The Weekly Centses Report

Ha ha! Fortune has found Val once again. In a big way.

TUESDAY, which was Fourth of July Eve...I was caught unawares by a penny in Orb K.

I only spotted it on the way out, so I'm thinking it was dropped by the guy who paid ahead of me, and received a handful of change. As you can see...Orb K still seems to have a problem keeping their merchandise stocked. Looks like more people enjoy the mini donuts than the energy drinks that are never in short supply. Don't worry that I missed a dime off to the left. That was a blob of something gumlike.

Once again, I was mooned by a penny showing me its tail. This one was a 2013.

I was thrilled to find a penny so early in the week. Pressure OFF! Resting on my early laurel, I was shocked to discover a NICKEL on the parking lot of The Gas Station Chicken Store later that same day, in my Tuesday travels.

As with the penny, this nickel was not there when I went inside. I would have seen it as I climbed out of T-Hoe, because I spotted this nickel when I had already climbed back IN T-Hoe, and was reaching to close the door. You can bet I hopped down and took my picture.

It was another unfortunate Thomas Jefferson likeness. A 2010, which nearly burned my fingers due to the blazing sun and 107-degree heat index. I suppose a car could have parked by me while I was inside. When I went in, there was just a truck at the diesel pump way over there. I doubt they drove by, tossing coins out the window like candy in a parade.
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WEDNESDAY, the actual Fourth of July, was also a good day for penny-picking. I was gathering my scratchers off the counter of Casey's when I saw this gem in the corner on the way out.

Looks like some former employees of Orb K must have been hired by Casey's, and have been busy not-stocking the shelves! There's no excuse for this, since Tuesday is truck day, when supplies arrive.

The most HORRIBLE thing about finding this face-up 1991 penny is that I couldn't reach it back in the corner, so I used my scratchers to drag it forward, and I DIDN'T NOTICE THE HAIR WAD until after I got home and put the picture on my New Delly! Even more horrible... sometimes, if I need both hands for fishing out my keys, or holding my phone...I put my scratchers between my teeth momentarily. I'm sure I didn't do it on that day. Pretty sure...
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THIS JUST IN--
In keeping with the recent tradition, a penny has found me scant hours before this pre-typed post was scheduled to publish. SATURDAY, the Seventh of July, I saw this in Orb K:

No, not the well-stocked energy supplements. Don't you think somebody who partook of them could write about more exciting stuff than finding pennies?

I'm talkin' about that face-down 2000 penny trying to blend in with the floor. I exposed the poor dude behind me (probably wanting to buy those energy supplements) to my ample rumpus as I got pics to show it happened, and harvested my last-minute crop. Now I'll have to update my running tally...
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For 2018: Pennies  # 53, 54, 55.
For 2018: Dimes  still at # 10.
For 2018: Nickels  # 4.

Since 2017 (the beginning), this was Penny # 131, 132, 133.
Since 2017 (the beginning), this is still Dime # 16.
Since 2017 (the beginning), this was Nickel # 4.
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20 Is the New 50

Miles per hour speed limit, we hope.

There's a lady out here who drives REALLY FAST. I'd say at least 50 mph, on the gravel roads. She kicks up a big cloud of dust, and you don't want to run into her. Literally, OR figuratively. She's a lawyer's wife, so probably thinks he can get her out of any accident she causes. I don't even know her. Just her car. But I know to get out of the way of it. And that it looks pretty much like a newer version of T-Hoe. I don't wanna be gettin' any unnecessary hate, just because people might mistake my car for hers.

The other day, Hick and the neighbors were on their Facebook page, discussing either the power outage or the flooded road or a new trash service that some are switching to or the general state of our gravel roads. One person ventured to say, "SOME people need to slow down!" And quite a few others, including Hick, agreed.

Of course Speedy Momzales was on there, too. "Are you talking about ME?"

And they all said, "YES!"

