Yesterday was quite eventful for Val. Unfortunately, headlines here were take up by Hick's court appearance.
I might have mentioned in passing once or twice that I've been finding coins randomly on parking lots over the past few months. Okay. More than once or twice. It happens all the time lately. So I now am on the lookout for such coins. I might as well watch a pot for signs of boiling. When you're expecting a special surprise, it never arrives.
So...I headed off to town yesterday, stopping at Casey's and the bank and Walmart. No matter where I parked, or how wide a radius I cast my glance, I found absolutely ZERO coins. My last stop, at the gas station chicken store for my daily 44 oz Diet Coke, was delayed by 10 minutes due to parking congestion.
People are crazy parkers there. My favorite first space by the building was taken. My acceptable space next to the owner's SUV was blocked by a pickup pulling a trailer holding a Bobcat. That darn Bobcat puller almost blocked my way over to my stand-bye parking by the moat that separates the lot from Hick's pharmacy, CeilingReds. I had to finagle and finesse my way between his bumper and the gas pumps. Just as I cleared both, a dump truck pulling a trailer holding a backhoe parked longways, taking up all of the 10 spaces there, as well as the area by the diesel pumps. I yanked T-Hoe over to the parallel parking on the other side of the building, by the air hose. No sooner had I put the shifter in PARK than a gray pickup came up alongside me, eyeing the air hose.
I'd had enough of that scene, so went out the back exit and made a right up to the other Casey's, and then out onto the street to take a little ride past the dead mouse smelling post office until traffic cleared out.
When I came back, the Bobcat puller was just leaving, and the dump truck had disappeared. So I parked over by the moat and hiked across the lot, my nose still out of joint that I, a regular, had to deal with these rightful-parking-space stealers. I opened the door and stepped inside, and saw
A DIME AND A PENNY ON THE BROWN ENTRY RUG!
WooHoo! Found money! I bent over to pick them up, my ample buttocks keeping the glass door from closing completely. The little Asian guy was clerking.
"Anybody want some floor money?"
Asian Guy Clerk raised his eyebrows. He shook the dish on the counter where he takes pennies to pay off odd cents for people. DANG IT! I really wanted that floor money! Not because I needed 11 cents, mind you, but because it was PENNIES FROM HEAVEN, by cracky! My rightful money, in that place at that time, meant for me to find it!
However...I didn't want to be that person who appears greedy. Or the type to need 11 cents. AGC is a sweetheart. He tells me what number the tickets are on if I ask him. And sometimes, he'll say, "You probably don't want that ticket today," if he knows somebody just got a big winner. So I took my floor money and put it in the coin dish on the counter.
I proceeded to the chicken counter to order a small mashed potato with gravy for Hick. While I was filling my 44 oz Diet Coke as the girl dished up the potatoes and wrote up my ticket...a new customer came in. She was probably early 40s, reddish hair pulled back sloppily in a ponytail, wearing shorts, face kind of flushed. She stepped straight to the counter and asked AGC,
"Do you sell drinks here?"
"Our liquor is on the shelf." AGC nodded his head to the shelf behind me, across from the chicken counter, where the tall bottles of alcohol were stocked.
"Oh. I mean drinks, not bottles."
"No, Ma'am."
"My friend told me she bought some alcohol at the gas station across from the liquor store. The one that has good chicken. And you're the only gas station I know that sells good chicken."
"Yes, we have good chicken."
"I was over at the liquor store, and they didn't have vodka for the price my friend said they did. How much is your vodka?"
"Uh...I don't know. I can go to the back room and check for you. We don't have any out here."
"Never mind. How much is your whiskey?"
By this time, I had taken my soda and mashed potatoes to the counter, and Red had mosied over to the chicken counter to peer at the pints and half-pints of alcohol that were on the wall behind the chicken warmer.
AGC walked over and picked them up one by one, and read her the prices for McCormick and Kessler. Which I think was $3.59.
"Oh. I'm short." Red waited. For AGC to spot her the money, maybe, or barter with her. She was out of luck. "Go ahead and help her. She probably doesn't want to wait for me to decide."
"I'm not in any hurry." Seriously. Where did I have to go? Home, to Hick, who was on his way back from court. If I delayed long enough, he might just make his own lunch. The mashed potatoes were to go with his supper.
AGC came over to wait on me. I cashed in a $10 scratcher ticket. I was buying a $30 ticket, and two $5 tickets, and the soda and the potatoes. But AGC said they were out of one of those $5 tickets.
Red came over and stood at my left elbow. Not too close. As AGC was scanning my winner and stapling a receipt to it, she looked at me and said, "I don't guess you have a spare dollar..."
"I don't know. Let's see what change I get back." You know. Not committing to anything. Maybe somebody else would come in and distract Red.
As luck would have it, my total came to $38.29. AGC took my two twenties, and handed me back a dollar and a handful of coins. He had kind of a strange look on his face. Huh. I was expecting more. But that's what he gave me. I palmed the coins, and put the one in my left hand and reached it sideways to Red. "Here you go."
"Oh, thanks, bud."
"No problem. I just found 11 cents when I walked in the door!"
Uh huh. I know I'm an enabler. But that dollar was just 2/3 of a 44 oz Diet Coke to me. Anybody who needs a $3.59 bottle of whiskey at 11:00 a.m. needs that dollar more than I do.
