Remember back when Val got up early and got dressed in her gambling uniform and laid out all of her gambling accoutrements and sat down to wait until time to meet her favorite gambling aunt for a trip to the casino, but AUNTIE DIDN'T GO?
That was a major disappointment, but Val had been having some bad vibes the night before, and decided it was all for the best. What else could she do, really?
We still met for lunch later in that week, and Auntie declared that we would go the following Tuesday. So Val got all excited again, and measured out her week in next-to, next-to, next-to, next-to, next-to, next-to-gambling eve. That afternoon, she set out her gambling accoutrements all over again. But Val was not in the mood for a heartbreak again. So Monday evening, on the porch with her support group of Puppy Jack and Sweet, Sweet Juno, Val sent Auntie a text.
"Are we still going tomorrow?"
"I don't know. The roofers are here. They have me blocked in the garage."
"Should we play it by ear, or try another time?"
"Let's not go tomorrow. But Wednesday should be good. They should be done by then."
"Okay. Wednesday at 10:00. I'll meet you by Save A Lot."
So Val got up early and got all decked out in her gambling uniform and stuffed her shirt pocket with: ID (for the big win, you know, because they have to withhold taxes on the spot), and her two insurance cards (in case the big win made her faint, or in case Auntie's driving luck ran out), and her debit card (for emergencies, not for withdrawing money, because casino money is separate from house money), and five Life Saver Wint O Green mints (because Val used to prefer Mentos, but that was before she indulged in mass quantities of FREE Diet Coke), and a toothpick (you don't want to have lunch in your teeth for your BIG WIN picture), and an ibuprofen (it's not nice to fool your knees into thinking they're having a normal day of sitting in the dark basement lair), and a twenty and four fives for lunch (because eating money is separate from gambling money, and you never know when Auntie might chose something more expensive than a burger).
Normally, I get to the rendezvous point ahead of Auntie, because I live closer to it. This time, I held back. I wanted to be sure we were really going. I waited until the last minute, the minute that would get me there at T minus 5 on the countdown to meeting time, and then I went to the kitchen and took my two daily pills...AND MY PHONE BUZZED.
It was Auntie, of course.
"I am stopping by the bank for money, and then getting gas."
"Okay. Just leaving."
Too bad she wasn't 30 seconds earlier with that text, because if you have ever been a taker of blood pressure meds, you know that you have a limited window of time before you have to go. Anyhoo...I petted the dogs for a few minutes, then headed to town, and was there about 5 minutes before Auntie. I climbed into her cream-colored Lincoln CXK-whatever those letters are on a mini SUV, and off we went.
Let the record show that Auntie's driving style is akin to that of Mr. Magoo. Oh, she can see perfectly fine. But she doesn't apply that vision to staying in her lane. Whereas Hick is a master sweaver, swerving and weaving regularly from center line to side line while gawking at scenery...Auntie gets carried away in conversation, and lets the car go where it wants. Slight curves on a 5-lane interstate? Pshaw! Those lane lines are only decoration painted on the pavement. Auntie is kind of like that infant in Baby's Day Out, crawling through all manner of catastrophes and coming out unscathed. The other traffic avoids her, and she eventually gets back between the lines when the road veers back to where she is going.
Midway to our destination, a sudden cloudburst pelted her little Lincoln's windshield with rain. I tried my best to put on my nonexistent brake. My short fingernails were imbedded in my fleshy palms. The windshield was awash with water, and the wipers barely going. I couldn't hold it in.
"I can't see a THING!"
"Oh, don't worry. I can." Said Auntie Magoo.
The rain stopped soon enough, and we reached out destination on the banks of the Mississippi within an hour. Auntie always uses valet parking. I felt kind of sorry for those guys, waiting for Auntie and me to unfold our uncooperative joints to disembark from the little Lincoln. Auntie has had two hip replacements, you know. And I think knees, too. Plus back surgery. Those valets might have been better off wheeling gurneys out there to roll us to the door.
We parted ways and agreed to meet for lunch at Burger Brothers at 1:30. I headed straight to the bathroom, and then took a lap of the quarter slots, playing a row of them 10 spins each. That's to see if any of them look promising. I put in a $20, play one credit for 10 plays, and then cash out and move on to the next machine. That's $2.50 a machine, testing the waters. Let the record show that only ONE out of the ten slots I played like that paid me anything, and that was $5. So I cashed out and moved on to get a FREE Diet Coke and head for my true love. It's some kind of Blazing 7 Re-Spin machine with a twin right beside it. I prefer the one on the right, which has always paid me better, though the one on the left gives more re-spins.
After an hour and a half, I had to go to the bathroom again, where I counted up my money, and was happy to see that I was $30 ahead. You always count your money in the bathroom, in those stalls that go all the way to the floor. Nobody's gonna knock Val in the head because she's flaunting her bankroll. That's why I have a gambling uniform. The pants have deep pockets, and I keep my wads folded a certain way, and can reach in and extract a bill without showing the world. And surveillance camera.
I came out to find Auntie wandering on the main aisle, and we agreed to go ahead with lunch. She sat at the table (you might remember how she was afraid somebody would put something in our drinks last time) and I ordered. Then I went to get myself another FREE Diet Coke, because I certainly did not take it in the bathroom with me. Auntie wanted a Sprite, because the cups are small, and she only had half of hers left. I returned with the beverages, we gossiped, and then we enjoyed our burgers and a shared order of fries. We even had fries left. I was having a great time (not just because of the plethora of fries), and didn't even mind when Auntie knocked over the full cup of Sprite and mopped it up with all the napkins in the holder.
After lunch, I moved two machines around the carrel I had been playing at, to a couple of machines that are Genius's favorite (him having been to a casino all of TWO times his whole life) that have a stack of 7s and then a gold box that gives FREE PLAYS if you hit three of them. It's a quarter machine, but takes five credits for max bet. So I have to watch myself there. With these two we play, the one on the right gave me more FREE PLAYS last time, but not this day. I blew a $20 in it, and moved over to the left one. It was stingy as well, but I DID hit FREE PLAY twice while in the middle of my 12 FREE PLAYS. So I had 36 FREE PLAYS running all at once. And do you know how much I won, after all that? 55 credits. That is $13.75. For $45 worth of FREE PLAYS. Not that I had to pay, because they were FREE. But still, that's not a good return. So I went back to my Blazin' 7s Re-Spin machines, where I alternated after a good hit, or after a slow streak.
Let the record show that there were not many people there that day, and I had those two machines pretty much to myself, except when a dude sat down at the left one that I had just vacated, and after five spins won $60. Even though it was rightfully mine, too bad, so sad, I had been impatient after a lull. THEN a real weirdo was pulled by my magnet. A wacko lady put in her money and kept talking to the machine.
"Come on, baby, give me something good. Come on, now!" She rubbed the top of the machine and fondled the buttons and pretty much made me feel like I needed a shower. She lost a $20 and put in another and then won something like $40 and was quite orgasmic about it. I was glad she cashed out.
My bankroll was going south, and I took a break to use the facilities and count up my cash. So much for my earlier $30 advantage. I was now down $40. And I had played through most of my money. For those of you wanting to comment that you are confused, let the record show that Val takes a set of bills, plays some in the machines, but when she earns credits, she moves some of her playing money to her other pocket, and thus never loses it all, but comes out pretty close to even most trips.
For example, when you put a $20 in a quarter slot, it gives you 80 credits. As I'm playing, I keep a running total in my head as I win credits. When that adds up to 80, I take a $20 from my right pocket, and put it in my left. That's the WINNINGS pocket, and not to be played from. Once the playing money is gone, I'm done.
Except on this day...