To which Speedy Momzales replied, "I didn't see any speed limit signs."

The neighbors don't really have an ax to grind with her. They like her well enough. But the speeding is out of hand. I think they're ready to form a mob and march over to her house with flaming torches and pitchforks. Supplied (for a nominal, yet profitable, fee) by Hick.

Hick talked to the ex-mayor my sister's husband about getting a speed limit sign. He's got pull like that, you know, as an ex-mayor. He talked to the guy who's in charge of the street department. I guess they had some used signs laying around, because a couple days later, Ex-Mayor found one propped up against his garage. Hick went to pick it up, and put it on the hill leading up our branch of the road.

I think it would better have been placed farther along, because this location is a few yards off the lumpy blacktop that Hick and Buddy used to pave the hill, and nobody, not even Speedy Momzales, goes over 10 mph there, because they would rip the bottom out of their vehicles.

Anyhoo...Hick was out in the BARn field the other day, and Speedy Momzales stopped (which I imagine involved a spray of gravel) and asked, "Did you put that sign up for ME?"

"YES!" Hick is more optimistic than I. It's not like anybody is going to enforce that sign. A message has clearly been sent (over and over) from the other residents to Speedy Momzales. I don't think she's the type to be shamed into acceptable behavior.

ALTERNATE TITLE: Speed Limit Sighs
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Funny thing about why this post was so late. Funny peculiar, not funny ha-ha.

I have been typing them up the day before. Usually later in the evening. I set them to publish automatically the next day, by clicking the date on the little calendar, and changing the hour, usually making it in the afternoon.

Well. This one slipped by me. I'd already set the date, but forgot about the time, and as I was hitting PUBLISH to make it schedule itself for the next day (always handy when the power has been going off due to thunderstorms), I saw that the time it was set to publish was 11:11 p.m.

That's too late. But I was already off to work on my supersecret blog, and didn't want to log back in. I made a mental note to change it the next morning. Of course I forgot my mental note, in a hurry to mail my boys' weekly letters before the mail went out.

Sooo...I didn't even see it hadn't published until after 9:00 p.m. tonight, when I started the post for Saturday. WHOOPSIE, I said to myself, after hours of semi-cursing people who couldn't even be bothered to read my blog on a Friday night and leave a comment wondering why nobody was leaving a comment. I changed it to post automatically, and hit publish. 

An hour later, after getting that Saturday post all ready, I looked at my page of posts, only to see that along with the new one, this SAME post was STILL SCHEDULED for 11:11 p.m. Well, that wasn't even an hour off by now, but I wanted to get this jewel out there on the innernets. So I again changed it to publish automatically, and hit PUBLISH, only to see that schedule change back to the 11:11 p.m.

What in the NOT-HEAVEN? I changed it AGAIN to AUTOMATIC. Looked at it sternly after I hit the DONE button. And it stayed. And then published went I hit PUBLISH.

Something fishy is going on here.
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Highways Are for Farting, Back Roads Are for Drinking

Don't think you're getting off easy after Tuesday's tale of our return trip from the casino. There's more to the story.

It takes us 60 minutes of highway driving, and 30 more on winding blacktop roads, to get home. On the way down there, I take a book. I can't read it on the winding part, because Hick tosses me to and fro while driving at maximum speed on the blacktop. But once we hit the highway, he sets the cruise control at 73, and turns up the radio. A country station, of course, and sings along.

On the way back, I couldn't read because of darkness. Oh, I COULD have. Hick says turning on the inside light doesn't bother him, but it bothers me, so I leave it off. We all know Hick could do with one less distraction. Even though I could barely speak, what with inhaling the noxious fumes from Hick's booty-ly emissions...I did try to make conversation. That's because I didn't want Hick to fall asleep. He's not used to staying up so late. We didn't leave the parking lot until 11:15.