I started out the door as Red turned back to look at the half-pints. AGC said, "Oh, here." He held out a $10 bill, the money from my winning scratcher. Clever of him to withhold it while Red was waiting for my change.
So...my gas station chicken store experience might show that I am lacking in sense, but at least I found some cents there.
Tuesday, July 11, 2017
Monday, July 10, 2017
Hick's Day in Court
Hick was off to the county courthouse this morning for his hearing. Okay. Not HIS hearing, but the one he was attending in support of our back-creek neighbor Bev, who was seeking a restraining order against Crazy Dude, who owns the land next to her, and pointed a swastika at her property, and told her that Hitler had the right idea. Oh, yeah, and he flies his drone over her house, and filed for a restraining order against HER, because he says she killed two of his cats. Nobody has ever known him to have cats.
Anyhoo...you would have thought Hick was a toddler on Christmas Eve last night. He kept talking about the hearing, and who was going, and what time, and what he planned to say. The hearing was scheduled for 9:00. It takes about 30 minutes to get there and find a parking spot. Hick left home at 7:00. "I want to have time to go have breakfast in town. And then get there early so I know what's going on."
At 9:39, Hick sent me a text. "Still waiting to go into court knew we should have gotten the 8-30 appointment." He acted as if HE had any say in it. It's Bev's deal. Not his.
Anyhoo...at 11:03, Hick called me to report the details.
"We was all sittin' outside the courtroom on the second floor. There by where the stairs come up in the middle. There was me and Bev and her husband and Buddy's wife. Then Crazy Dude come in and sat down across from us. He saw us all there, but he didn't say anything. We waited and waited. Then Crazy Dude got up and went downstairs. I guess to smoke.
We waited some more, and then the bailiff come out and called Bev's name, and she said, 'Here.' And then he called Crazy Dude's name. We said that he was just here, but he left. We thought he went out to have a cigarette. So the bailiff went downstairs and went outside and looked for him. Then he came back in, and called Crazy Dude's name some more. He even checked in the bathrooms. But Crazy Dude wasn't there. I guess he left!
It was time for the hearing, so we told the judge that we didn't know where Crazy Dude went. The judge said he had been notified, and had his chance, and since he wasn't here, he dismissed Crazy Dude's request for a restraining order on Bev. That just blows my mind. He went and paid a lawyer to file it and everything. Even though we all know it was a lie. Maybe he saw all of us there, and figured he couldn't prove it. I could tell him, 'Crazy Dude, I think you killed my dog. She went over there all the time, and then one day she never came home. We never found a body. But I think you shot her.' See? I could say the same stuff like he did, about the cats he never even had. I can SAY he did it, but I don't have any evidence. So no judge is going to believe it. It's just my word against his.
Anyway...Bev got her restraining order. Crazy Dude can't be within 300 feet of her or her property. Bev explained that her chicken house is only about 10 feet off Crazy Dude's property line, so the judge said that he can't keep him away from there, but that if she's in it and he comes out and starts something, then he's in trouble. But if she sees him out there first, to wait before she goes to her chickens. Just be reasonable. And Crazy Dude can't put up his swastika. Or fly his drone over her property.
I asked about the fence posts. I told the judge that all my property descriptions say that I own to the middle of the road, too, but that there's a 60-foot easement. I asked if we can make Crazy Dude move his fence posts back 30 feet. He said that would be a civil matter, but that if we wanted to get an attorney to file it, we could. So I'm gonna talk to the other people who use that road, and see if they want to. That one guy who lives up past Buddy is a lawyer anyway. So maybe we could get him to do it."
That's where I shut down Hick and his grandiose schemes.
"Just be happy that he doesn't put sticks in the road anymore! He's going to be mad over this anyway, so don't go get him stirred up right now. If there's another problem with the road, then you can do it. Just let it die down. I don't want him coming up here or shooting our dogs."
I'm sure Hick is going to talk it up, but I'm hoping nobody wants to start this road thing right now.
Hick is kind of let down, now that the excitement has passed. He's been looking forward to this for weeks. You know how people get after the holidays are over.
Anyhoo...you would have thought Hick was a toddler on Christmas Eve last night. He kept talking about the hearing, and who was going, and what time, and what he planned to say. The hearing was scheduled for 9:00. It takes about 30 minutes to get there and find a parking spot. Hick left home at 7:00. "I want to have time to go have breakfast in town. And then get there early so I know what's going on."
At 9:39, Hick sent me a text. "Still waiting to go into court knew we should have gotten the 8-30 appointment." He acted as if HE had any say in it. It's Bev's deal. Not his.
Anyhoo...at 11:03, Hick called me to report the details.
"We was all sittin' outside the courtroom on the second floor. There by where the stairs come up in the middle. There was me and Bev and her husband and Buddy's wife. Then Crazy Dude come in and sat down across from us. He saw us all there, but he didn't say anything. We waited and waited. Then Crazy Dude got up and went downstairs. I guess to smoke.
We waited some more, and then the bailiff come out and called Bev's name, and she said, 'Here.' And then he called Crazy Dude's name. We said that he was just here, but he left. We thought he went out to have a cigarette. So the bailiff went downstairs and went outside and looked for him. Then he came back in, and called Crazy Dude's name some more. He even checked in the bathrooms. But Crazy Dude wasn't there. I guess he left!