I was out of my playing money, and I thought, "I still have those four fives that we didn't use to eat. It can't hurt to use those four fives. It's still 90 minutes until time to leave. I'm going to play those fives." So I put two of them into my Blazing 7s machine, and knew that those 40 credits, at 3 per play, would not last long. I didn't have playing money to put in my other pocket, so what I lost here would just be gone, baby, gone. Like how Hick plays. I got down to 50 cents left. That's not a max spin. So I couldn't get the re-spin if it hit. I had three ones I got back in change from lunch. I put them in so I could play max. My next spin gave me a bonus, the 3X, and the other bars that came up were a 2X and a 7-bar, I think. Anyhoo...it won me $120. I played another spin, and hit another small bonus.
Val knows when to fold 'em. I cashed out $135 and went to the ticket machine to change it to money. But then I thought, "It's still an hour until time to leave. I have that $10 bill and $5 bill where I just cashed out. I might as well play them..."
I went back to play the right-hand Blazin' 7s. I put in my $10 bill and was getting nowhere, so I put in my $5 bill, and had one full max spin left...and hit a $60 jackpot. I cashed out and went to count my money. Between some small wins when I was counting credits, and my last two hurrahs, I ended up with all of the money I took, the money back for the lunch fives I spent, plus a profit of
*** $120 ***
Yeah. Val is not exactly a high roller, but that was mighty exciting. For me, anyway. Though not for you to read about.
But the story doesn't end here...
Once back to Backroads, I had to go get my 44 oz Diet Coke. That money was burning a hole in my pocket, so I used $20 of it to buy four scratch-off tickets. Three were winners. For a total of $40.
I can't wait to go again. Or plan on it twice, and then go the third time!
Monday, November 7, 2016
Sunday, November 6, 2016
Passing the Habit On To the Next Generation
Val has been remiss in keeping you up-to-date with her casino excursions. We'll gloss over (meaning only a couple of pages of Val-type) the previous two, because they were not favorable for Val.
Okay. I'll give you a bargain. I won't even talk about the middle trip, because it was just Hick and me, and I lost $30, and HE WON almost $100.
Early last month, Genius and a friend/housemate who had turned 21 came to take me to the casino. As luck (for them) would have it, they could only come on a Saturday, and Hick was off that particular day, so he became the main driver, and a sucker-up of more of Val's set-aside scratch-off winnings for a gambling stake. Let the record show that I had already planned to bankroll Genius and Friend, since I would never invite a student to go on a recreational outing and pay his own way. That's like inviting a kid to Six Flags, and at the entrance, asking him if he's got money for his ticket. Hick is another matter, since I would just as soon leave him in the Six Flags parking lot all day. But since I might want another gambling trip in the future, I had to fund him as well.
When I gave the boys their money, I told them I did not require a cut of their winnings (such as the deal I have with Genius on his weekly scratch-off tickets). If they wanted to pocket their bankroll and wander around watching others, or save half and gamble half, or blow it on a high stakes machine, it made me no nevermind.
When we walked up to the entrance, the burly attendant squared up and looked past Hick and me. Genius and Friend already had their IDs out. The only other time Genius had been there was last Christmas break, right after he turned 21, and a security guard had followed him around inside and asked for ID.
I though we would split up and meet for lunch, but Genius stuck closer to me (and Friend to him) than he ever had in all his toddler years of Walmart shopping. He played the machine next to me, and one around the corner, and one behind me. All quarter slots. Genius was having fun, hitting small jackpots and free plays, staying about even, and Friend wasn't losing his shirt. Genius walked by and said they was going to walk around and look for the penny machines.
Hick found me and plopped down at the machine next to me. No sooner had he put money in that machine than the bells started going off. NOT on either of our machines! It was the machine behind me that Genius had just left. Of course I was too busy playing to watch the attendant show up to verify and pay the jackpot, but Hick was not.
"That woman just hit 5000 credits. That's $1250."
"Too bad. That's the machine Genius just left. Not even five minutes ago. Right before you sat down here."
Genius was not too disappointed to hear that. He came back to take me to a machine that he said was great. I sat down at it and lost $20 within two minutes. And I even know what I'm doing! "Oh. Sorry. It worked for me." Off he went again in search of the penny machines. I joined him there about a half hour later. He and Friend persuaded me to sit down and play one with them. I don't like penny machines. You spend more than you do on the quarters if you bet max. Which you have to do, in order to win more than you lose. Of course I lost another $20, this time in about 5 minutes. I told them the pennies were too rich for me, and left them there. A man was walking away from the cashier, and he stopped by Genius and handed him a ticket. "Here, bud. You can use this." It had a few cents on it, so Genius stuck it in his machine. Maybe THAT'S how he was staying ahead!
We met for lunch at Burger Brothers. Everybody had burgers. What did you think, that we were like my favorite gambling aunt, and ordered Italian sausages, and then complained because they had peppers and onions all over them? Anyhoo...I said I wanted to share fries with somebody. It's a lot of fries. A whole carboard basket like you get the chicken strips in at Dairy Queen. Not crinkle fries, and not shoestring fries, but bigger than a pencil thickness. Like a fat kindergarten pencil. So...Hick goes up to get the order, and there are four burgers and one onion ring and one fry. I said, "Who's sharing the fries with me?" And Genius said, "I asked for fries." And Hick said, "You're sharing them with you mom." Of course, Hick had an order of onion rings all to himself.
Genius was not too happy. I told him I only wanted a few. Maybe a third. Then he was griping at Friend because he took one, and Genius said, "I just GAVE you a whole bunch." Yet the basket was still about 3/4 full in front of Genius. Anyhoo...I ended up giving about half my meager share back to Genius, because of course everybody got done before me. And Genius gave them to Friend. Oh, and Hick and Genius started eating each other's burgers in the beginning, because they couldn't tell the difference between pepper jack and provolone. Finally Hick switched with Genius, after he'd already taken a bite. I got my burger with only a pickle on the side, one of those spears, and mine was the thinnest and limpest of all four of our pickles. Which hardly seems fair, what with me giving up the fries. But nobody volunteered to trade the purveyor of their bankroll a plump pickle. The burger itself was delicious.
"They asked if we wanted soda when we ordered, Mom, but we said no like you told us." Yeah. Because you can bring them in FOR FREE from the casino floor, and they cost $2.40 apiece in the restaurant. We saved $9.60 right there on sodas! Which is important when you're spending millions (okay, not quite that much) of dollars gambling!
After lunch we spent another couple of hours losing our money. Well. Hick did. He lost every penny, like he always does (except for that very next trip). I lost $60, which is more than usual. Friend had about half of his bankroll left. And Genius came out ahead by about $100, plus his entire gambling stake that I gave him. He took his housemates out for dinner than night. Nothing extravagant, I'm sure. He knows a Chinese restaurant where he eats for $6, tax and drink included.
On the way home, Hick made us all go to Goodwill. He didn't actually force us to go, but unless we wanted to get out and walk from the city to Backroads, we had to go. Goodwill was packed. No parking spaces in front, so Hick went down the strip mall a ways and parked in front of a Chinese restaurant. I doubt they had a $6 special. We waited, the boys on their phones, me sitting like an old lady, listening to classic country (driver chooses the radio station) while Hick shopped. He wasn't gone long. He bought a pot. Not to be confused with just pot. It was white with a lid. He put it in the trunk after holding it up for us to admire, so he might have sneaked something else in there for all I know.
Funny how Hick had money to shop at Goodwill, right after I gave him gambling money...
Okay. I'll give you a bargain. I won't even talk about the middle trip, because it was just Hick and me, and I lost $30, and HE WON almost $100.
