Another Kitchen Horror Story, Courtesy Of Farmer H

You're not eating, are you? If so, I suggest you finish, and return later after your vittles are safely digested. Once again, Farmer H has made his mark on Mrs. HM's kitchen. He wasn't showy about it. Thought he was getting away with something. Or not. It's quite likely that Farmer H saw nothing wrong with his actions. And possibly thought he was doing me a FAVOR! I hate it when he does that.

Anyhoo... we're still having Easter ham for supper. So Farmer H comes in and makes his own sandwich. The other leftovers are gone, except a couple of deviled eggs that are going to the dogs. They're past their prime.

Anyhoo... I reminded Farmer H that there was still French Onion Dip to go with his Ruffles potato chips. 

"You might have to pour out a little liquid. It gets some on top when it sits in the fridge."

I was busy scratching at the kitchen table. Out of the corner of my eye, I sensed Farmer H taking the lid off the dip container. Then something seemed odd. I turned to see him with his nose down in the container!

"What are you doing?"

"Smelling it to see if it's good. It smelled a little funny."

"It's FRENCH ONION DIP! It has a smell. The date is good until May 14."

Farmer H started looking at the container for a date. I told him it was on the lid. He looked at the top of the lid. So I had to tell him (not too cheerfully, as he was taking up my scratching time) that the date is along the rim of the lid. He finally saw it, and decided the dip was safe to eat. Heh, heh. From the man who eats dog bread, and lunch meat two weeks open in FRIG II.

I heard Farmer H digging into the chip bag and dumping a handful on his plate. Then my peripheral vision noticed him dipping out dip. Wait a minute! My brain realized that I had not laid out a spoon, and Farmer H had not stepped over to the silverware drawer. I turned to see Farmer H

DIGGING IN THE DIP CONTAINER WITH A CHIP!

Which promptly broke off. So Farmer H dug that part out after a big scoop on the large half of the chip. And then licked his fingers and put the lid back on.

"WHAT are you doing?"

"Getting my dip."

"You have just ruined the whole container! It's contaminated now. It will never last."

"It's fine. I always dip it with a chip."

"Your hand, and crumbs from that chip, have now infiltrated the dip!"

I guess that's what happens when I'm not around. I know that when I lay out a spoon, it always gets dirty. So Farmer H was just too lazy to take two steps for a spoon. Not sure if I want any of that dip. At least I witnessed Farmer H wash his hands in the kitchen sink when he came in from mowing the yard. But he didn't scrub them like a surgeon.

A Troika Of Rumpusholes

Never a dull moment in Hillmomba. Especially when it comes to The Wronging of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. She's a virtual Rodney Dangerfield. She don't get no respect.

I rolled onto the parking lot of the Gas Station Chicken Store on Thursday, ready to park in my rightful handicap space. Well! The Universe thought otherwise. A car was already there. No plates nor placard to verify their worthiness.

I pulled in and parked in the space by the FREE AIR hose. It was a chilly, windy day, and my knees were aching. I did not feel like walking the extra steps around that entitled vehicle. So I sat in T-Hoe until the driver came out. I made sure to give him the stinkeye. I regret not twirling my handicap placard. It was in full display, though. That 30-something able-bodied guy backed up and left. I doubt he felt guilty.

Once I pulled forward and parked, I hobbled inside. A fidgety man was fiddling about at the draw ticket stand, filling in bubbles on his draw ticket that he wanted to submit. I've seen him there before. As I got in line, he went down the aisle to the back of the store. As I waited for three customers ahead of me to complete their transactions, Fidgety got in line behind me. 

Well! The guy directly ahead of me was trying to buy a fountain soda. It was $1.89. He started to put his card in the portable scanner, and my favorite clerk said, "It's a $3 minimum." The guy slapped at his pockets. Acted discombobulated. I was about to pull two ones out of my shirt pocket to pay for him, when Fidgety said, "I got it brother. Go ahead."

With that, Fidgety stepped in front of me, and told Fave that he wanted some draw tickets, specifically the CASH POP version. He also told her he had been winning big lately. He gave her the form he had filled out to choose the numbers for his tickets. Then he paid with a card. As an afterthought, he turned to me and said, 

"Oh, I didn't mean to jump line. But I figured you had more lottery than me."

What a rumpushole! I had two tickets in my hand! Of course I couldn't let his transgression go without comment.

"If I knew it would make me next, I would have paid for that guy's soda!"