It was time for the hearing, so we told the judge that we didn't know where Crazy Dude went. The judge said he had been notified, and had his chance, and since he wasn't here, he dismissed Crazy Dude's request for a restraining order on Bev. That just blows my mind. He went and paid a lawyer to file it and everything. Even though we all know it was a lie. Maybe he saw all of us there, and figured he couldn't prove it. I could tell him, 'Crazy Dude, I think you killed my dog. She went over there all the time, and then one day she never came home. We never found a body. But I think you shot her.' See? I could say the same stuff like he did, about the cats he never even had. I can SAY he did it, but I don't have any evidence. So no judge is going to believe it. It's just my word against his.
Anyway...Bev got her restraining order. Crazy Dude can't be within 300 feet of her or her property. Bev explained that her chicken house is only about 10 feet off Crazy Dude's property line, so the judge said that he can't keep him away from there, but that if she's in it and he comes out and starts something, then he's in trouble. But if she sees him out there first, to wait before she goes to her chickens. Just be reasonable. And Crazy Dude can't put up his swastika. Or fly his drone over her property.
I asked about the fence posts. I told the judge that all my property descriptions say that I own to the middle of the road, too, but that there's a 60-foot easement. I asked if we can make Crazy Dude move his fence posts back 30 feet. He said that would be a civil matter, but that if we wanted to get an attorney to file it, we could. So I'm gonna talk to the other people who use that road, and see if they want to. That one guy who lives up past Buddy is a lawyer anyway. So maybe we could get him to do it."
That's where I shut down Hick and his grandiose schemes.
"Just be happy that he doesn't put sticks in the road anymore! He's going to be mad over this anyway, so don't go get him stirred up right now. If there's another problem with the road, then you can do it. Just let it die down. I don't want him coming up here or shooting our dogs."
I'm sure Hick is going to talk it up, but I'm hoping nobody wants to start this road thing right now.
Hick is kind of let down, now that the excitement has passed. He's been looking forward to this for weeks. You know how people get after the holidays are over.
Sunday, July 9, 2017
Catching Up With Hick
Hick is pretty easy to catch these days. He's getting around better on his bum leg butt leg-butt, but definitely not at full speed yet. His doctor nurse practitioner told him that he probably tore a hamstring muscle. That there's not much she can do about it. If he had torn away part of the bone where the tendon attaches, the type of injury that requires surgery and a 6-12 month recovery period...he would not be able to walk. So she wasn't going to send him for an MRI. She said if he's not better in 3 or 4 weeks, to come back, and she will schedule some tests. She said he should take ibuprofen for the pain and inflammation.
Hick's nurse practitioner said that he should put ice on his injured area for 20 minutes, then heat for 20 minutes, then ice again, etc. Which is EXACTLY what I told him to do, when he was plopping himself on a heating pad for hours in the La-Z-Boy.
"I told her you said that. And she said, 'Go home and tell your wife she was RIGHT!'"
And Hick DID!
I don't remember if I posted a picture or Hick's 1980 Olds Toronado back when he got pulled over for having historic plates without tags. But here it is now. Or again.
We still don't know if Hick needs tags for it, or if the historic plates are enough.
Hick has been taking Neighbor Tommy to the store every weekend. I stop short of that, even though I go to town every day. I just don't feel like it's appropriate for me to do it, though Tommy is always polite to me, and I'm not afraid of him. He's kind of from a different era. My first clue was when he called one morning to ask about getting his mail, and said, "Oh, so you're the little woman." I have picked up his mail for him a couple times (even though it's on the other end of the gravel road, two miles from here, and not in the same mailbox row as EmBee). Again, he's asked for a ride to get his mail, and I told him that Hick was working, but I'd pick it up for him and bring it to his house. He comes out to get it, so I don't have to go inside.
Last Saturday, Tommy called shortly after 8:00 a.m., to ask if Hick could take him to Walmart. I told him that Hick had just left, and was having breakfast in town. Tommy said he'd been waiting for a decent hour to call, and should have called sooner. This morning, Tommy called at 5:51. That's A.M.! We let the machine pick up, then Hick called him back later and took him to town. He pointed out to Tommy that he leaves for work at 6:00 a.m. on workdays, but that on the weekends, he doesn't get up quite that early.
Hick has been painting and furnishing his Railroad Car Shack. I don't think he's sent me pictures of the outside since it was painted, but here it is with the sliding door.
Here are a couple of shots from the inside.
Of course, no Railroad Car Shack would be complete without Thomas the Tank Engine.
Thomas looks pretty lonely there on his shelf, but Hick has more elaborate displays.
It's still a work in progress, I think. He's looking through the boys' toys for display material.
I'm glad Hick has a hobby, even it IS building themed shacks. Because this morning, he mentioned that once he is fully retired, he'd really like to go out and do things, with ME!!!
One thing he's NOT going to do with ME is attend Crazy Dude's hearing Monday morning with three other neighbors, in support of Bev.
I'm pretty sure there's going to be a story when Hick gets home.
Hick's nurse practitioner said that he should put ice on his injured area for 20 minutes, then heat for 20 minutes, then ice again, etc. Which is EXACTLY what I told him to do, when he was plopping himself on a heating pad for hours in the La-Z-Boy.