Early last month, Genius and a friend/housemate who had turned 21 came to take me to the casino. As luck (for them) would have it, they could only come on a Saturday, and Hick was off that particular day, so he became the main driver, and a sucker-up of more of Val's set-aside scratch-off winnings for a gambling stake. Let the record show that I had already planned to bankroll Genius and Friend, since I would never invite a student to go on a recreational outing and pay his own way. That's like inviting a kid to Six Flags, and at the entrance, asking him if he's got money for his ticket. Hick is another matter, since I would just as soon leave him in the Six Flags parking lot all day. But since I might want another gambling trip in the future, I had to fund him as well.
When I gave the boys their money, I told them I did not require a cut of their winnings (such as the deal I have with Genius on his weekly scratch-off tickets). If they wanted to pocket their bankroll and wander around watching others, or save half and gamble half, or blow it on a high stakes machine, it made me no nevermind.
When we walked up to the entrance, the burly attendant squared up and looked past Hick and me. Genius and Friend already had their IDs out. The only other time Genius had been there was last Christmas break, right after he turned 21, and a security guard had followed him around inside and asked for ID.
I though we would split up and meet for lunch, but Genius stuck closer to me (and Friend to him) than he ever had in all his toddler years of Walmart shopping. He played the machine next to me, and one around the corner, and one behind me. All quarter slots. Genius was having fun, hitting small jackpots and free plays, staying about even, and Friend wasn't losing his shirt. Genius walked by and said they was going to walk around and look for the penny machines.
Hick found me and plopped down at the machine next to me. No sooner had he put money in that machine than the bells started going off. NOT on either of our machines! It was the machine behind me that Genius had just left. Of course I was too busy playing to watch the attendant show up to verify and pay the jackpot, but Hick was not.
"That woman just hit 5000 credits. That's $1250."
"Too bad. That's the machine Genius just left. Not even five minutes ago. Right before you sat down here."
Genius was not too disappointed to hear that. He came back to take me to a machine that he said was great. I sat down at it and lost $20 within two minutes. And I even know what I'm doing! "Oh. Sorry. It worked for me." Off he went again in search of the penny machines. I joined him there about a half hour later. He and Friend persuaded me to sit down and play one with them. I don't like penny machines. You spend more than you do on the quarters if you bet max. Which you have to do, in order to win more than you lose. Of course I lost another $20, this time in about 5 minutes. I told them the pennies were too rich for me, and left them there. A man was walking away from the cashier, and he stopped by Genius and handed him a ticket. "Here, bud. You can use this." It had a few cents on it, so Genius stuck it in his machine. Maybe THAT'S how he was staying ahead!
We met for lunch at Burger Brothers. Everybody had burgers. What did you think, that we were like my favorite gambling aunt, and ordered Italian sausages, and then complained because they had peppers and onions all over them? Anyhoo...I said I wanted to share fries with somebody. It's a lot of fries. A whole carboard basket like you get the chicken strips in at Dairy Queen. Not crinkle fries, and not shoestring fries, but bigger than a pencil thickness. Like a fat kindergarten pencil. So...Hick goes up to get the order, and there are four burgers and one onion ring and one fry. I said, "Who's sharing the fries with me?" And Genius said, "I asked for fries." And Hick said, "You're sharing them with you mom." Of course, Hick had an order of onion rings all to himself.
Genius was not too happy. I told him I only wanted a few. Maybe a third. Then he was griping at Friend because he took one, and Genius said, "I just GAVE you a whole bunch." Yet the basket was still about 3/4 full in front of Genius. Anyhoo...I ended up giving about half my meager share back to Genius, because of course everybody got done before me. And Genius gave them to Friend. Oh, and Hick and Genius started eating each other's burgers in the beginning, because they couldn't tell the difference between pepper jack and provolone. Finally Hick switched with Genius, after he'd already taken a bite. I got my burger with only a pickle on the side, one of those spears, and mine was the thinnest and limpest of all four of our pickles. Which hardly seems fair, what with me giving up the fries. But nobody volunteered to trade the purveyor of their bankroll a plump pickle. The burger itself was delicious.
"They asked if we wanted soda when we ordered, Mom, but we said no like you told us." Yeah. Because you can bring them in FOR FREE from the casino floor, and they cost $2.40 apiece in the restaurant. We saved $9.60 right there on sodas! Which is important when you're spending millions (okay, not quite that much) of dollars gambling!
After lunch we spent another couple of hours losing our money. Well. Hick did. He lost every penny, like he always does (except for that very next trip). I lost $60, which is more than usual. Friend had about half of his bankroll left. And Genius came out ahead by about $100, plus his entire gambling stake that I gave him. He took his housemates out for dinner than night. Nothing extravagant, I'm sure. He knows a Chinese restaurant where he eats for $6, tax and drink included.
On the way home, Hick made us all go to Goodwill. He didn't actually force us to go, but unless we wanted to get out and walk from the city to Backroads, we had to go. Goodwill was packed. No parking spaces in front, so Hick went down the strip mall a ways and parked in front of a Chinese restaurant. I doubt they had a $6 special. We waited, the boys on their phones, me sitting like an old lady, listening to classic country (driver chooses the radio station) while Hick shopped. He wasn't gone long. He bought a pot. Not to be confused with just pot. It was white with a lid. He put it in the trunk after holding it up for us to admire, so he might have sneaked something else in there for all I know.
Funny how Hick had money to shop at Goodwill, right after I gave him gambling money...
Saturday, November 5, 2016
Mr. Shocky Needs to Book the Next Flight
Puppy Jack has been a bad, bad boy.
It's bad enough that he chases the chickens, and sometimes pulls out a tail feather. At least he's never killed one. Even though Hick found one dead right beside the chicken house this morning. I saw it there last night when I was giving them water, and I think it's been there a few days, because I smelled something dead the day Hick left.
Anyhoo...at least Jack used to stop, eventually, when we hollered at him for chasing the chickens. That's when he was brazen enough to do it in front of us. One afternoon, I heard such a ruckus from within the concrete walls of my dark basement lair that I thought a massacre was in progress. The chickens get up under the porch, and there was a cacophony of fowl screams. I feared that one of the neighbor dogs had invaded, and actually got up off my ample rumpus and went upstairs to look out.
When I stepped out onto the porch, I heard the chickens squawking and Jack yipping. I hollered at him a couple times, and then a white chicken shot out the opposite end of the porch from where the noise was, and Jack soon followed. I had the BB gun in my hand (from my childhood, not like one of those modern pump-up models) in case it was a neighbor dog. I hollered at Jack to stop. Not in so many words. Just, "JACK! NO!" But he kept going, so I drew a bead on his long little side, and pulled the trigger. Those BBs move so slow out of that old toy that you can watch them fly through the air. You have to aim high, because the BB drops by the time it gets there.
Let the record show that Val is a pretty good shot. That BB hit Jack in his middle, and I swear he jumped straight up in the air, did a 180, and looked in my direction like "WTF?" It has not done anything to stop his chicken-chasing, though, so we are going to go the shock collar route. The sooner the better.
Friday night, Jack took off after one of the guineas, because all the chickens were roosting in the trees. I hollered at him several times. I was even down in the yard, right by him when he took off.
Guineas are not really built for flying, you know. But this annoying guy made it to the porch roof, and then up onto the ridge cap. Jack couldn't figure it out. He ran around and around the porch, barking and looking for it. He's a stubborn little imp.
The guinea (they are noisy, mean birds who grab the chickens by their tail feathers and sling them around, and monopolize any treat such as strawberry tops that you might throw out for the chickens) stayed up there about 20 minutes. I know when he came down, because I was inside the house, and heard a giant THUD on the metal porch roof. I guess he flew to that level, and then on down.