Once we made the turn-off onto the winding two-lane blacktop, I got a death grip on the OH BLEEP handle that's above the passenger side door. That's necessary for riding with Hick on two-lane winding blacktop after midnight. At first, I thought Hick was being extra-conservative with his speed. But then we started hitting the wake-up bumps on the non-shoulder. This one didn't have any for the center line. It barely had a center line. So I had to stay extra-alert to alert Hick to when he was driving down the middle.

"You're DRIVING DOWN THE MIDDLE!"

"I know that, Val."

"Well. Don't you think maybe you SHOULDN'T?"

"It's fine. Why don't you just ride?"

"Because we're GOING DOWN THE MIDDLE!"

Part of the reason for that might have been that Hick seemed to be driving with one hand. He was up to something with his left hand. I couldn't really see it in the glow from the dashboard. He wasn't sticking it in his ear to dig out wax, because he did that with his right hand. This was furtive. Like he was reaching down in the door pocket.

"WHAT are you doing? Can you at least drive with BOTH hands while we're on this road?"

"I'm opening a bottle of water, Val."

"Right NOW? Couldn't you have done that while you were on the nice straight highway?"

"I wasn't thirsty then."

You know that you can't open a water bottle with one hand, right? At least not initially. It takes TWO hands. So Hick was actually driving with only the side of his right hand, while loosening the cap with his fingers, and holding the bottle with his left hand. I volunteered to open the bottle for him, but Hick declined. Can you believe it?

Oh, but once the water bottle was open...you know what THAT means, right?  Hick TILTED HIS HEAD BACK TO SWIG FROM THE BOTTLE! Which meant that we might be turning one way in a curve as he started swigging, but suddenly needed to be turning the other way when he stopped swigging. And let's not even talk about oncoming traffic.

Okay, let's DO.

"I can't believe all the traffic on this road after midnight!"

"We have only passed four cars."

"But at this time of night? WHOA! That one was in the middle!"

"He was probably taking a drink of water."

"Yeah. Probably."

When I get my proposed handbasket factory up and running, and Hick's Shackytown and Amusement Park in business...I think adrenaline junkies would pay a pretty penny to go on one of Hick's Midnight Rides.

Dodging the Orb

Monday, I was reconciling my checkbook balance with the automated phone line. I'm meticulous about writing down my debit card purchases, and I'm the one who writes all the checks. But Hick is a bit lax in forking over his random receipts.

Hick is supposed to be on a short leash with the debit card. We each have a cash allowance every week for whatever we see fit to spend it on. Like gas, or meals, or 44 oz Diet Cokes, or scratchers, or Goodwill, or auctions. We only use one credit card, and that's for online purchases, or trips to Oklahoma. So there's really no reason that I should have to worry about Hick using the debit card and messing up my record-keeping.

You know how that goes.

Every week, I call that automated line and mark off the debit amounts in the checkbook register. When I get a purchase that's not showing, I have to make a note of it, and ask Hick. The only thing he's really supposed to use that debit for is doctor/pharmacy/feed store. Otherwise, he needs to let me know. Like if he's going to Lowe's for themed-shed materials.

Anyhoo...on Monday, there was a $40 charge from a gas station. That's a no-no. Hick has allowance money for that. Besides, he usually gets his gas at Casey's, and the recording only said 'a gas station.' I knew it wasn't ME, because I always pay cash, since I don't know how to use a card at the pump when I get my fuel. I knew that it wasn't from our casino trip, because the debit wouldn't work there, and Hick put it on the credit card. So...I had a mystery charge on the debit for gas.

"Did you charge $40 for gas?"

"Oh. Yeah. At Orb K."

"Well, you have your allowance for gas."

"I know. It'll be that money I was going to need for the tree-trimmers."

"Okay. Then I'm not giving you money for the tree-trimmers."

"That's fine. I had to get gas for the auction. My buddy's car is in the shop. He got some bad gas! We didn't think we were going to make it home the other night. It started putt-putting, and would hardly go. He found out it had water in the tank. It's gonna cost him $700-800 to get it fixed."

