hand. I then turned to see that my cart STILL had no bags in it, and waited for my receipt, and asked if I had everything. Because I had NOTHING!

TDLITTH picked up my three bags and walked them around to the cart. Just making her own life harder all the live-long day, but who am I to decree which direction The Devil's Handmaidens should spin their carousels?

Once I was settled in T-Hoe, writing the amount in my checkbook register and washing my hands with my almost-empty Germ-X...it dawned on me that as I had loaded the bags into T-Hoe's rear, I did not notice my new Germ-X. Gosh darn it! I wanted my tiny Germ-X! It was probably still on top of the bag carousel, riding round and round with wild abandon.

Crap crappity crap! I could go back inside and make a scene and get my $1.53 (plus tax) Germ-X. IF TDLITTH was still there. IF she had seen my Germ-X and set it aside. Otherwise, it would be a wasted trip, and I'd look petty, asking for Germ-X that I had paid for but not gotten. No. I was not taking the time and knee-mileage to go back. Screw it. She got me.

Once back at the Mansion, unpacking...I found the Germ-X in the bag with the rolls. Good thing I didn't go back.

The Kid I'd Like To Smack

Don't get me wrong! Mrs. Hillbilly Mom does not believe in the abuse of children. They shouldn't be beaten. But every now and then, one of them might need an attention-getter. Just a signal to cease and desist the tomfoolery. When mere words don't do the job.

I dashed in Save A Lot for some Caesar Dressing yesterday. While I was there, I also picked up some broccoli, and a couple of frozen McRib-looking sandwiches that Farmer H has taken a liking to. Just a few items. I wasn't in the store long. But long enough to have my nerves shredded with a cheesegrater. Okay. It wasn't an actual cheesegrater. Not one of those silver rectangular-cylindrical contraptions with holes and slots of varying size, with a handle on top, that leaves your cheese in a nice pile in the middle. Not one of those flat graters that always slip halfway through your grating session, and send the paper plate of grated cheddar spraying across the counter.

No, I might better describe my sudden-onset affliction as having my sense of hearing assaulted by the incessant jabbering of a young girl. My patience tried. Tried, and convicted, and sentenced to ten minutes of incarceration in a discount grocery store with a hardened abysmal chatterbox.

Shortly after I entered the store, a woman came in towing four kids. She was probably late 30s or early 40s. With three girls around 7-8 years old, and boy a couple years younger. I don't know if they were cousins or friends, but I heard one refer to the woman as Grandma, and I think another called her Mom. Anyhoo...they managed to be right behind me, no matter which aisle I chose, until the end, when they ended up checking out ahead of me. One checker.

I got in line anyway. The Kid I'd Like To Smack (TKILTS) was behind the cart, playing around with stuff shelved around the checkout for impulse buys. She wasn't out of control. Just annoying. Picking stuff up, looking, putting it back. Commenting on it to her friend/relative. And when a box of PEEPS (the chick kind, not my favorite, they were out of the bunnies, I checked) was put onto the conveyor, she squealed, "OH! PEEPS! I LOOOOVE THEM! I'M GONNA EAT ME SOME PEEPS!"

Okay. So she has a zest for life, that TKILTS. The grandma/mom was very good with those kids. She didn't let them run wild. She didn't raise her voice with them. She calmly corrected them. But TKILTS was too exuberant for me. I didn't want to hurt her. Not even her feelings. I just wanted to smack her. And say, "Straighten the not-heaven up! You're annoying people!"

Is that so wrong? I'm pretty sure I'd be arrested for such an act. I would never actually do it. But that doesn't stop me from WANTING to do it. Times are different these days.

I remember when I was in college, student teaching at a local high school, giving an archery lesson to a co-ed class of freshmen. My supervising teacher from the college was there that day. A tall, no-nonsense woman who had previously coached the field hockey team. As we walked out of the gym to get to the archery field, one young man was cutting up. Nothing big. Just seeing how far he could push it. Dr. Doll-Hair (that's what we called her behind her tall back, because of her bowl-cut hair that did not move, ever) walked up beside him. She put her hand on his shoulder as they strode along. She leaned down a bit, sideways, to comment softly in his ear.

Next thing you know, I heard that freshman boy exclaim shrilly, with the voice of an adolescent which has not fully deepened to adult timbre, "OW! YOU'RE HURTING ME!"

And do you know what my supervising teacher, Dr. Doll-Hair said?

"I know."

Cool as a cucumber, never loosening her claw-like grip on his shoulder, showing him that she meant business. That kid was a model student for the rest of the six weeks that I was student teaching.

Some kids are more high-maintenance than others. Don't I know THAT, after raising Genius.

The Disappearance Of Slim Jim Has Been Solved!