Jack is going to give one of those fowl a heart attack if we don't get him trained.
Let the record show that Jack was unharmed by the shooting incident.
It's bad enough that he chases the chickens, and sometimes pulls out a tail feather. At least he's never killed one. Even though Hick found one dead right beside the chicken house this morning. I saw it there last night when I was giving them water, and I think it's been there a few days, because I smelled something dead the day Hick left.
Anyhoo...at least Jack used to stop, eventually, when we hollered at him for chasing the chickens. That's when he was brazen enough to do it in front of us. One afternoon, I heard such a ruckus from within the concrete walls of my dark basement lair that I thought a massacre was in progress. The chickens get up under the porch, and there was a cacophony of fowl screams. I feared that one of the neighbor dogs had invaded, and actually got up off my ample rumpus and went upstairs to look out.
When I stepped out onto the porch, I heard the chickens squawking and Jack yipping. I hollered at him a couple times, and then a white chicken shot out the opposite end of the porch from where the noise was, and Jack soon followed. I had the BB gun in my hand (from my childhood, not like one of those modern pump-up models) in case it was a neighbor dog. I hollered at Jack to stop. Not in so many words. Just, "JACK! NO!" But he kept going, so I drew a bead on his long little side, and pulled the trigger. Those BBs move so slow out of that old toy that you can watch them fly through the air. You have to aim high, because the BB drops by the time it gets there.
Let the record show that Val is a pretty good shot. That BB hit Jack in his middle, and I swear he jumped straight up in the air, did a 180, and looked in my direction like "WTF?" It has not done anything to stop his chicken-chasing, though, so we are going to go the shock collar route. The sooner the better.
Friday night, Jack took off after one of the guineas, because all the chickens were roosting in the trees. I hollered at him several times. I was even down in the yard, right by him when he took off.
Guineas are not really built for flying, you know. But this annoying guy made it to the porch roof, and then up onto the ridge cap. Jack couldn't figure it out. He ran around and around the porch, barking and looking for it. He's a stubborn little imp.
The guinea (they are noisy, mean birds who grab the chickens by their tail feathers and sling them around, and monopolize any treat such as strawberry tops that you might throw out for the chickens) stayed up there about 20 minutes. I know when he came down, because I was inside the house, and heard a giant THUD on the metal porch roof. I guess he flew to that level, and then on down.
Jack is going to give one of those fowl a heart attack if we don't get him trained.
Let the record show that Jack was unharmed by the shooting incident.
Friday, November 4, 2016
Back-of-the-Book-Blurb Friday #33 "Casino Roy Al"
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, join Val in a cat-and-mouse thriller on the isle of St. Martin. Not to be confused with St. Maarten. Or the Isle of Capri. Or with an actual thriller.
Go peel some fake bills off your fake gambling stake, and use them to fake-purchase Val's latest fake book. Sure, it's a gamble! What ISN'T these days?
Sal Thethicktorian loves the thrill of the chase. Whether it's chasing the elusive jackpot with her gambling addiction, or just chasing her favorite gambling aunt to run over Flo the Progressive Insurance gal first, Sal can't get enough.
When Aunt Mo invited Sal to join her on a casino trip to the island of St. Martin (a sandbar near the southern Missouri border of the Mississippi), Sal accepted. Once there, Sal soon saw that Aunt Mo meant business. She took the fastest Segway for herself, and if Sal wasn't careful, Aunt Mo was going to beat her to the loosest slot machine!
Will Sal and Aunt Mo get caught in a slow-speed chase after a Humpty Dumpty with a melon head riding a Rascal? Will Sal get road rage? Will Aunt Mo become a master sweaver to rival Sal's husband, Nick? Find out in Val Thevictorian's latest release. (148 words)
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A Cat…"This fake book was all over the place, like a laser light on an apartment wall. And like chasing that laser light, I couldn't quite grasp the plot. I've hacked up hairballs that make more sense than Thevictorian's fake book.”
New Minister in Town…"Reading this fake book reminded me of an incident that happened when I first came to look at my new church. A parishioner took a liking to me, and try as I might, I could not avoid her advances. She chased me all around the pulpit, and eventually caught me by the organ. I was mortified! Same as when I read this fake book, although there was nothing organic about it. I pray that Val Thevictorian sees the light, and gives up this ethereal dream of being a writer. And that her career as a fake writer of fake books never sees a revival.”
Mechanical Hare at the Greyhound Track…"Run as fast as you can away from this fake book! I am safer on a slow day than the publisher's investment in Thevictorian's fake thriller. The only thing scary here is the laugh of the almighty dollar as the author chases it as if running in reverse”
Pocketbook on a Fishing Line in the Middle of a Dark Road…"If you put your money into this fake book, you'll be more disappointed than people who stop to pick me up, chase me into the bushes, and realize that I am the prank of local ne'er-do-wells. Thevictorian's talent is about as substantial as my contents."
Storm Chasers…"Fake-reading this fake book was like chasing an F5 tornado, and then finding that it turned out to be a light drizzle. Hopefully, someone can develop a radar detector to warn you about upcoming Thevictorian fake books. When you hear it, go to the basement! And don't come out until the fake book is out of fake print."
Burning Torch Mob..."We have seen an uptick in business since the release of Val Thevictorian's latest fake book. We've even had to order more pitchforks. Fake readers can't call us fast enough to chase Thevictorian out of town. We are also offering the 'riding on a rail' option at a minimal cost. Look us up on Yelp, and see that Thevictorian gets what she deserves."
Go peel some fake bills off your fake gambling stake, and use them to fake-purchase Val's latest fake book. Sure, it's a gamble! What ISN'T these days?
Casino Roy Al, Ocean's Two:
A Big Butt for the Bigger Lady
Sal Thethicktorian loves the thrill of the chase. Whether it's chasing the elusive jackpot with her gambling addiction, or just chasing her favorite gambling aunt to run over Flo the Progressive Insurance gal first, Sal can't get enough.
When Aunt Mo invited Sal to join her on a casino trip to the island of St. Martin (a sandbar near the southern Missouri border of the Mississippi), Sal accepted. Once there, Sal soon saw that Aunt Mo meant business. She took the fastest Segway for herself, and if Sal wasn't careful, Aunt Mo was going to beat her to the loosest slot machine!
Will Sal and Aunt Mo get caught in a slow-speed chase after a Humpty Dumpty with a melon head riding a Rascal? Will Sal get road rage? Will Aunt Mo become a master sweaver to rival Sal's husband, Nick? Find out in Val Thevictorian's latest release. (148 words)
__________________________________________________________________
Fake Reviews
for Val’s Fake Book
A Dog…"I tried and tried to get into this fake book, but it was totally disappointing, and left my head spinning. Thevictorian made me feel like I do after chasing my tail."A Cat…"This fake book was all over the place, like a laser light on an apartment wall. And like chasing that laser light, I couldn't quite grasp the plot. I've hacked up hairballs that make more sense than Thevictorian's fake book.”
New Minister in Town…"Reading this fake book reminded me of an incident that happened when I first came to look at my new church. A parishioner took a liking to me, and try as I might, I could not avoid her advances. She chased me all around the pulpit, and eventually caught me by the organ. I was mortified! Same as when I read this fake book, although there was nothing organic about it. I pray that Val Thevictorian sees the light, and gives up this ethereal dream of being a writer. And that her career as a fake writer of fake books never sees a revival.”