"Wow. Where'd he get the gas?"

"At Orb K."

"YOU got gas at ORB K!"

"I know. But I got the regular. He had the super. They had those pumps closed off when I went, the super and mid-grade. With EPA stickers on them. I just thought they were checking the pumps. Seventeen people messed up their cars with that gas! Orb K has to pay!"

"What are they going to do, give them a check?"

"No. They're going to pay the repair bill. For 17 people. My buddy can prove he bought the gas there, because he used his credit card."

"Good thing you buy the cheap gas."

Yeah. I'm glad Hick is cheap. But I'm pretty sure he was going to have his hand out for money to pay those tree-trimmers, except that I caught him in his scam. He can pay his own auction gas, out of his Storage Unit Store fortune.

The Stinky Journey of 87 Miles Begins With a Single Fart

I did not have a pleasant ride home from the casino Saturday night. You'd think Hick was afraid of suffering from methanmysitisis. Yeah. That's a made-up disease, like Seinfeld's uromysitisis, when he was caught peeing in the parking garage. Except the danger Hick is avoiding is exploding from methane gas backed up from not farting, rather than urine backed up from not peeing. I swear. I don't know how you guys walk around with those things. And by things, I mean EXCUSES!

I should have known I was in trouble when Hick leaned over the steering wheel of A-Cad, his chin almost touching. When he gets that kind of leverage for lifting his own ample rumpus off the seat, I know what's coming.

"WHEW! You're killing me. That stinks SO BAD!!!"

"Val. It's just a fart."

"I KNOW that! Now I have to breathe it. It STINKS!"

 "Your farts stink, too."

"The difference is, I don't let mine out in the car so you're trapped with it. I don't know why you can't hold it. What are you, a toddler?"

"No, Val. I'm not a toddler. It's just a fart."

"I shouldn't have to breathe it the rest of the way home."

"There you go. Why can't you just sit there and ride?"

"Because I'm choking to death on your fart."

"You don't travel well."

"Traveling should not include breathing other people's farts. Don't you have any self-control? Why do you think that's normal, to do that in the car?"

"It's just a fart."

Yeah. Would Hick have done that with the ex-mayor my sister's husband riding behind him? I don't think so. But because it's only Val, he sees no need to control his gaseous emissions. Would Hick have tooted if Her Majesty the Queen was riding behind him? Probably. Because she's ONLY a woman, and of course we just have to deal with manly eccentricities. They're entitled. We are not.

I guess I should count myself lucky that Hick didn't have a salad with onions at the buffet, or I would have gotten the belch/fart combo.

A Saturday Night Out With Thevictorians

Saturday night, Hick and I went to the casino. Hick wanted to go. Not that I was going to refuse! We are not Saturday night casino people. We go at off hours, in the daytime. But Hick wanted this time because of the grand prize drawing. It was a $15,000 home makeover from Menards. OR $10,000 in cash.

"Are you sure you want to go? The drawing isn't until 11:00. Then we have to drive home. It won't bother ME, because I'm up at that time anyway. But you're not used to it. We won't get back until almost 1:00."

"I'll be fine. I want a chance at that drawing."

"We're not going to win."

"I never thought you'd win that $100 drawing, either!"

"Oh, so the pressure is all on ME to win!"

"Nah. I have three chances. And we'll probably earn more while we're there."

So...off we went, Hick with his three chances, and me with my four. There were other drawings, one or two per hour, from 6:00 to 11:00. Even with a stop at Goodwill, and to get gas in A-Cad, we arrived by 5:45. Of course there was a bigger crowd than we find on Monday afternoons.

The first order of Hick's business was to go directly to the bin, to deposit our chances in the drawing. They were on little papers, like receipts. We'd only been twice (!) this month, and the first time nobody gave us our chances, even though they were given out every day in June. One per day, and more, depending on how much you played. The instructions were to bring them back on Saturday, the last day of the month, to enter the drawing.