"I told her you said that. And she said, 'Go home and tell your wife she was RIGHT!'"
And Hick DID!
I don't remember if I posted a picture or Hick's 1980 Olds Toronado back when he got pulled over for having historic plates without tags. But here it is now. Or again.
We still don't know if Hick needs tags for it, or if the historic plates are enough.
Hick has been taking Neighbor Tommy to the store every weekend. I stop short of that, even though I go to town every day. I just don't feel like it's appropriate for me to do it, though Tommy is always polite to me, and I'm not afraid of him. He's kind of from a different era. My first clue was when he called one morning to ask about getting his mail, and said, "Oh, so you're the little woman." I have picked up his mail for him a couple times (even though it's on the other end of the gravel road, two miles from here, and not in the same mailbox row as EmBee). Again, he's asked for a ride to get his mail, and I told him that Hick was working, but I'd pick it up for him and bring it to his house. He comes out to get it, so I don't have to go inside.
Last Saturday, Tommy called shortly after 8:00 a.m., to ask if Hick could take him to Walmart. I told him that Hick had just left, and was having breakfast in town. Tommy said he'd been waiting for a decent hour to call, and should have called sooner. This morning, Tommy called at 5:51. That's A.M.! We let the machine pick up, then Hick called him back later and took him to town. He pointed out to Tommy that he leaves for work at 6:00 a.m. on workdays, but that on the weekends, he doesn't get up quite that early.
Hick has been painting and furnishing his Railroad Car Shack. I don't think he's sent me pictures of the outside since it was painted, but here it is with the sliding door.
Here are a couple of shots from the inside.
Of course, no Railroad Car Shack would be complete without Thomas the Tank Engine.
Thomas looks pretty lonely there on his shelf, but Hick has more elaborate displays.
It's still a work in progress, I think. He's looking through the boys' toys for display material.
I'm glad Hick has a hobby, even it IS building themed shacks. Because this morning, he mentioned that once he is fully retired, he'd really like to go out and do things, with ME!!!
One thing he's NOT going to do with ME is attend Crazy Dude's hearing Monday morning with three other neighbors, in support of Bev.
I'm pretty sure there's going to be a story when Hick gets home.
Saturday, July 8, 2017
Honest, Abe!
A couple days ago, blog buddy River suggested that the reason I keep finding all these parking lot pennies, and getting back five-dollar-bills in change, when a ten or twenty would be more appropriate...might have something to do with Abe Lincoln.
The moment I read that, I knew it might be the right interpretation!
The very morning that I wrote about finding the penny and getting the fives, I had made my first stop at Country Mart to get some scratch-off tickets out of their machines. I send Genius two tickets a week, and they have a good selection. Since I was there anyway, I decided to get myself a couple of tickets. I got Genius's out of the machine on the left, and moved to the machine on the other side of the doors to get one for me. When I bent down to get my ticket, I saw another ticket leaning against the front of the trough.
I picked up that extra ticket. Huh. It must have belonged to the man who'd been there while I was at the other machine. I took the ticket to the service desk and gave it to the worker, explaining that it wasn't mine, and I was turning it in just in case that man came back looking for it. She looked at me like I was crazy, but I described the guy, and left.
Honesty is the best policy, you see. And if anybody knows anything about the virtue of honesty, it's old Honest Abe.
I didn't make that connection when I found my penny and got back my fives later Thursday morning. But when I read River's comment Friday evening, I thought of what had happened to me earlier on Friday.
I'd stopped by the main post office branch to mail the weekly letters to Genius and The Pony. Since I enclose those tickets in Genius's envelope, it's sometimes overweight. I take it to the counter, where the worker hefts it in his/her hand, and either says, "Nope, it's fine" or "You need 21 more cents." That's their high-tech equipment. A postal clerk's hand.
Anyhoo...there was only one man in line when I got inside the post office. Actually, it wasn't a line until I got there. But I went to stand behind him, and noticed something on the floor. Sadly, it was NOT a penny. It was a book of Mexican stamps. Okay. They were United States Postal Service stamps, it was the clerk who later called them Mexican. A whole book of them!
I didn't know what they were, only that I had found a book of stamps! That's a $9.80 value! Of course, they were not MY stamps. As I was picking them up off the floor, the man in front of me turned around. I suppose he wondered why my head was a few inches away from his buttocks.
"Are these yours? I found them on the floor. It's a book of stamps."
The man hesitated. At first I thought he was going to claim them. They were worth $9.80, you know! But he looked a minute, and then said, "No. They're not mine." Maybe he just wanted to take them and turn them in himself, like taking credit for a Big Salad when all he did was hand it to someone.
The clerk motioned that man to the side. He was waiting on a supervisor to come out about receiving mail for somebody who doesn't live at his address any more.
"Can I help you with something?"
"Yes. Uh. I just found this book of stamps on the floor. I guess somebody who was just here dropped them on the way out."
The short bald not-too-friendly clerk hollered over his shoulder to the back room, "HEY! Debbie! Did you just sell a book of Mexican stamps?" Turns out she did. To some lady. So they put them under the counter to see if she came back for them.
I gave the clerk my envelope for Genius. "I think this might weigh too much. Just checking." I already had a regular stamp on it. Mine are the Pet stamps. Genius had an iguana, I think. Or a newt.