Mechanical Hare at the Greyhound Track…"Run as fast as you can away from this fake book! I am safer on a slow day than the publisher's investment in Thevictorian's fake thriller. The only thing scary here is the laugh of the almighty dollar as the author chases it as if running in reverse”
Pocketbook on a Fishing Line in the Middle of a Dark Road…"If you put your money into this fake book, you'll be more disappointed than people who stop to pick me up, chase me into the bushes, and realize that I am the prank of local ne'er-do-wells. Thevictorian's talent is about as substantial as my contents."
Storm Chasers…"Fake-reading this fake book was like chasing an F5 tornado, and then finding that it turned out to be a light drizzle. Hopefully, someone can develop a radar detector to warn you about upcoming Thevictorian fake books. When you hear it, go to the basement! And don't come out until the fake book is out of fake print."
Burning Torch Mob..."We have seen an uptick in business since the release of Val Thevictorian's latest fake book. We've even had to order more pitchforks. Fake readers can't call us fast enough to chase Thevictorian out of town. We are also offering the 'riding on a rail' option at a minimal cost. Look us up on Yelp, and see that Thevictorian gets what she deserves."
Thursday, November 3, 2016
This Magazine Would NOT Want to Know "Where in the World" This Issue was When the Picture was Snapped
There's another bit of weirdness that happened last week. I've been holding out on you. The upstairs walking and dance-clubbing and bed-flopping have settled down quite a bit while I'm sitting in my basement recliner watching TV. However, I found something out of place in the NASCAR bathroom right next to my dark basement lair.
Let the record show that Val is a night owl. It is rare for her to go upstairs to bed before 2:00 a.m. Some nights it's 3:00 or 3:15. Before going up, I make a pit stop in the NASCAR bathroom. Also let the record show that...um...Val has some reading material available in that room. After all, Hick is rarely down there, so it's kind of like Val's own personal library.
Nothing was amiss when I was last in that facility when I went to bed Sunday night. My mornings start anywhere from 8:00 to 9:30, depending on when I wake up. It's not like I feel the need to set my alarm. It's not like I go to the casino every day. I putter around and head to town by noon. I usually get back downstairs about 1:30.
As you might imagine, a woman of Val's years, taking medication for her blood pressure, and drinking a 44 oz Diet Coke every afternoon, is sure to make use of a NASCAR bathroom every day. Several times. When I was there on Monday afternoon, uhhh...sitting, my eyes were drawn to the counter directly across from my throne. We had it painted by my cousin's wife when we built the house. It's an air-brush rendition of a race track, with various cars. Also on that counter are many of Hick's collection of NASCARs. Hick is like the Bubba Gump of NASCARs. He has big cars and little cars and Hot Wheels cars and Matchbox cars and Racing Champions cars and Winner's Circle cars and Hardee's kid meal cars from the Days of Thunder (forget Tom Cruise, did you know Robert Duvall was in that movie?) era, and clocks, and several signed pictures of Greg Biffle (from tool show appearances), and even a couple of books.
It just so happens that Val had left a magazine on top of one of Hick's model NASCARs. She doesn't read every time she goes in there. That magazine had been sitting for a while, face down on that cardboard-and-heavy-duty-cellophane box. The magazine's position went along with the shape of the box. Both are rectangular. Long sides with long sides. Face down, because that was how I closed it up and laid it over there. Yet now, it was askew!
Sure. That magazine could have slipped off the box. It happens all the time, when something lays with nothing disturbing it, and gravity gradually pulls it a little every day, and then the frictional forces can't hold it anymore. However...friction losing the battle with gravity usually does not result in slippage that rotates and flips the object over.
Pardon the dust. It's been there way before the pages of that magazine were ground into pulp. I feel no sense of urgency to dust Hick's NASCAR memorabilia in a basement bathroom that only I use. And the BandAids have been there since I sliced my thumb along with an onion a while back.
I have no idea what happened to cause this relocation of the magazine. All I know is that it was not like that when I went to bed Sunday night, and it WAS like that on Monday afternoon. That Monday was my sister the ex-mayor's wife's birthday. It was the morning Genius found out his laptop had suffered a malfunction due to housemate coffee, which he texted me around 4:00. There could have been an earthquake, I suppose, that I slept through. Hick was not down there during my waking hours. So I'm not sure what might have caused this periodical to flip.
We did have a situation in that bathroom before, when The Pony was still living at home, with the light coming on by itself. And, as told on my supersecret blog, a certificate and car falling off a shelf in the presence of The Pony.
Anybody know if a poltergeist has a tiny bladder?
Let the record show that Val is a night owl. It is rare for her to go upstairs to bed before 2:00 a.m. Some nights it's 3:00 or 3:15. Before going up, I make a pit stop in the NASCAR bathroom. Also let the record show that...um...Val has some reading material available in that room. After all, Hick is rarely down there, so it's kind of like Val's own personal library.
Nothing was amiss when I was last in that facility when I went to bed Sunday night. My mornings start anywhere from 8:00 to 9:30, depending on when I wake up. It's not like I feel the need to set my alarm. It's not like I go to the casino every day. I putter around and head to town by noon. I usually get back downstairs about 1:30.
As you might imagine, a woman of Val's years, taking medication for her blood pressure, and drinking a 44 oz Diet Coke every afternoon, is sure to make use of a NASCAR bathroom every day. Several times. When I was there on Monday afternoon, uhhh...sitting, my eyes were drawn to the counter directly across from my throne. We had it painted by my cousin's wife when we built the house. It's an air-brush rendition of a race track, with various cars. Also on that counter are many of Hick's collection of NASCARs. Hick is like the Bubba Gump of NASCARs. He has big cars and little cars and Hot Wheels cars and Matchbox cars and Racing Champions cars and Winner's Circle cars and Hardee's kid meal cars from the Days of Thunder (forget Tom Cruise, did you know Robert Duvall was in that movie?) era, and clocks, and several signed pictures of Greg Biffle (from tool show appearances), and even a couple of books.
It just so happens that Val had left a magazine on top of one of Hick's model NASCARs. She doesn't read every time she goes in there. That magazine had been sitting for a while, face down on that cardboard-and-heavy-duty-cellophane box. The magazine's position went along with the shape of the box. Both are rectangular. Long sides with long sides. Face down, because that was how I closed it up and laid it over there. Yet now, it was askew!
Sure. That magazine could have slipped off the box. It happens all the time, when something lays with nothing disturbing it, and gravity gradually pulls it a little every day, and then the frictional forces can't hold it anymore. However...friction losing the battle with gravity usually does not result in slippage that rotates and flips the object over.
Pardon the dust. It's been there way before the pages of that magazine were ground into pulp. I feel no sense of urgency to dust Hick's NASCAR memorabilia in a basement bathroom that only I use. And the BandAids have been there since I sliced my thumb along with an onion a while back.
I have no idea what happened to cause this relocation of the magazine. All I know is that it was not like that when I went to bed Sunday night, and it WAS like that on Monday afternoon. That Monday was my sister the ex-mayor's wife's birthday. It was the morning Genius found out his laptop had suffered a malfunction due to housemate coffee, which he texted me around 4:00. There could have been an earthquake, I suppose, that I slept through. Hick was not down there during my waking hours. So I'm not sure what might have caused this periodical to flip.
We did have a situation in that bathroom before, when The Pony was still living at home, with the light coming on by itself. And, as told on my supersecret blog, a certificate and car falling off a shelf in the presence of The Pony.
Anybody know if a poltergeist has a tiny bladder?
Wednesday, November 2, 2016
Of Moms and Males and Serendipitous Tales
Last week was packed with angst, what with Genius losing the use of his precious laptop on Monday, and Hick planning his upcoming business trip to Sweden for a Saturday departure.