Hick was all excited to put in his chances. Until he got behind a guy who was putting in HIS chances. He had a brown paper grocery sack full of them, tossing in handfuls at a time. I was wishing Hick would turn around, so I could give him my I TOLD YOU SO look. But he didn't. We finally put in our chances, and Hick said, "That's just crazy! There's no way we can win if people do that!"

"I know. But think how much money he had to spend to get that many tickets. He could have paid for his own home makeover, and had a sure thing."

When they started announcing the other prizes, I was not impressed. An air fryer. A $100 gift card for Menards. A deep freeze. $100 cash. $500 cash. Okay, the $500 cash was worth it. But the others...not worth it to me, to be there crammed in with all those annoying gamblers. Who took up the machines I wanted to play. Hick, not so much, because he just sits down at one and puts his money in. He doesn't care if it's a slot he knows, or how to play it. I have my favorites, and when I don't get them, I'd just as soon leave. Really.

Anyhoo...we headed for the buffet right after the first drawing. It cost more because it was steak and prime rib night. As we were ordering, the guy asked if we wanted to check our points, to see if we had some to comp the meal. Here's the thing. The last time we did that, Hick complained that his point total went down. THIS time, Hick had $3 and change that he could have used for the meal, but he said no. My card had $11 worth of meal money. I hadn't used mine last time. I prefer to take it back as cash, and gamble with it. But Hick said quickly, "Yeah, we'll use that one." SEE WHAT HE DID? Hick used my comp money to pay for part of our meal. But not his. He's a sly one, Mr. Hick.

The buffet was tasty. I particularly enjoyed the fish. I don't know what kind of fish it was, but it had a cornmeal batter. The orange chicken actually had chicken in it this time. I made an excruciating faux pas at the fried chicken station. What I thought was a thigh turned out to be some kind of freakish almost-breast, like a hank of white meat on ribs. So I guess I had mostly a back portion. Which was dry. I also had some of the brisket, which was tender and flavorful. No big tray of cake to go under my ice cream this time. But I would rate the meal a success.

We hurried back into the casino for the 7:00 drawing. Let the record show that we did not win. Anything. All night. I lost a bundle, and Hick played for 4 hours on $60. That's incredible! He's much thriftier when he spends his OWN money.

I'm guessing it was the guy with the paper sack of entries who won the Menards Makeover. Hick said a lady sitting by him said, "That guy wins every drawing they have here."

Horror of horrors...when we were waiting in line to get into the buffet, Hick pointed out a sign on the desk that said the buffet would be closed on Mondays and Tuesdays, starting in July! I don't know what we'll do now. We like Old People Mondays, because it's easy to get on the machines we like. However, part of the draw is eating at the buffet, with our $10 each Old People Food Credit.

I guess we'll have to eat somewhere else, or go on a different day and pay full price for food. Such a terrible problem to have.

Some Days You're the Garage Floor, Some Days You're the Alfredo Sauce

Friday was not a good day for Val.

Actually, Val had a bonus extra-long day of 27.5 hours, because the not-goodness started Thursday night at 8:12, when Even Steven decided to derail the best-laid plans of Val. It was the second night of the Big Brother season. Part II of the two-part premiere. The Pony and I used to watch together, and this show makes me miss him all the more. I'd sent him a text Wednesday, reminding him of Part I of the premiere, and he said he was planning to watch it with a friend, and order in pizza. I was DVRing it myself, to watch around 11:00.

Anyhoo...Thursday evening, I sent The Pony another text, that I could watch in real time, if he wanted us to text comments during commercials. He was down for that. So I went to my OPC (Old People Chair) at 8:00, to begin watching my program. Of course I'd set my DVR in a manner not conducive to live watching. It's not like I have The Hopper. I can only record two shows at once. I'd chosen Bringing Up Bates, on the UP channel, and Big Brother. Sometimes I like to rewind to confirm something I miss. BUT the Bates show was recording on the channel I had to watch live. So I waited until first commercial, and canceled both recordings, setting them up on opposite recording DVR thingies.