Seriously. I was already next. Until this Fidgety rumpushole elbowed his way around me. When he left, I told Fave,

"That's not good karma. His winning streak is about to end!"

Heh, heh! My winners later totaled $100. So who's sorry now?

Back in T-Hoe, I was writing on the back of my scratchers when a white sedan pulled up next to my driver's door. NOT in a parking space, I might add. In the driving lane between the handicap space and the diesel pumps. Good thing I was back in, not trying to open my door to get out.

A woman got out of the white sedan, walked in front of T-Hoe, and stood beside the metal cabinet that houses the propane tanks. Then she LIT UP A CIGARETTE! I'm pretty sure that is not recommended near a stack of propane tanks. What in the Not-Heaven? That gal could have parked in the FREE AIR space behind me. And waited in her sedan for Fave to get a minute to come out and give her a propane tank.

The world is full of rumpusholes, and they are magnetically attracted to Mrs. HM.

It's A Small Town After All

I got a late start on errand day, but it was by design. I wanted to avoid the after-school rush, yet get to the Gas Station Chicken Store after the owners had left. I give my favorite clerk a couple scratchers every week, and I don't want to cause trouble for her if they might object. I don't ask for special favors, and I think it's not really their business if I want to "tip" that gal for her cheerful service.

On my way out the gravel road, I met Farmer H in SilverRedO. Of course we stopped to talk. He had some interesting news about our other 10 acres, and said he was going to get the lawnmower and go back to town to mow. Who knows which property. There's Pony House, the two flip house yards, and another that he's now responsible for. I didn't ask, because I had to get moving before banking hours were over.

Anyhoo... my first stop was the bank, because I didn't want it to close before I had an opportunity to withdraw our weekly allowance. Then it was on to the Sis-Town Casey's for T-Hoe's gas. When I came out after paying, I was greeted from two pumps over by my niece, Niecy. We chatted a few minutes while I put in T-Hoe's gas. She asked how The Pony was doing with the dog bites. I replied that physically, The Pony seemed to be healing well, but emotionally, not so much. 

Niecy agreed that it's a problem that will take time to resolve. She said she never was afraid of dogs, and used to go for a walk with her baby, Babe, in a stroller. Then one day she encountered a German Shepherd along her path, and realized that it could become a dangerous situation. She agreed that The Pony may never be bitten again, but the fear would still be lingering.

"Heh, heh! I told The Pony he can look at it as winning the dogbite lottery. Sue every owner that lets a dog run loose and bite."

"Yeah! Go out daring a dog to bite!"

"Sure. The Pony might even grease his legs with bacon fat to tempt them!"

I wouldn't make that joke to The Pony, but I did to Niecy, and we had a chuckle.

From there I headed to the main post office, to mail Genius's weekly letter, and the water bill for the flip house. It was like the busiest roundabout in Europe! Everywhere I looked was a Metris. That's the mini van that has mostly replaced the LLVs (Long Life Vehicles). Of course, it was 3:55, and most regulars clock out at 4:00 if they choose not to take their lunch break.

Then on to the School-Turn Casey's for scratchers. I had just parked in the handicap space when a white van pulled in at an angle behind me, essentially keeping me from backing out. WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN? But then I noticed it was a USPS Metris, and looked inside to see if it might be The Pony. I couldn't see the driver, this being a right-hand drive vehicle. I was looking down to get some winners to cash in when who should appear at my passenger window but THE PONY! My heart swelled with pride, seeing my dear sweet Pony in uniform! 

"I just thought I'd stop and say hi," said The Pony, opening up T-Hoe's door.

"You look so good in your uniform! Will you get in trouble for being stationary while you talk to me?"

"No. It's a convenience store/gas station. They expect us to be stopped at one. I'm on my way back to the office. I can't clock out until 4:15, because I was 15 minutes late this morning. I forgot my ID, and had to go back home and get it."

The Pony was grinning from ear to ear, happy to see me! And also because I had some pleasant news concerning finances and property. That's not a story for today.

Anyhoo... I had a pleasant day, and ended up winning $155 on scratchers.

The Long Trumpets Are Blaring A Fanfare

It's a fanfare for the common mom! Victory for Mrs. HM! She has slain the TurboTax beast, and stands triumphant with her foot upon its throat. Okay. That's just wishful thinking. The foot-to-throat part. I would obviously topple over from my nonexistent balance. But I DID slay the evil TurboTax beast! I DID!