Hick is usually upbeat and looking forward to travel. But the last two times, not so much. I can judge his level of anxiety by the amount of talking he does. I could be talking about something totally unrelated, like the idiosyncrasies of Puppy Jack, and Hick would blurt out something about his trip. He hadn't even left yet, and he was saying he couldn't wait to get home. Like Thursday night, on the front porch giving the dogs their evening snack.
"I'll miss you while I'm in Sweden."
"The animals will miss you. I'll miss you too, but I like it when you're gone."
"I have to switch flights a bunch. And then take the train. I think it'll be night when I take the train. I hope that guy who's supposed to pick me up and take me to the train station is there waiting, because I don't know if my phone will work. Last time it didn't work. I went by the SPRINT store on the way home, twice, and they tell me it will work. But that's what the other kid down here said last time. If my phone doesn't work, and he's not there, I don't know what I'll do."
"I'm sure you could find someone to make a call for you. They do it all the time for people on The Amazing Race. Of course, they have TV cameramen all around them..."
"Yeah. See? I just hope I make it home."
"Why wouldn't you make it home?"
"Planes crash every day..."
"You'll be fine."
"I'm coming home early tomorrow so I can get packed. And go by the pharmacy and make sure I have enough medicine. I'm putting it in my carry on bag with my breather."
So...Hick came home early on Friday afternoon. You know what happens when Hick is here at a different time. It discombobulates me. And the dogs. Every afternoon I go out to walk at 4:30. The dogs come running. They KNOW it's walking time. They jump around and wait for me to stretch out my knees on the steps. Then they run barking up the driveway, jostling and shouldering and play-growling, protecting me from each other, all the while knocking into my legs. After the first 50 feet or so, they run off and I can walk.
Friday afternoon, I came out and didn't see the dogs. I hollered for them several times. "Jack! Juno! Time for our walk!" I'm not saying my dogs are brilliant, but they know the difference between TREAT and WALK, and respond very differently to each word. Still, they didn't come. I stretched my knees and toddled off along Hick's redone same brick sidewalk, and under the carport to the driveway. I heard the Gator.
Here came Hick, dogs running ahead of him. I had to stop to hear what he was saying. If I turn my head while walking on that land-mine of a driveway now, I stumble.
"I'll keep the dogs out of your way!" Uh huh. Hick the knight in green metal armor, gunning the Gator and taking off with my walking buddies. He went up through the yard and down the main gravel road.
One and a half driveways later, here came Jack. He was all wet. He jumped up on my leg once, then pranced around the yard and under the neighbor's fence. I finished my three driveway laps, and was about to start re-stretching on the steps, promising Jack a TREAT of some cat kibble, when Hick came down through the yard on the Gator.
"JACK! JAAACK! Oh! There he is. I thought I'd lost him!" (Yeah. Like the time he lost my Sweet, Sweet Juno for 8 hours and didn't tell me.) "He was down at the creek with us, and then he disappeared."
"You've got our routine all messed up. Here."
Jack had run over to, and under, the picket fence Hick put up across the front sidewalk. Instead of giving him the cat kibble on the side porch, where the pan is, I carried it to the fence. And some for my Sweet, Sweet Juno as well. I reached over and put hers on a flat rock, because she can't squirm under the fence to the sidewalk like Jack.
"I might as well go in the front door now, since I'm already here."
I went to the front steps and put my left foot up on the second step to stretch. Wait a minute! What's that?
A ladybug! Right there on the porch post where I was stretching. Where I NEVER go, because I always go in around by the garage. Except this evening. I got a picture, then it flew off. But I looked again, and there was another one!
I had to chase it around the pole. And in doing so, I found another one on the other side!
Following that one, I found yet another!
I was pretty happy to see these beetles. I had my pictures. I went back down the steps to stretch the other leg. We certainly don't want Val to be unbalanced, now do we? As I leaned over to stretch, something hit me in the back of the head. It was a flying ladybug! Two more went past, up to the eaves. The best I could tell, there were 7 ladybugs flitting around in the area where I never am. Oh, I'm down the porch a ways, sitting on the pew, when I give the dogs their treat. But I have not seen any ladybugs flying around there. Except when Saturday rolled around.
You might remember that Saturday morning, Hick left for the airport, and then I had the T-Hoe oil issue and the A-Cad tire air and near-empty gas tank issue. Once I got back home from all that unpleasantness, it was my job to feed the chickens and guineas and turkey and goat and mini pony. I finished up and gave them water, then I went in to get the evening snack for Puppy Jack and Sweet, Sweet Juno. As I sat there alone on the pew, a ladybug flew over and landed on my shirt. Right above the pocket. In the area you would put your hand over your heart for the singing of the National Anthem if you're patriotic.
(I had a picture of the shirt with the ladybug over the pocket to put here. But since Val is a technology simpleton, blind as a bat without her bifocals, pushing buttons all willy-nilly in excitement on her hand-me-down phone she's only had since August...I took a video instead, and it's too many megabytes for my email, or Sprint Gs, or whatever, and I couldn't send it to myself. If you drop by to take the Hick's Shackytown Amusement Park tour, I can show it to you on my phone. For an extra fee, of course. So take my word for it here: ladybug over the pocket of a yellow-and-white pinstriped oxford shirt.)
I didn't want to squish it, or have it fall down in my pocket and get smashed later. So I flicked it so it could fly away. Which it did, momentarily, then turned around and landed on my finger, and crawled back at me.
Ladybugs seem to like me.
Yeah. I'm crazy. This reminded me of a story my mom told me about 6 months after my dad died. She was used to him taking care of everything with the cars and the house. At the time, they had two cars and a truck. The license was due for renewal on all of them at the same time. So Mom would drive one for the inspection, then take her paperwork to get the license. For three days she did that, even though she could have waited and made one trip to the license office with all three inspection notices. I guess this way was easier for her. It's a small town office, you know. Not a long wait.
Mom was relieved to have that chore finished. It was late in the day, during winter when it's completely dark by 5:00. Fastened to the brick on each side of her 3-car garage was a light in a black metal sconce kind of thing. She had turned them on before she left, because she didn't like to be out at night, and was afraid it might be dark by the time she got home.
"Honey, I was SO glad that was all done! As I started down the driveway, those garage lights blinked off and on twice. I felt like it was your dad telling me, 'You did good.'"
*****************************************************************
UPDATED Nov. 3, 2016 at 1:30 p.m.
This morning I checked my blog, and saw a comment question from blog buddy Lynn. All the way to town (5 miles, 10 minutes) and back, I was thinking of how to answer her question. Briefly. I know. That's hard for Val Thevictorian. So I figured I could link the posts with ladybugs. There were a lot more than I remembered!
Oh, yeah. And when I got home, I found THIS waiting for me on the kitchen door:
So here they are, in chronological order, with a brief description.
1- She Put a Bug in My Ear
March 21, 2014 The original ladybug tale. It's at the end of this post, I swear.
2-Now There's a Little More Slaw in the World For the Rest of Us
February 4, 2015 No ladybugs, just the day Mom passed away.
3-The Mind Makes Mysterious Connections
March 1, 2015 The first ladybug sighting, on The Pony's laptop.
4-I'm Gonna Need a Chart to Keep a Tally
March 7, 2015 Ladybug on the bathroom floor(with William Carlos Williams-type poem)
5-Call Me Crazy, Maybe
March 12, 2015 Ladybug in my car at school.
6-Truth is SO Much Stranger Than Val's Convoluted Tales
March 17, 2015 When a ladybug appeared on Peg Bundy's forehead.
7-Things That Make You Go "WTF?" in the Night
October 23, 2015 A ladybug makes an appearance at parent conference night.
8-An Unexpected Message on Christmas Day
January 4, 2016 A winter ladybug shows up at a family gathering.
