Thursday, July 28, 2011

What Are You Waiting For? C'mon!

In case you're lookin' for me...I've moved. To the real deal:

See ya there!

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Changes Are A-Comin'

Funny how time flies. I seem to have 465 posts on this blog. That means it is becoming unwieldy in the event that I want to use it for a certain project I have in mind. So I might be switching over to a new Hillbilly Mansion in a few days. I don't think it will affect anything vital.

Usually, I just rename the current blog by adding a number to the title. And I start up a new blog under the Hillbilly Mansion title. I can't remember if I have to re-do the sidebar. Probably. But I don't think anything will change for readers who try to visit me here at the Mansion. Maybe they'll have to re-follow after the new one is established. Since I've only got 6 followers anyway, that does not seem to be a major issue.

What I'm trying to say, is: if it looks like I haven't posted for several days, chances are that I've moved to start a new blog. That I've built a new Hillbilly Mansion. So if that happens, just type in

Or I'll come back and link it.

Because you know that Mrs. Hillbilly Mom can't go more than one day without posting her thoughts on ruling the world.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Just When You Think You Have Things Figured Out

Yesterday, I took The Pony to the County Health Center for a Tdap shot. That's tetanus, diphtheria, and pertussis, for those of you without communicable-disease age children. It was spur of the moment, because I cleaned a bunch of junk mail off the kitchen counter, and found The Pony's final grades that had been mailed to us in May. And we won't enter into a discussion of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's mad housekeeping skillz at this time.

Enclosed with the grades, which I had not cared to open, because The Pony is a good student and we both know it, was a letter from the school nurse explaining that he would not be able to attend classes this fall until he could show proof of a Tdap vaccination. Well, wasn't that a fine how do you do at this late date. I called the County Health Department, where the boys' old pediatrician used to advise me to take them for shots, because it was free. That was right before he forsook them to become an allergist, who instead gave people shots for lots of money.

Anyhoo...the person in charge of Shot Clinic told me that yes, it did not matter that The Pony had private insurance, to bring him on in, and do it yesterday, because next week they expect to be bombarded with business due to school starting up again. So apparently other Hillmomba housewives are as lax on cleaning off their kitchen counters as Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. The Shot Clinic is on Mondays, from 1:00 to 3:00. Next week, they're expanding it from 4:00 to 6:00 as well.

The Pony and I took off to get him shot. We arrived at 2:15 because first I had to fight with the pharmacy about prescriptions, because my primary insurance wanted to not pay at all and charge me $45.00 on a medicine, but the secondary let me have it for $17.00. Oh, and two generics were $10.00 apiece, except for the past six months they've been charging me $4.00 each. When I complained, the clerk said she could get them for me for $4.00, and the whole problem was that I had TWO insurances. Pardon me. By paying for two forms of health insurance, I am overbilled $40.00 per month on prescriptions? Or $480 per year? That's highway robbery!

While giving The Pony's info for the Tdap, the technician offered the meningitis vaccine. It is not required for school, but recommended for kids 11-19, and college students are required to have it before they can live in a dorm. She said that they are giving it now for free, but that the cost is normally $100 for the one-time vaccination. So...I agreed, and broke the news to The Pony that he would be getting shot twice. He wasn't too keen on the idea, but since he can't drive or walk home, he went along with the plan.

We waited until after 3:00 for his name to be called. By the time we left, I offered to pick him up some Burger King as a reward. The poor Pony had not even eaten lunch yet, as he was waiting until after the shot. He threw up one time after a flu shot, which might have been a factor in that decision. I called #1 to see if he wanted anything. By the time we got home, it was 4:30, so I went ahead and cooked Farmer H some Polish Kielbasa and sauerkraut. Ten minutes after it had been simmering, Farmer H called to say that he didn't want any supper, that he had to help his number one son with some electricity. Of course, he didn't tell me this, he told our #1, who thought to let me know another ten minutes after the call. THEN Farmer H thought to call me, the short-temper cook, and declared that he liked that meal, and would eat it upon arriving home at 7:00.

At 6:55, the #1 son, having digested his Burger King meal for an entire two hours, came to ask exactly what was on the stove that I had cooked that his dad didn't want, because it smelled really good, and he would like to have it. I explained that it was now spoken for, and that besides, he did not like kraut. Au contraire, he did declare. "I've always liked sausage and sauerkraut. I wish I had some."

So today I went out and bought more. I'm sure the kid won't touch it. And he's getting a free meningitis vaccination Monday, whether he likes it or not.

Monday, July 25, 2011

The Squishy And Splashy Show

Last night, the #1 son came downstairs to show me the newest Android app he is working on. As he started back up the stairs, I spied a stain on his shorts. That's because somebody needs to notice when it's time for somebody to do the laundry.

"Hey, what's on your pants? Did you drop fast food in your seat again?" That's because when he used to ride shotgun in T-Hoe, he was noted for soiling his clothing right after I told him to be careful and leave the burger in the wrapper. "Watch out. You're going to get that all over your clothes you've been wearing for thirty minutes." No matter how much he proclaimed that he was smarter than that, and I was silly for treating him like toddler, the very next bite would result in a hunk of greasy goodness dropping from his sandwich.

"I don't have anything on me."