I'd just started watching Big Brother live when OUR DISH WENT DOWN. That's due to weather. Severe thunderstorms. We were in the red area on the weather map, I saw from watching the recording of the first 12 minutes of my show, on the tiny radar map inset at the bottom of the screen. Of course that put the kibosh on bonding with The Pony. He DID try to fill me in on key points.

At 9:05, I regained DISH service. Great! Now I could watch the second half with The Pony. But no. Because Thursday's show was only an HOUR, not two hours, like Part I on Wednesday. But never fear! The Pony texted me: "Wanna hear nominations?"

"Yes!"

Six minutes later, I still had no response. "Oh. Was that just a question, and you don't plan to tell me?" After 30 more minutes, I finally got more info.

"Sorry. I started working on a presentation. It was Sam and Steve. The robot girl and the cop."

The next morning, I was up bright and early, to drive the boys' weekly letters to the main post office, and make a mobile deposit for The Pony's monthly allowance. Except the app for making a mobile deposit didn't work. That's another story in itself.

I set to getting ready for town. While filling up my purple mini bubba cup with ice water to take along, I knocked it off the cutting block. After filling, of course. Do you know how many crescent-shaped ice cubes from FRIG II that my mini bubba cup holds? That's 17. I know, because I counted each one as I roamed the kitchen, picking them up off the floor.

Before getting in T-Hoe, I had to fetch the big green trash dumpster from the end of the driveway. The day wasn't going to get any cooler than the current 86 degrees. I might have blacked out momentarily on the way back. There were a couple of minutes I couldn't account for.

I was nearly to the low-water bridge when the Poop Truck came barreling down the other side and forced me to put T-Hoe's right-side tires dangerously close to the 2-foot drop-off at the edge of the blacktop. The Poop Truck stops for no one! It's like a septic tank cleaner truck, with a tank full of poop. Hick told me about it. It makes 3 or 4 runs a day, to a field up off a side road, and dumps poop from the prison. That's what Hick says. Of course I have no way to verify it, although I DO see the Poop Truck and where it goes. I can't believe that's legal, or that the prison doesn't have a better sort of waste disposal system.

Stopping at Orb K to get scratchers to put in Genius's letter...I returned to T-Hoe to see black ANTS crawling all over the envelopes in my purse! I guess they had gotten on there when I set my purse (and purple mini bubba cup!) on the counter next to the roaster pan of cat kibble on the side porch while fetching the dumpster.

The trip to the post office went without a hitch. Afterwards, I stopped for some gas, but the nozzle thingy wouldn't let me clip the lever, so I had to squeeze it the whole time. I bought myself two scratchers, but they were losers. My current tally is 2 winners out of 18 tickets!!! Fortunes should change soon, I would hope.

I had just settled by brain for a long winter's nap settled my gullet for a peaceful midday lunch, when Hick sent me a text that HOS's daughter was bringing her little brother over to Poolio for a swim. It's not like I have to entertain them. She's out of high school, and he's seven. But you never know when there might be an emergency. So I wasn't truly OFF DUTY from worry.

That evening, as I was making terrible taters for supper, I burned my hand on one of them while turning them in the microwave. I'm pretty sure it was Hick's, of course! Boy, was I steamed! Heh, heh. That's a little baked-potato injury humor for you. Then taking them out, I dropped one from the over-stove microwave onto the stove. The end kind of split open. It was Hick's potato. I made sure! He ate it anyway, though.

And the cherry on top of this treat of a day was that when I was shutting down New Delly at 11:24 p.m., a message popped up. "Your team viewer session has timed out and will close now."

WTF?

Apparently, I have a whole TEAM of spies keeping track of me!