"You need 21 more cents," said the clerk. So I handed him a quarter. Shame on him for not giving me four pennies back. He gave me a nickel. Darn do-gooder!
I wanted my Abes.
The moment I read that, I knew it might be the right interpretation!
The very morning that I wrote about finding the penny and getting the fives, I had made my first stop at Country Mart to get some scratch-off tickets out of their machines. I send Genius two tickets a week, and they have a good selection. Since I was there anyway, I decided to get myself a couple of tickets. I got Genius's out of the machine on the left, and moved to the machine on the other side of the doors to get one for me. When I bent down to get my ticket, I saw another ticket leaning against the front of the trough.
I picked up that extra ticket. Huh. It must have belonged to the man who'd been there while I was at the other machine. I took the ticket to the service desk and gave it to the worker, explaining that it wasn't mine, and I was turning it in just in case that man came back looking for it. She looked at me like I was crazy, but I described the guy, and left.
Honesty is the best policy, you see. And if anybody knows anything about the virtue of honesty, it's old Honest Abe.
I didn't make that connection when I found my penny and got back my fives later Thursday morning. But when I read River's comment Friday evening, I thought of what had happened to me earlier on Friday.
I'd stopped by the main post office branch to mail the weekly letters to Genius and The Pony. Since I enclose those tickets in Genius's envelope, it's sometimes overweight. I take it to the counter, where the worker hefts it in his/her hand, and either says, "Nope, it's fine" or "You need 21 more cents." That's their high-tech equipment. A postal clerk's hand.
Anyhoo...there was only one man in line when I got inside the post office. Actually, it wasn't a line until I got there. But I went to stand behind him, and noticed something on the floor. Sadly, it was NOT a penny. It was a book of Mexican stamps. Okay. They were United States Postal Service stamps, it was the clerk who later called them Mexican. A whole book of them!
I didn't know what they were, only that I had found a book of stamps! That's a $9.80 value! Of course, they were not MY stamps. As I was picking them up off the floor, the man in front of me turned around. I suppose he wondered why my head was a few inches away from his buttocks.
"Are these yours? I found them on the floor. It's a book of stamps."
The man hesitated. At first I thought he was going to claim them. They were worth $9.80, you know! But he looked a minute, and then said, "No. They're not mine." Maybe he just wanted to take them and turn them in himself, like taking credit for a Big Salad when all he did was hand it to someone.
The clerk motioned that man to the side. He was waiting on a supervisor to come out about receiving mail for somebody who doesn't live at his address any more.
"Can I help you with something?"
"Yes. Uh. I just found this book of stamps on the floor. I guess somebody who was just here dropped them on the way out."
The short bald not-too-friendly clerk hollered over his shoulder to the back room, "HEY! Debbie! Did you just sell a book of Mexican stamps?" Turns out she did. To some lady. So they put them under the counter to see if she came back for them.
I gave the clerk my envelope for Genius. "I think this might weigh too much. Just checking." I already had a regular stamp on it. Mine are the Pet stamps. Genius had an iguana, I think. Or a newt.
"You need 21 more cents," said the clerk. So I handed him a quarter. Shame on him for not giving me four pennies back. He gave me a nickel. Darn do-gooder!
I wanted my Abes.
Friday, July 7, 2017
Back-of-the-Book-Blurb Friday #66 "You Gotta Get the App!"
Blog buddy Sioux is hosting Back-of-the-Book-Blurb Friday.
I have 150 words to convince you to fake-buy my fake book. This week's fake book will have you jumping up and down, screeching with excitement. You'll go bananas for it! You'll go ape! Reserve your fake copy now, before this fake book evolves into a classic!
Sal Thethicktorian knows precious little about technology. She'd have a shoe-box-size mobile phone that plugs into her car cigarette lighter, just for emergencies, if left to her own devices. Sal's son, Wizard, encourages her to get the new "Personal Assistant" app for her cell phone, a hand-me-down from Wizard himself. Sal must have touched the wrong icon, because within 12 hours, her "personal assistant" arrives.
Sal's new "app" may not make a shopping list or calculate miles per gallon for her Yukon...but Harry is surprisingly handy, although a bit literal carrying out commands. Sal learned that the hard way. “Can of worms," "chew the fat," and "beat a dead horse" are now stricken from her vocabulary. On the other hand, it's great being able to sleep anywhere she wants.
Will Sal confess her error? Or tell Wizard that this "app" is the best thing that ever happened to her? (154 words)
__________________________________________________________________
American Tourister Luggage..."We have just the suitcase for Thevictorian to use on her fake-book tour!"
Empire State Building..."I hope Thevictorian does not make a stop at ME during her fake-book tour!"
Koko..."I would love to give this fake book a scathing review, but I just don't have the words."
Clyde the Orangutan..."I have my own special sign language for this fake book. The fake publishing company should have turned Thevictorian's work every which way but loose."
Bubbles the Chimp..."This fake book is no thriller. It's BAD! You definitely won't enjoy yourself if you try to read this poor excuse for literature. It's that black and white. It's as simple as ABC. You'll definitely stop before you get enough. Thevictorian must be some kind of smooth criminal to get this fake book fake-published. My advice to Harry is to run far, far away! Those humans are all wacko."
Cheetah..."I am not wild about this fake book."