Poor, poor Farmer H, so clueless in the ways of tax forms, had our mail-in version of the tax returns printed for me at the UPS Store. He hands his phone to the gal, and she turns my email attachment into papers for him! Such a wizardess is she. However... what Farmer H brought home was a stack of 40 papers printed FRONT AND BACK! Actually, two such stacks, since I wanted two copies of the set.

Tax forms are confusing enough without trying to figure out what goes where! They should be filed in numerical order of forms and schedules and worksheets and such. If you drop them, or somebody picks one up to look at it, you might get the second page of one mixed in with the first page of another. Nobody wants to search through all the tiny print at the top to see the name of that second page.

However... you work with what you have. I sat down at the kitchen table Wednesday morning to start numbering those papers with a blue pen. A tiny number, upper left corner, where it would not interfere with the black printed number on multiple pages of various forms, showing the sequence for that specific document. 

I was also multitasking, waiting for computer pages to load. We had a hailstorm, then sun, then rain, then more hail, then gray skies. It was a virtual weather cornucopia. Something for everyone. THEN my internet quit. I was hoping it was just the satellite signal due to the weather. But the TV was still working on its satellite. And my connection icon showed I had a signal. I was spitting mad at the thought that I might have to go down those 13 rail-less basement steps and unplug my router and satellite.

I busied my time with numbering the first set of tax forms. Paid the flip house water bill, which got here amazingly fast this time, not being due until the 15th, when last month we got it on the 13th. I added up Farmer H's cash outlay list for the flip house labor during March. I shut down my HIPPIE. Started him again, with the same results. Then did a restart, which for some reason takes longer. Addressed the envelope for Genius's weekly letter. Put on stamps.

Then I tried my internet again, and IT WORKED! So I fired up TurboTax to try my alternate plan to just e-file the federal tax return, and mail the Missouri return that needed the $25 fee. But first... let's give it one last try with the double electronic filing.

I think I felt the flap of cherub wings as they circled me in a single shaft of sunlight shining through the dark clouds! That last TurboTax page TOOK ME TO THE PAY SCREEN after only one minute of the white pop-up screen of death!

I put in my credit card info, and the screens progressed as normal, and my tax returns were submitted!!! Sweet Gummi Mary! I was giddy with triumph! I called The Pony and said to send those returns RIGHT NOW, while the system was working! 

Meh. The Pony did not seem so excited, though he did allow me to rejoice. The Pony said he'd try to get to it in the afternoon. His taxes are done, it's just the submitting left to do. I hope the TurboTax beast does not regain its strength before The Pony has a chance to take advantage of my victory.

Technology Can Bite My Ample Rumpus

Sweet Gummi Mary! I spent another three hours on taxes, and had them all done Tuesday morning by 11:00. I called Farmer H to get his driver's license info in order to file our taxes online. Same as every other year using TurboTax. 

Yes, I had the whole day ahead of me. Looking forward to going to town for scratchers, since I had missed that on Sunday and Monday. I had my credit card at my elbow, ready to pay the $25 it costs to file a Missouri return online. Hit the button to do so. Got a message that TurboTax was saving my return. And then, I got 

THE WHITE POP-UP SCREEN OF DEATH!!!

Seriously. I thought it was just taking a while. TurboTax always runs slow on HIPPIE. I waited 6 MINUTES! Still nothing. No opportunity to enter my credit card info. Nothing at all. Just a white screen. Mrs. HM is no fool! I closed that white pop-up screen of death, and it went back to the TurboTax screen which now said it appeared that my payment had not gone through. No excrement, Sherlock! It could not have gone through, since I didn't get a chance to enter my info!

I tried that three more times. Always the same result. I consulted my estranged BFF Google. Aha! A lot of people were having that problem! Some as far back as 2019. I suppose I am lucky that mine worked all those years. But of all the times for it to fail me, this year, when I waited until two weeks before the filing deadline. 

I went back, and tried the option to use my federal refund to pay for my Missouri e-file. That looked like it was about to work. I put in all the info that I didn't really want to share. And then it said there would be an extra $40 fee for processing this option! That's highway robbery! Dirty pool! Poppycock! Yet it was worth $40 to me to get it over with and file my returns.

When I attempted to send my returns, I got a notice that this option was currently unavailable.

WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN???