A couple days ago, I mentioned how I'd lost Slim Jim. How he seemingly disappeared into thin air. Well. Slim Jim once was lost, but now he's found. I was blind, but then I saw.

Farmer H and I went to the casino yesterday after he closed his Storage Unit Store. Since he didn't want to drive all the way back to the Mansion, and pick me up, and take A-Cad as usual...I drove to town to save a couple steps, in my everyday auto, T-Hoe.

Farmer H was having trouble getting rid of people! It was a nice day, and the first weekend of the month, and the buyers were out. One lady ducked under the metal door of Farmer H's storage unit as he was in the act of closing it! He made a quick sale of a lamp that she just HAD to have, and then came outside the gate to meet me in the parking lot. We left his truck there, to pick up later. All the people who rent storage units there have a code for a keypad to open the gate whenever they want inside.

I had moved from the driver's seat to the passenger seat while waiting. Such a bright sunny day, temps in the low fifties. I think I waited about 20 minutes for him, past our agreed departure time of 11:00 a.m. Farmer H could have easily sold more, but he said he wanted to straighten up some things, and bring different merchandise. So he'd do that Sunday morning, before the crowd arrived. Although he DID say that people loved digging through the boxes of unorganized stuff he had sitting there. Of course they did! They probably thought they were exploring undiscovered territory! That they might find a treasure like a big diamond ring in there!

Anyhoo...Farmer H swove us to the casino, a tale for another place and time. We left there at 3:30. As I was grabbing the handle to pull myself up on T-Hoe's running board to get into the seat, something caught my eye.

It was down beside the console, next to the metal frame that the passenger seat slides on. I always have that seat pushed all the way back. I'm sure I saw that white piece while searching for Slim Jim. I must have mistaken it for the paper end of a straw wrapper. Surely you don't think I'd make the effort to pick up trash like that while searching for Slim Jim!

Anyhoo...now that I was standing in a sunny casino parking lot, and not in an ill-lit garage, something about that straw wrapper scrap looked different. I leaned over. Poked around. Or tried to. It was really just the visible part that I could feel. But it wasn't soft like paper. It was plastic-y. I rooted and poked some more. Tried to grab it. No luck. Poked a couple more times. Felt all around. Crawled halfway across the seat...and in the better light, I saw the brown end of Slim Jim!

Slim Jim was wedged down into a kind of metal slot or trough, a groove in that hardware that's bolted to the frame, and in turn bolts down the seat. I seriously could not feel Slim Jim's body in that groove. It took a lot of wiggling of that wrapper between my fingernails to get Slim Jim out. Several times, I thought he might slip farther under the seat, to the possible point of no return.

I rescued him, though! You might think that shameless (and questionably unhygienic) Mrs. HM devoured him on the spot. Sweet Gummi Mary! That did NOT happen. I was still full from a delicious burger at the casino. I put Slim Jim in the console tray with two uneaten, fully-wrapped Slim Jims (for emergency purposes) that I always have on hand.

Today, when I returned home from my daily 44 oz Diet Coke run, I planned to divide Slim Jim between my Sweet, Sweet Juno, and (formerly known as Puppy) Jack. I ripped the wrapper, and bit Slim Jim in half. Jack immediately ran under the lattice that encloses the under-porch area. Juno was snuffling at me from the side porch. I had a bit of a beef with her, since before I left, I'd given both dogs some Hawaiian Rolls, and she'd run out of her house and taken one of Jack's while he was chewing.

I called and called to Jack. He was trapped under there, the only way out to come out the opening by the fake fish pond, and run all the way around the garage and come in under the carport where Farmer H parks the Trailblazer and Gator, and I park the trash dumpster. I held off giving Juno her portion, because I knew she'd steal Jack's if hers was already devoured. In fact, the minute I saw Jack running toward me, I gave Juno a tiny bit of cat kibble, and while she was distracted, slipped Jack BOTH halves of Slim Jim.

A fitting burial, I say.

Don't Crook A Gift Card When In Doubt

Farmer H has been sorting through the belongings he bought in those 18 unpaid-for storage units. You never know what you might find in there. Some things you can't see when you first glance in the door. He even had a desk that he was going to throw away, because it was missing a drawer, and then two days later found the drawer in a box. Lucky for him he'd saved the desk, and now has it ready to sell.

A couple days ago, he was talking to his buddy who buys storage units (a couple at a time, not 18 all at once). This is the buddy Farmer H hurt his butt for, by stumbling while carrying the other end of a table after the auction. Anyhoo, the buddy cautioned Farmer H not to throw away any gift cards he finds, because they usually still have money on them. Who saves a used-up gift card, right?

Well. Of course Farmer H found some gift cards. He asked me if I'd look them up for him. Not having a job any more really has limited Farmer H on his internet surfing. I said I would. But when he handed me the cards, I cautioned him not to be too optimistic about finding a fortune on them.