Dr. Zaius..."I can't believe Thevictorian fake-wrote this fake book. If she did, I think she should be lobotomized, then sent to The Foribidden Zone. No good can come of people reading something like this. It heralds the downfall of society."
You Gotta Get the App!
Sal Thethicktorian knows precious little about technology. She'd have a shoe-box-size mobile phone that plugs into her car cigarette lighter, just for emergencies, if left to her own devices. Sal's son, Wizard, encourages her to get the new "Personal Assistant" app for her cell phone, a hand-me-down from Wizard himself. Sal must have touched the wrong icon, because within 12 hours, her "personal assistant" arrives.
Sal's new "app" may not make a shopping list or calculate miles per gallon for her Yukon...but Harry is surprisingly handy, although a bit literal carrying out commands. Sal learned that the hard way. “Can of worms," "chew the fat," and "beat a dead horse" are now stricken from her vocabulary. On the other hand, it's great being able to sleep anywhere she wants.
Will Sal confess her error? Or tell Wizard that this "app" is the best thing that ever happened to her? (154 words)
__________________________________________________________________
Fake Reviews
for Val’s Fake Book
Elephant, in the room..."Why does everyone sing the praises of Harry, yet nobody even mentions ME? This fake book has triggered my poor self-esteem. I hope Thevictorian's fame garners her Grand Marshall status at a circus parade some day, which requires her to dress as a peanut. At which time I will see to it that she gets the shucking of her life. Chuckles the Clown, anybody?"
Elephant, in the room..."Why does everyone sing the praises of Harry, yet nobody even mentions ME? This fake book has triggered my poor self-esteem. I hope Thevictorian's fame garners her Grand Marshall status at a circus parade some day, which requires her to dress as a peanut. At which time I will see to it that she gets the shucking of her life. Chuckles the Clown, anybody?"
American Tourister Luggage..."We have just the suitcase for Thevictorian to use on her fake-book tour!"
Empire State Building..."I hope Thevictorian does not make a stop at ME during her fake-book tour!"
Koko..."I would love to give this fake book a scathing review, but I just don't have the words."
Clyde the Orangutan..."I have my own special sign language for this fake book. The fake publishing company should have turned Thevictorian's work every which way but loose."
Bubbles the Chimp..."This fake book is no thriller. It's BAD! You definitely won't enjoy yourself if you try to read this poor excuse for literature. It's that black and white. It's as simple as ABC. You'll definitely stop before you get enough. Thevictorian must be some kind of smooth criminal to get this fake book fake-published. My advice to Harry is to run far, far away! Those humans are all wacko."
Cheetah..."I am not wild about this fake book."
Dr. Zaius..."I can't believe Thevictorian fake-wrote this fake book. If she did, I think she should be lobotomized, then sent to The Foribidden Zone. No good can come of people reading something like this. It heralds the downfall of society."
Thursday, July 6, 2017
Three Abes Walk Out to a Car
Around noon today, I headed to town to transfer some of the boys' money from their college savings accounts to their bank accounts. And of course get my 44 oz Diet Coke, and cash in a scratcher winner for some more, including the two tickets I send to Genius every week. I got a later start than usual, but everything was running smoothly. At first.
On my way to the bank to make the deposits, which would be my next-to-last stop, the last being the gas station chicken store for my magical elixir...I encountered traffic problems. Uh huh. We have those here in the middle of nowhere, too.
I was coming down the hill where the Social Security office sits, going past the funeral home operated by twin sisters, approaching the Sonic (I don't tell you this because I think you have a clairvoyant map of Backroads and surrounding municipalities in you head, but because my best old ex-teaching buddy Mabel will understand where I'm talking about), when I saw a 10-car line of traffic backed up. Oncoming vehicles were squeezing through on my side one by one, navigating around the front-end of a semi trailer that was cattywompus in the road. I don't know if he was making a delivery, or trying to turn around. But nobody was directing traffic.
I made a quick left and zigzagged along side streets to the next main thoroughfare, still on track for the bank. This unplanned detour took me past a Casey's General Store where I often buy my scratchers. I hadn't planned on stopping there today. Not coming or going. Because there's an actual detour along that road, due to a bridge being rebuilt over a railroad track. It takes 4 minutes. And we all know that Val has precious little spare time in her days of doing nothing. So I had not planned to take that route today. Yet here I was.
Of course Val often takes these unplanned detours into account. Something in the grand scheme of her life has led her down this path. Huh. I wonder if I should actually buy my tickets here? Is that it? I've already cashed in my winner and bought the tickets I wanted. But I could get a couple here. It couldn't hurt. The parking lot was pretty full as I passed, so I continued to the bank.
Heading back home, I decided to stay on that detour road. That truck might still be blocking the other one. My mind was nagging me to stop at Casey's. I pulled in, a bit miffed at the red sporty car parked at an angle at the end of the pumps. It wasn't really in my way, but would make it awkward when I backed out of my space at the side of the lot.
Off I went, a twenty burning a hole in my pocket, yearning to be spent on lottery tickets. I carefully stepped my way down the sloped concrete lot, headed for the ramp area of the sidewalk. Gotta hand it to the Casey's corporation! They always have a ramp at one end or the other. This one is NOT by the free air hose, so it's almost always unobstructed and used by me. A lady coming out leaned her back against the open door to allow me to pass inside. The clerk is one I see there all the time. "What can I get you, Sweetie?"