9-It's Been a While, But the Message Came Through
June 7, 2016 A ladybug visits me on the porch during worries about The Pony.
10-Maybe It Wasn't Alive, But It Was the Next Best Thing(s)
June 28, 2016 Val sees two ladybugs while taking The Pony on a college visit.
11-Hello, Oklahoma Oil-Driller, Let Me Thank You for Your Time. You Work a 40-Hour Week for a Livin', To Move This Convoy on Down the Line
August 23, 2016 A ladybug sighting again while moving The Pony to Oklahoma for college.
Hick is usually upbeat and looking forward to travel. But the last two times, not so much. I can judge his level of anxiety by the amount of talking he does. I could be talking about something totally unrelated, like the idiosyncrasies of Puppy Jack, and Hick would blurt out something about his trip. He hadn't even left yet, and he was saying he couldn't wait to get home. Like Thursday night, on the front porch giving the dogs their evening snack.
"I'll miss you while I'm in Sweden."
"The animals will miss you. I'll miss you too, but I like it when you're gone."
"I have to switch flights a bunch. And then take the train. I think it'll be night when I take the train. I hope that guy who's supposed to pick me up and take me to the train station is there waiting, because I don't know if my phone will work. Last time it didn't work. I went by the SPRINT store on the way home, twice, and they tell me it will work. But that's what the other kid down here said last time. If my phone doesn't work, and he's not there, I don't know what I'll do."
"I'm sure you could find someone to make a call for you. They do it all the time for people on The Amazing Race. Of course, they have TV cameramen all around them..."
"Yeah. See? I just hope I make it home."
"Why wouldn't you make it home?"
"Planes crash every day..."
"You'll be fine."
"I'm coming home early tomorrow so I can get packed. And go by the pharmacy and make sure I have enough medicine. I'm putting it in my carry on bag with my breather."
So...Hick came home early on Friday afternoon. You know what happens when Hick is here at a different time. It discombobulates me. And the dogs. Every afternoon I go out to walk at 4:30. The dogs come running. They KNOW it's walking time. They jump around and wait for me to stretch out my knees on the steps. Then they run barking up the driveway, jostling and shouldering and play-growling, protecting me from each other, all the while knocking into my legs. After the first 50 feet or so, they run off and I can walk.
Friday afternoon, I came out and didn't see the dogs. I hollered for them several times. "Jack! Juno! Time for our walk!" I'm not saying my dogs are brilliant, but they know the difference between TREAT and WALK, and respond very differently to each word. Still, they didn't come. I stretched my knees and toddled off along Hick's redone same brick sidewalk, and under the carport to the driveway. I heard the Gator.
Here came Hick, dogs running ahead of him. I had to stop to hear what he was saying. If I turn my head while walking on that land-mine of a driveway now, I stumble.
"I'll keep the dogs out of your way!" Uh huh. Hick the knight in green metal armor, gunning the Gator and taking off with my walking buddies. He went up through the yard and down the main gravel road.
One and a half driveways later, here came Jack. He was all wet. He jumped up on my leg once, then pranced around the yard and under the neighbor's fence. I finished my three driveway laps, and was about to start re-stretching on the steps, promising Jack a TREAT of some cat kibble, when Hick came down through the yard on the Gator.
"JACK! JAAACK! Oh! There he is. I thought I'd lost him!" (Yeah. Like the time he lost my Sweet, Sweet Juno for 8 hours and didn't tell me.) "He was down at the creek with us, and then he disappeared."
"You've got our routine all messed up. Here."
Jack had run over to, and under, the picket fence Hick put up across the front sidewalk. Instead of giving him the cat kibble on the side porch, where the pan is, I carried it to the fence. And some for my Sweet, Sweet Juno as well. I reached over and put hers on a flat rock, because she can't squirm under the fence to the sidewalk like Jack.
"I might as well go in the front door now, since I'm already here."
I went to the front steps and put my left foot up on the second step to stretch. Wait a minute! What's that?
A ladybug! Right there on the porch post where I was stretching. Where I NEVER go, because I always go in around by the garage. Except this evening. I got a picture, then it flew off. But I looked again, and there was another one!
I had to chase it around the pole. And in doing so, I found another one on the other side!
Following that one, I found yet another!
I was pretty happy to see these beetles. I had my pictures. I went back down the steps to stretch the other leg. We certainly don't want Val to be unbalanced, now do we? As I leaned over to stretch, something hit me in the back of the head. It was a flying ladybug! Two more went past, up to the eaves. The best I could tell, there were 7 ladybugs flitting around in the area where I never am. Oh, I'm down the porch a ways, sitting on the pew, when I give the dogs their treat. But I have not seen any ladybugs flying around there. Except when Saturday rolled around.
You might remember that Saturday morning, Hick left for the airport, and then I had the T-Hoe oil issue and the A-Cad tire air and near-empty gas tank issue. Once I got back home from all that unpleasantness, it was my job to feed the chickens and guineas and turkey and goat and mini pony. I finished up and gave them water, then I went in to get the evening snack for Puppy Jack and Sweet, Sweet Juno. As I sat there alone on the pew, a ladybug flew over and landed on my shirt. Right above the pocket. In the area you would put your hand over your heart for the singing of the National Anthem if you're patriotic.
(I had a picture of the shirt with the ladybug over the pocket to put here. But since Val is a technology simpleton, blind as a bat without her bifocals, pushing buttons all willy-nilly in excitement on her hand-me-down phone she's only had since August...I took a video instead, and it's too many megabytes for my email, or Sprint Gs, or whatever, and I couldn't send it to myself. If you drop by to take the Hick's Shackytown Amusement Park tour, I can show it to you on my phone. For an extra fee, of course. So take my word for it here: ladybug over the pocket of a yellow-and-white pinstriped oxford shirt.)
I didn't want to squish it, or have it fall down in my pocket and get smashed later. So I flicked it so it could fly away. Which it did, momentarily, then turned around and landed on my finger, and crawled back at me.
Ladybugs seem to like me.
Yeah. I'm crazy. This reminded me of a story my mom told me about 6 months after my dad died. She was used to him taking care of everything with the cars and the house. At the time, they had two cars and a truck. The license was due for renewal on all of them at the same time. So Mom would drive one for the inspection, then take her paperwork to get the license. For three days she did that, even though she could have waited and made one trip to the license office with all three inspection notices. I guess this way was easier for her. It's a small town office, you know. Not a long wait.
Mom was relieved to have that chore finished. It was late in the day, during winter when it's completely dark by 5:00. Fastened to the brick on each side of her 3-car garage was a light in a black metal sconce kind of thing. She had turned them on before she left, because she didn't like to be out at night, and was afraid it might be dark by the time she got home.
"Honey, I was SO glad that was all done! As I started down the driveway, those garage lights blinked off and on twice. I felt like it was your dad telling me, 'You did good.'"
*****************************************************************
UPDATED Nov. 3, 2016 at 1:30 p.m.
This morning I checked my blog, and saw a comment question from blog buddy Lynn. All the way to town (5 miles, 10 minutes) and back, I was thinking of how to answer her question. Briefly. I know. That's hard for Val Thevictorian. So I figured I could link the posts with ladybugs. There were a lot more than I remembered!
Oh, yeah. And when I got home, I found THIS waiting for me on the kitchen door:
So here they are, in chronological order, with a brief description.
1- She Put a Bug in My Ear
March 21, 2014 The original ladybug tale. It's at the end of this post, I swear.
2-Now There's a Little More Slaw in the World For the Rest of Us
February 4, 2015 No ladybugs, just the day Mom passed away.
3-The Mind Makes Mysterious Connections
March 1, 2015 The first ladybug sighting, on The Pony's laptop.