"You do. Come here. I'll point it out." I picked up my red wooden backscratcher, the one that is great for doing impressions of Kristen Wiig on SNL as the singer with the tiny hands. I told #1 to turn around, and pointed to the back of his shorts leg. There was a dark stain on the khaki.

"Um. That's not a stain. I was sitting on my chair with my leg under me. That's a sweat print from my foot." And to prove it, he lifted that dripping man-hoof and touched my real flesh-and-blood forearm with it. I needed to towel off the perspiration.

Somebody really needs to use antiperspirant on his feet.

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Funny How,,,

Funny how a man...

...who is deathly afraid of accidentally touching a slice of moldy bread will eat a hot dog that has been in the refrigerator since before his vacation in early June.

...will wait for his woman to get home from work to make him a sandwich, and tell her, "I almost starved waiting for you to get home."

...who said he didn't want any beer at the bowling alley will say, "Baby, go get me a cup," when a table nearby gets ready to leave, and offers what's left in their pitcher.

...can spend hours grilling chicken and steak and hamburgers and vegetables that he chopped and wrapped in foil, but only knows how to make himself a bologna sandwich or a microwaved hot dog the other three seasons of the year.

...won't ask directions when he's lost, but talks the ear off a waitress like they're life-long friends.

...can not hit the center of the toilet bowl, but can stack trash two feet over the rim of the wastebasket.

...will sit and watch TV shows about repairing and rebuilding automobiles, but takes his own vehicles to the shop for oil changes.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

On The Road Again

I know that I have an issue. I go on about this subject all the time, on this blog and my super-secret blog. But I can't emphasize enough: STAY OUT OF THE ROAD UNLESS YOU ARE IN A PROPER AUTOMOTIVE VEHICLE.

Now my fingers are hoarse from shouting. But I've been provoked yet again. This morning, I topped a blacktop hill to find a beautiful Golden Retriever running right smack dab up the center of my lane. Of course I slammed the anti-lock brakes to halt T-Hoe in his tracks. The dog was fine. He veered to my left, tongue lolling, doggy smile on his face, to rejoin his people.

That's right. It's not the dog's fault that he almost became a shiny golden pancake. He was loping along beside his people. Two pre-teens on bicycles, a woman in a golf cart, and a man on a lawnmower bringing up the rear. There was another dog behind Goldie, but I did not even notice the color, what with worrying about crushing every bone in Goldie's soon-to-be carcass.

Surely these fools must be tourists. Visitors to the country, who think anything less than a six-lane divided highway is put there for recreational purposes. That it's a winding pig trail for all to frolic, inherently safe, because we Zekes and Cletuses here in Podunk drive Flintstone log-mobiles with our bare feet, stopping at all unicorn crossings and fluffy-kitten play zones.

Several cars were backed up behind Lawnmower Jockey. Really. How fast do you think a seven-year-old on a bike can go? He was the leader of this Make Mrs. Hillbilly Mom Become Unhinged parade.

People piss me off.

Friday, July 22, 2011

The Borrower

I am a bit perturbed with Farmer H. I know, you say, "How uncharacteristic of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom!"

For a while now, I have been thinking that he's using my razor in the shower. It's a big walk-in shower, with sliding doors. We lay things on top of that door-framey thing. No shower caddy for us. There's a little tube of conditioner, two razors, and Farmer H's toothpaste and toothbrush, because he can't brush over the sink like a normal person.

Last week I got out a new razor. They're the plastic disposable ones, in different colors. The package is stored in the top right drawer of the sink cabinet dealybobber. I'm drawing a blank on what that's called right now. The word divinity popped into my head, but I know that's the white fudge people make at Christmas that is so sweet it makes my teeth hurt to think about it. Anyway, it's not like there's a razor shortage around the Mansion. And besides, Farmer H has a mustache and a goatee kind of thing going on, so it's not like he needs a razor all that much.

So anyway...last week I got out a new razor. And after a few days, it seemed kind of dull. Duller than a new razor should be. A new razor should still be nicking and drawing blood if you aren't careful with it. And mine seemed to be not doing its razorly job very well. I looked at Farmer H's razor, an entirely different color, parked beside his toothbrush. It was not wet. Since Farmer H had left for work a couple hours previous, I thought maybe it had dried. But to set a trap, I placed my old-new razor with the end on a little mark on the metal of the door frame.

The next day, my razor was still on the mark. Farmer H's razor was still dry. But the day after that, oh ho! My razor was not lined up on that mark, and it had water droplets on it. So of course I went to the drawer and got out a NEW razor, pink instead of purple, and put it away in the medicine cabinet when I was done. And put the old-new purple razor back on the mark. Two days later, it was moved again.

I asked Farmer H if he had been using my razor. "Well, only on my beard."

That meant that I had to lecture him on hygiene and inquire as to WHY he thought he could use my razor at will. "Oh, that's nothing. So I used your razor. I don't have one." Let the record show that at no time did he bother to throw away his used-up razor. He left it by his toothbrush. As a decoy, I'm thinking. And he used mine. Because he was too goshdarn lazy to get a new razor out of the drawer.

I asked him, perhaps a bit sarcastically, "What's next, you're going to use my toothbrush to scrub your butt?" And he said, "There's an idea."

Now I have to hide my toothbrush.