"Those cards look kind of dated. Not like the ones they sell now. They're probably pretty old."

"Yeah, but they never expire! There's no date on them."

I tried the Target card first. I looked up the website listed on the back, and punched in the long number and the other number. It didn't outright call it a PIN, but that's what it was. Of course the website kept giving me the message that those were not valid numbers. And I could see that they were. That I was entering the exact numbers listed on the back of the card. I tried several times, with the same result. I read every bit of information on the back of that Target gift card, and I came across the date of 2004.

I'm pretty sure those cards don't remain valid indefinitely. Think of the money that would be tied up in them. Money that the retail stores would rather have for themselves, than set aside for people who may decide to use their gift card in 15 or 20 years. If at all.

The other card didn't even have a website on it. So I called the 800 number listed on the back. It gave me an automated menu, and I followed along and punched in the numbers, which I'd found by scratching off (I'm really good at that task!) a silver strip on the back. The automated voice told me that my card was inactive, and that I should bring in my receipt and the card to check on the balance.

I'm pretty sure Farmer H doesn't have the receipt for that card. I'm pretty sure it's older than 2004. Or maybe the non-paying renter of that storage unit was a gift card thief, and never paid for either one!

Slim Jim Is Missing!

He's GONE! Gone, baby, gone! I have no idea what happened to Slim Jim.

Let the record show that a search was mounted forthwith, the moment he was discovered missing. How could Slim Jim possibly disappear into thin air? Or even thick, humid air? HOW? He was just there a minute ago! I looked away, and he was gone.

I knew right where I'd left him. I backtracked. Searched all over T-Hoe. Searched the garage. Searched the sidewalk and porch. Then I returned to the Mansion and searched the kitchen. Just in case Slim Jim had hitchhiked a ride inside. I searched the floor. The counter. My purse. The grocery bags. Slim Jim was not to be found.

How is that even possible?

Every day, right before I start up T-Hoe to leave town after getting my 44 oz Diet Coke, I take my two pills with a swig of water (surely you don't think I'd start imbibing my magical elixir before I get home) and rip open a Slim Jim.

That's a regular fork for comparison. Not my special short fork that some little gal asked for specifically, being too good for the plasticware that everybody else was using at a special surprise party BBQ last fall, and threw into the trash can!

They're small, these Slim Jims. Not like the ones we'd buy at the penny candy store during childhood, with our allowance of 50 cents every two weeks. No siree, Bob! Now THOSE were some robust, hearty Slim Jims. I remember it like it was yesterday. The first bite, the SNAP of the casing, the grease shooting into my mouth. Mmm...you can't beat a good Slim Jim. This new mini version is okay. It serves the purpose of getting some protein to go along with that medicine. Along with a hefty dose of fat and cholesterol and food additives, I'm sure.

Anyhoo...none of that brings Slim Jim back. I still have no idea what happened to him. I'd taken my meds, started up T-Hoe, and pulled out of the Gas Station Chicken Store parking lot. I made a right at the light, and went through the next two green. I was getting ready to reach down to take a bite of Slim Jim as I crested the hill heading out of town. I checked the mirror, and saw a truck bearing down on me.

I don't fiddle around eating Slim Jim if traffic is a bigger priority. I figured I'd wait until I turned off, or that truck did. He was getting pretty close, and I wanted both hands on the wheel. I couldn't be lollygagging or sweaving with another vehicle behind me. I'm the courteous sort, and don't want to impede the flow of traffic. Or give any redneck in a truck a reason to have road rage.

As Even Steven would have it, that truck made the same turn I did, onto our county road. In fact, it followed me all the way to the mailboxes, and went on around me as I signaled to pull over by EmBee.

Of course, after getting the mail, I forgot about Slim Jim. Didn't remember him until I was inside, getting ready to add some Great Value Sugar Free Cherry Limeade powder to my 44 oz Diet Coke. Since I'd already ripped open his plastic sleeve, I figured I needed to get Slim Jim out of T-Hoe. Okay. I wanted to devour him. There was a box of his brethren on the kitchen counter, but I thought it would be a shame to waste the open one.

I kid you not. I searched ALL OVER T-Hoe. Starting with the bed of Puffs With Lotion that lay on the lower section of the console. That's where I put Slim Jim. Not there. I thought he might have slid off, what with the turning of sharp curves. But no. He wasn't under either of the front seats. I reached my arm all the way down in there, between the console and the seat, and under the seats. Nothing.

I guess Slim Jim won't stink up T-Hoe. I think he's pretty well preserved within a centimeter of his life. AND...a couple years ago, The Pony and I found a petrified McDonald's cheeseburger under one of the back seats. It didn't stink, and it wasn't moldy. So maybe one of these days, we'll find Slim Jim.

Don't turn me in if you see him on a milk carton.