Farmer H came home to shower for bingo. I explained the predicament. Told him we might as well mail in our tax returns. They were already prepared with the TurboTax software. I used to send them by mail. All I needed was a PRINTER, since my new one does not work! I told Farmer H that I would email him an attachment of our completed forms, so he could get them printed at the UPS Store, which he uses for printing forms for his business

While driving home from town, it occurred to me that I might be able to e-file our federal return, and just mail the Missouri return, since it is free to e-file the federal. We'll see how it goes...

I called The Pony to explain, since he has completed his taxes, but not yet filed. He has a different version of TurboTax. I said I'd address his envelopes for him if he couldn't e-file. For somebody who works for the post office, The Pony is sorely lacking in envelopes and skill at addressing them.

The Taxed Man Stalleth

I spent five hours Monday working on our taxes. Yes, I've put it off this year, having loaned The Pony my CD/DVD player to load his tax software. Neither of our laptops have one these days. I would have gotten The Pony a download for his taxes, but wasn't sure how complicated that would be, coming to my email. Anyhoo... The Pony had been a bit busy with work, and then the unfortunate skin piercings courtesy of canine teeth. Then when I got my player back, I was busy with other stuff.

Granted, 30 minutes of my efforts was tied up with my TurboTax CD not wanting to load. When I finally got it, Farmer H walked in. I know you won't believe this, but sometimes he's a DISTRACTION! Then I had to set up an Intuit account, because you can't use TurboTax anymore without it. Just more spying, methinks! But that was actually the easiest thing I did.

While I had Farmer H captive in his recliner, I called for info to complete his business tax portion. Of course he did not have it all, and had to trek down those 13 rail-less steps to the basement to retrieve some details. Then he kept answering in his normal way.

"Okay, so what were the items for that expense?"

"Business cards."

"You spent over $300 on business cards???"

"No. Them was about $45."

"So where were the other items?"

"Business cards."

"You just said they didn't cost $300!"

"They didn't!"

"Then what was the rest for?"

"I told you! My business cards!"

"Listen to yourself! You are doing it again! You spent over $300. I got that. But I have to list what the things were you spent it on!"

"Oh. Well. Forms. I had to buy them packets of forms for the customers to fill out. And copies. I had to make copies. Every time I need something printed, like from my email, I have to go to the copy store for that, too."

"Okay. So forms and printing and copies. That's all I needed."

THEN he said his expenditure for electricity at his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) was just what he estimated. He took one month, and multiplied it by 12.

"NO! You can't do that. I pay that bill every month! You reimburse us for it. You have to have records."

"I have them in all the emails they send when they say how much I've spent so far this month."

"That won't work. It might be more. I have it all in the checkbook register. I'll look it up. You write down the months, and I'll read off the amounts to you. It's easier than getting out the envelopes and opening each one."

I normally don't stress about taxes, but dealing with Farmer H is a trip! That portion took up 2 hours of my efforts. I'm wondering when I'll get my salary for being his secretary and tax preparer...

Anyhoo... after filling in the info for 7 of the 1099-R forms (that's money we get from retirement accounts) I gave up and saved my document until tomorrow. It's a lot of work for getting assorted small checks every month from previous jobs. But better than not getting them, I suppose.

Everyone's A (Food) Critic

The Pony came out for Easter dinner on Sunday afternoon. He's a good last-minute helper, stirring and covering and uncovering and setting out. Makes his own Stovetop Stuffing. Bakes the Sister Schubert's Rolls. He was stirring the vinchtables, as he calls the potatoes/carrots/onions roasted with bacon on top. It was a childhood thing.

Anyhoo... as the stirrer, The Pony took the liberty of sampling a carrot to see if they were warm enough yet. I cooked them Saturday morning, and they just needed heating. Of course he couldn't resist razzing me about a previous vinchtable faux pas.

"Mmm. Pretty good. Not like the Friend Incident one Christmas, the year you served us carrots that were like chomping into a finger bone."

"I think it was the carrots! I always cook them the same. Then a couple holidays ago, they were all shriveled and soft. Like.. like... chomping into a baby's pinky."

"That is terrible! Who would say such a thing!!!"

"Hey! YOU are the one who said it was like eating a finger. I was just trying to compare!"

"A BABY? Really?"

"Yeah. Just cartilage, before it hardens into bone. Anyhoo... these are just right. Goldilocks would enjoy dining with us."

The Pony, always striving to make sure things are right, ate three more carrots to confirm their readiness for consumption.