I chose the two newest releases of the $5 tickets. Handed over my twenty. You know what I got back in change, right? TWO FIVE-DOLLAR BILLS. Looks like I'm on track again as the Five-Dollar Daughter. I was smiling to myself (no need to advertise my looniness by actually grinning like a Jack-O-Lantern in public) as I headed back down the sidewalk to the ramp area.
As I glanced down at my tickets, squinting to see what number on the roll they were, something caught my eye. There on the bright yellow newly-painted curb was a PENNY! I swear that had not been there when I walked in. Val always scans the ground for pennies lately. And also watches out for level footing. I'm sure I was looking down at that area as I stepped up the ramp to go inside. But now I saw it. And I picked that penny up! I'm getting quite a collection, you know.
Here they are, my fives and the penny, posing on T-Hoe's console.
The penny is 1999. Still not significant to me. It's nice and shiny on the front, but the back has some swatches of blue stuff on it. Maybe that signifies the fact that I might be blue from those two lottery tickets being losers. I'm not, though.
I feel like a winner, taking that self-imposed detour, and gaining VALidation of my FiveDollarDaughterness, and a random ground penny.
Life is good.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Alternate Title:
The Five-Dollar Daughter is Going to Penny Like It's 1999!
On my way to the bank to make the deposits, which would be my next-to-last stop, the last being the gas station chicken store for my magical elixir...I encountered traffic problems. Uh huh. We have those here in the middle of nowhere, too.
I was coming down the hill where the Social Security office sits, going past the funeral home operated by twin sisters, approaching the Sonic (I don't tell you this because I think you have a clairvoyant map of Backroads and surrounding municipalities in you head, but because my best old ex-teaching buddy Mabel will understand where I'm talking about), when I saw a 10-car line of traffic backed up. Oncoming vehicles were squeezing through on my side one by one, navigating around the front-end of a semi trailer that was cattywompus in the road. I don't know if he was making a delivery, or trying to turn around. But nobody was directing traffic.
I made a quick left and zigzagged along side streets to the next main thoroughfare, still on track for the bank. This unplanned detour took me past a Casey's General Store where I often buy my scratchers. I hadn't planned on stopping there today. Not coming or going. Because there's an actual detour along that road, due to a bridge being rebuilt over a railroad track. It takes 4 minutes. And we all know that Val has precious little spare time in her days of doing nothing. So I had not planned to take that route today. Yet here I was.
Of course Val often takes these unplanned detours into account. Something in the grand scheme of her life has led her down this path. Huh. I wonder if I should actually buy my tickets here? Is that it? I've already cashed in my winner and bought the tickets I wanted. But I could get a couple here. It couldn't hurt. The parking lot was pretty full as I passed, so I continued to the bank.
Heading back home, I decided to stay on that detour road. That truck might still be blocking the other one. My mind was nagging me to stop at Casey's. I pulled in, a bit miffed at the red sporty car parked at an angle at the end of the pumps. It wasn't really in my way, but would make it awkward when I backed out of my space at the side of the lot.
Off I went, a twenty burning a hole in my pocket, yearning to be spent on lottery tickets. I carefully stepped my way down the sloped concrete lot, headed for the ramp area of the sidewalk. Gotta hand it to the Casey's corporation! They always have a ramp at one end or the other. This one is NOT by the free air hose, so it's almost always unobstructed and used by me. A lady coming out leaned her back against the open door to allow me to pass inside. The clerk is one I see there all the time. "What can I get you, Sweetie?"
I chose the two newest releases of the $5 tickets. Handed over my twenty. You know what I got back in change, right? TWO FIVE-DOLLAR BILLS. Looks like I'm on track again as the Five-Dollar Daughter. I was smiling to myself (no need to advertise my looniness by actually grinning like a Jack-O-Lantern in public) as I headed back down the sidewalk to the ramp area.
As I glanced down at my tickets, squinting to see what number on the roll they were, something caught my eye. There on the bright yellow newly-painted curb was a PENNY! I swear that had not been there when I walked in. Val always scans the ground for pennies lately. And also watches out for level footing. I'm sure I was looking down at that area as I stepped up the ramp to go inside. But now I saw it. And I picked that penny up! I'm getting quite a collection, you know.
Here they are, my fives and the penny, posing on T-Hoe's console.
The penny is 1999. Still not significant to me. It's nice and shiny on the front, but the back has some swatches of blue stuff on it. Maybe that signifies the fact that I might be blue from those two lottery tickets being losers. I'm not, though.
I feel like a winner, taking that self-imposed detour, and gaining VALidation of my FiveDollarDaughterness, and a random ground penny.
Life is good.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Alternate Title:
The Five-Dollar Daughter is Going to Penny Like It's 1999!
Wednesday, July 5, 2017
Not Sure Which One is More Butt Hurt
Remember Crazy Dude? The guy who threatened our back-creek neighbor? The one Hick helped her serve papers on for a restraining order? The one who used to put sticks in the road because he says he owns to the center line? His hearing is next week.
Hick wanted some evidence to show that this guy is unreasonable about the road. Even though he has stopped with the sticks, since other property owners banded together and removed them from the road and called the county sheriff when he threatened THEM...Hick wants the judge to see that Crazy Dude's tomfoolery continues. Especially now that Crazy Dude has served Bev the neighbor with a restraining order of his own, claiming that she killed two of his cats, and that he has lived in peace with the other neighbors for the last ten years.