4-I'm Gonna Need a Chart to Keep a Tally
March 7, 2015 Ladybug on the bathroom floor(with William Carlos Williams-type poem)
5-Call Me Crazy, Maybe
March 12, 2015 Ladybug in my car at school.
6-Truth is SO Much Stranger Than Val's Convoluted Tales
March 17, 2015 When a ladybug appeared on Peg Bundy's forehead.
7-Things That Make You Go "WTF?" in the Night
October 23, 2015 A ladybug makes an appearance at parent conference night.
8-An Unexpected Message on Christmas Day
January 4, 2016 A winter ladybug shows up at a family gathering.
9-It's Been a While, But the Message Came Through
June 7, 2016 A ladybug visits me on the porch during worries about The Pony.
10-Maybe It Wasn't Alive, But It Was the Next Best Thing(s)
June 28, 2016 Val sees two ladybugs while taking The Pony on a college visit.
11-Hello, Oklahoma Oil-Driller, Let Me Thank You for Your Time. You Work a 40-Hour Week for a Livin', To Move This Convoy on Down the Line
August 23, 2016 A ladybug sighting again while moving The Pony to Oklahoma for college.
Tuesday, November 1, 2016
Look For Val on the Innernets Near You
Yikes! Val Thevictorian is now one of THOSE PEOPLE! The Persons of Walmart!
Don't be judging Val on her sartorial selection. Even her favorite gambling aunt tells her she needs to get some new clothes, but Val is a procrastinator, and rarely goes anywhere besides the gas station chicken store and Walmart, and is quite comfortable in her wardrobe that has become roomy as a result of Val making wise choices. The fact that her clothing fits her like a Sharpei's skin makes no nevermind to Val.
But that's not the reason you may see her on a website that ridicules the Persons of Walmart. Nope. Val's inclusion would not be due to an assault on the eyes inside the store, but rather an assault to the sensibilities outside the store.
I have become one of those people who work on their car in the Walmart parking lot!
I KNOW! I'm not proud. It had to be done. In full view of some middle-aged bake sale moms. Just my luck that I had scored a prime parking spot by the doors, the first one next to the handicap space. Those bake sale moms could have consumed their own wares, and enjoyed snacks and a show.
Let the record show that T-Hoe, according to Hick, holds 5.5 quarts of oil. I had poured in one Saturday afternoon to silence the alarm that commanded me to shut off the engine. On the advice of HOS, who said the dipstick showed no oil whatsoever, I was planning to add two more. But, being an overachiever, I bought four quarts of Pennzoil 5W-30 while I was in Walmart. That's because, on the way there, that oil gauge went all wonky again, and dipped down to alarm levels, though thankfully the chime remained mute.
I had a couple of other stops to make, and was leery of driving T-Hoe without infusing more fluids into him. Since I had left my yellow plastic funnel at home, I also bought another plastic funnel. Blue. I knew there was no alternative but to pour oil into T-Hoe before I left the Walmart parking lot.
I unloaded the groceries from the cart, pushed it to the nearest concrete signpost to join a bevy of other carts (their cart corrals are too few and far between), and propped open T-Hoe's hood. I opened up the cap for the oil thingy and jammed in the blue funnel. I figured I'd pour in one quart and see how it went. Huh. It went fast! So I got another. I was in the midst of pouring that one in when a man walked right by. Like...inches away from me. He was on the way to his vehicle, conveniently parked right next to T-Hoe!
"Having trouble?"
Normally, Val would eschew the small talk with strangers, since in the past, it has only led her down the twisty trail to Weirdoville. But this guy looked like Robert Duvall with white hair and a wonky eye. Val is a sucker for Robert Duvall! This guy even talked like him. Though I regret to report that I kept gazing into the wonky eye, thinking it was the seeing one.
I explained my predicament, assured Bob (I'm sure he wouldn't mind me calling him that) that I had things under control, and chatted about the engines of Chevys from 2008-2010, his unimpressedness with Acadias (he rode in one once), and his son-in-law's 2010 Chevy pickup with only 39,000 miles on it that eats oil like an emmer-effer. My words, not Bob's. He was quite the gentleman, speaking to me from behind the wheel of his white-with-wide-blue-stripes 1980s conversion van. I didn't catch the make or model.
I was happy to have companionship while I performed my auto maintenance on Walmart's parking lot. It made me feel like not such a spectacle.
If you see a picture of me on social media, please pretend that you don't know me. And whatever you do, don't LIKE it or RE-TWEET it or make it GO VIRAL.
Thank you.
Don't be judging Val on her sartorial selection. Even her favorite gambling aunt tells her she needs to get some new clothes, but Val is a procrastinator, and rarely goes anywhere besides the gas station chicken store and Walmart, and is quite comfortable in her wardrobe that has become roomy as a result of Val making wise choices. The fact that her clothing fits her like a Sharpei's skin makes no nevermind to Val.
But that's not the reason you may see her on a website that ridicules the Persons of Walmart. Nope. Val's inclusion would not be due to an assault on the eyes inside the store, but rather an assault to the sensibilities outside the store.
I have become one of those people who work on their car in the Walmart parking lot!
I KNOW! I'm not proud. It had to be done. In full view of some middle-aged bake sale moms. Just my luck that I had scored a prime parking spot by the doors, the first one next to the handicap space. Those bake sale moms could have consumed their own wares, and enjoyed snacks and a show.
Let the record show that T-Hoe, according to Hick, holds 5.5 quarts of oil. I had poured in one Saturday afternoon to silence the alarm that commanded me to shut off the engine. On the advice of HOS, who said the dipstick showed no oil whatsoever, I was planning to add two more. But, being an overachiever, I bought four quarts of Pennzoil 5W-30 while I was in Walmart. That's because, on the way there, that oil gauge went all wonky again, and dipped down to alarm levels, though thankfully the chime remained mute.
I had a couple of other stops to make, and was leery of driving T-Hoe without infusing more fluids into him. Since I had left my yellow plastic funnel at home, I also bought another plastic funnel. Blue. I knew there was no alternative but to pour oil into T-Hoe before I left the Walmart parking lot.
I unloaded the groceries from the cart, pushed it to the nearest concrete signpost to join a bevy of other carts (their cart corrals are too few and far between), and propped open T-Hoe's hood. I opened up the cap for the oil thingy and jammed in the blue funnel. I figured I'd pour in one quart and see how it went. Huh. It went fast! So I got another. I was in the midst of pouring that one in when a man walked right by. Like...inches away from me. He was on the way to his vehicle, conveniently parked right next to T-Hoe!
"Having trouble?"
Normally, Val would eschew the small talk with strangers, since in the past, it has only led her down the twisty trail to Weirdoville. But this guy looked like Robert Duvall with white hair and a wonky eye. Val is a sucker for Robert Duvall! This guy even talked like him. Though I regret to report that I kept gazing into the wonky eye, thinking it was the seeing one.
I explained my predicament, assured Bob (I'm sure he wouldn't mind me calling him that) that I had things under control, and chatted about the engines of Chevys from 2008-2010, his unimpressedness with Acadias (he rode in one once), and his son-in-law's 2010 Chevy pickup with only 39,000 miles on it that eats oil like an emmer-effer. My words, not Bob's. He was quite the gentleman, speaking to me from behind the wheel of his white-with-wide-blue-stripes 1980s conversion van. I didn't catch the make or model.
I was happy to have companionship while I performed my auto maintenance on Walmart's parking lot. It made me feel like not such a spectacle.
If you see a picture of me on social media, please pretend that you don't know me. And whatever you do, don't LIKE it or RE-TWEET it or make it GO VIRAL.
Thank you.
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