Hick took a picture of one stretch of the road where Crazy Dude has put his fence posts alarmingly close to the thoroughfare. Somebody coming around that curve, needing to move over to allow oncoming traffic to pass (think of those big trucks the ROCKERS drive in and out of here) might have his vehicle impaled upon one of these metal fence posts. Oh. There's no fence. Just the posts. Making a statement, I presume.
Yes, Hick's picture is a bit blurry. But he wanted a color printout. He said it will be good enough. More disturbingly, I notice that it looks as if he took this picture from MY ACADIA! It's bad anough he got a dent in the side of his own car when driving over the then-sticks. No need for him to take my A-Cad on that stretch. I must make a note to...um...open a dialogue on this subject with Hick.
Also...as Hick was sitting in the La-Z-Boy with a heating pad under his unfortunate leg-butt-area injury from the auction last Friday, even though I told him NOT to use heat on it for at least three days...I noticed a rather large bruise on his upper inner thigh. This is not the area where he says he felt the pop, but I guess the blood is pooling there due to gravity, and he says it hurts to sit on that part of his leg, too.
Hick wanted me to take a picture of his injury. Never mind that he didn't even know there WAS a bruise until I pointed it out to him. He wanted a picture. At 8:45 Monday night. Even though I had just come in from walking and giving the dogs a snack, and was ready to make my own supper, Hick having supped a few hours previous.
You really don't want to see this, people. I'm sure you don't. But Hick sent it to me by email. So I figure it's fair game. What you need to know is that Hick was clad in his tighty-whities. And didn't care! So I had to take that picture about three times to exclude them, and the dangley bits that kept intruding into the frame. Hick was bent over the short couch, so the light source is not great, and the color does not do justice to Hick's affliction.
That upper inner thigh glowed like a sunrise. Like a tequila sunrise! Not that Val the teetotaler would know, unless perhaps from her somewhat jaded, misspent college years. Last chance to look away! Get ready...set...in all its glory...I present...Hick's Upper-Thighrise!
Yes, the picture is distorted due to the angle. You don't think I wanted my head down there, do you? Hick does not really have a leg like an ostrich drumstick. Those colors spread toward the inner thigh. Hick still proclaims that most of the pain is where his leg hooks onto his butt.
It's hard to tell who is more butt hurt...Crazy Dude, or Hick.
It's also hard to tell which one of you will have the most heart-stopping nightmare from this photo.
Hick wanted some evidence to show that this guy is unreasonable about the road. Even though he has stopped with the sticks, since other property owners banded together and removed them from the road and called the county sheriff when he threatened THEM...Hick wants the judge to see that Crazy Dude's tomfoolery continues. Especially now that Crazy Dude has served Bev the neighbor with a restraining order of his own, claiming that she killed two of his cats, and that he has lived in peace with the other neighbors for the last ten years.
Hick took a picture of one stretch of the road where Crazy Dude has put his fence posts alarmingly close to the thoroughfare. Somebody coming around that curve, needing to move over to allow oncoming traffic to pass (think of those big trucks the ROCKERS drive in and out of here) might have his vehicle impaled upon one of these metal fence posts. Oh. There's no fence. Just the posts. Making a statement, I presume.
Yes, Hick's picture is a bit blurry. But he wanted a color printout. He said it will be good enough. More disturbingly, I notice that it looks as if he took this picture from MY ACADIA! It's bad anough he got a dent in the side of his own car when driving over the then-sticks. No need for him to take my A-Cad on that stretch. I must make a note to...um...open a dialogue on this subject with Hick.
Also...as Hick was sitting in the La-Z-Boy with a heating pad under his unfortunate leg-butt-area injury from the auction last Friday, even though I told him NOT to use heat on it for at least three days...I noticed a rather large bruise on his upper inner thigh. This is not the area where he says he felt the pop, but I guess the blood is pooling there due to gravity, and he says it hurts to sit on that part of his leg, too.
Hick wanted me to take a picture of his injury. Never mind that he didn't even know there WAS a bruise until I pointed it out to him. He wanted a picture. At 8:45 Monday night. Even though I had just come in from walking and giving the dogs a snack, and was ready to make my own supper, Hick having supped a few hours previous.
You really don't want to see this, people. I'm sure you don't. But Hick sent it to me by email. So I figure it's fair game. What you need to know is that Hick was clad in his tighty-whities. And didn't care! So I had to take that picture about three times to exclude them, and the dangley bits that kept intruding into the frame. Hick was bent over the short couch, so the light source is not great, and the color does not do justice to Hick's affliction.
That upper inner thigh glowed like a sunrise. Like a tequila sunrise! Not that Val the teetotaler would know, unless perhaps from her somewhat jaded, misspent college years. Last chance to look away! Get ready...set...in all its glory...I present...Hick's Upper-Thighrise!
Yes, the picture is distorted due to the angle. You don't think I wanted my head down there, do you? Hick does not really have a leg like an ostrich drumstick. Those colors spread toward the inner thigh. Hick still proclaims that most of the pain is where his leg hooks onto his butt.
It's hard to tell who is more butt hurt...Crazy Dude, or Hick.
It's also hard to tell which one of you will have the most heart-stopping nightmare from this photo.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)