Wednesday, December 27, 2006

Craw-Stickin' Goodies

Hillbilly Mom has issues. Surprise, surprise! Yes, there are a
plethora of goodies stuck in my craw tonight. Or perhaps my
goiter has just enlarged. Let's get right to it.

Yesterday, we made a trip to The Devil's Playground. Yes.
What was I thinking? It was not as crowded as I had imagined
it would be. But there were NO carts. NONE in that big garage-
type space just inside the doors, where the overachieving cart
boy RAMMED me earlier this year, nearly breaking my fragile
old-lady hip, while the greeter snickered behind her hand.
Lucky for the heirs of Sam Walton that I am well-padded in
the hip-bone area. No carts meant I couldn't use one as a
walker, and had to support my own weight throughout the
store. Which really is not a problem except that I had been
standing for the past 3 days, what with preparing party snacks,
gift-wrapping, carrying in groceries and gifts, playing with the
new puppy, watching my kids play with new toys, etc. So
when I had to stand in line 10 minutes just to use the self-
checkout thingy, I was not a happy camper. My lower back
went into a spasm. I'm sure everybody could hear it screaming
"Give me a muscle relaxer! Now!" Except that I have never
had a muscle relaxer, but HH had a whole jar of them that
he had to take on schedule after his neck surgery where they
put titanium plates on two vertabrae, which made him a bit
more bearable for the never-ending days he stayed home
with us over that Christmas vacation. Anyhoo...over half of
the checkouts were marked "For Returns Only", but nobody
was at them. Not returning, not working. They were just
abandoned. The full-service checkouts were filled with
lines 5 or 6 deep of cartloads of Christmas bargains, or
groceries. We only had about 6 items. But we still had to
wait on a lady using the self-check as an arcade experience
for a wee tot, letting him scan each and every item. Then
the next lady paid by check, which required a human to
come over and press something.

My mom went to the doctor about her fat red finger. She is
on her second round of antibiotics for what is believed to be
a staph infection in her right pinky finger. The doc said he
would like her to see an orthopedist, because it just doesn't
look right. He said to see one THIS WEEK and referred
her. Except that the office is closed until next week, so when
questioned about it, he said she could wait until Jan. 4 instead
of referring her to another orthopedist. You can bet that I am
checking that finger every day. I will cart her right back to
the ER if that red border so much as moves a centimeter
toward her hand again. I can't believe it was so urgent until
the doc found out his referral office was closed. I wonder
how much kickback he gets for each referral. I need to know
for when her finger has to be amputated and I sue him.

HH has been harping about our furnace for about a month
now. He says the heat pump thingy is not working right. It's
the same unit that we had trouble with in the summer, and
the repairman pumped it full of freon and said there was not
a hole, it must be a slow leak around the seal or some such
thing. Now another repairman has said some major part is
bad, and that it is very expensive and must be replaced. HH
took them to task about why it wasn't discovered in the
summer, and why should we pay a service fee again when
they messed up diagnosing it, and how he spends thousands
of dollars with the company through work each year, and
how we bought the unit from them to begin with. They have
now decided they can get the part through warranty, but it
will cost a minimum of $200 in labor. Oh, and it will take 3
hours. Guess who has to let them in at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow
and stay home to supervise them? Yep. I don't know why
they couldn't have done it yesterday, when HH was off.
Oh, wait! Maybe it was because HH didn't want his freakin'
day off ruined by staying home to babysit the repairman!

Speaking of HH...he had to return a pair of waterproof
camouflage boots that I gave him for Christmas. According
to my little spy, HH took the cash refund and put it in his
pocket, then put the new pair of shoes on the debit card.
I wondered why dog food and cat food cost $92.94. I
questioned HH, and found out he also bought some jeans,
which I really don't have an issue with, but don't tell me that
you gave me the receipt when you didn't, and don't pretend
that you just paid for the boots with the refund money. I am
responsible for our finances, and must not be hoodwinked,
as I can't budget properly unless I know what's going on.
Translation: Not enough lottery money for me.

Don't think I'm finished. I could go on about #1 son wearing
a navy blue hoodie to town, and me seeing a gigantic dried
snot stain on the sleeve. Or HH catching the same son blowing
his nose on his clean sock, and then putting it on his foot. It's
not like we don't have a box of Puffs With Lotion in three
separate locations about the Mansion.

Then there's the toy #2 son received that is a giant block
of dried sand with a metal hammer and spike which he
pounds to uncover buried treasure, which shoots sand
particles throughout the kitchen.

And the doggie Ann keeps trying to eat the new puppy,
Tank, every time the boys take him out of his new $300
pen. For that price, HH is going to move into it when the
puppy is old enough not to be eaten.

#1 son has a toy helicopter designed for indoors, and I am
doggone sick and tired fo the thing buzzing my head every
time I sit down to take a break.

I suppose that's enough for tonight. I must get my rest so I
can arise at the crack of dawn to let in the heating and cooling

Methinks he will not look like the HOT CABANA BOYS
from last summer.


LanternLight said...

No carts meant I couldn't use one as a walker,

Well you could always buy yourself one of these beauty's:

nearly breaking my fragile old-lady hip

Bull hickey.

Lets see, Coors Light was released in 1978 -> (jumping a few logic steps) -> Therefore you would have to be under 50, which isn't old.

Unless you ask a 4 year old.

"LanternLight, am I ever going to be as old as you?"
'I think your mummy is calling you Bill'.

Hillbilly Mom said...

Aha! Over there, a walker is called a 'walking frame'. I do not like the looks of that seat. It seems to me that the old are senile as well as fragile, and would likely forget to put on the hand brake, and upon sitting on that seat, the walking frame would shoot out from under them, thus breaking a fragile hip.

My, my...aren't we quite the little detective! I did not jump on the 'Silver Bullet' at its inception. You are indeed right. I am under 50. How much under 50 remains between me and my DoNots. The DoNots who think I am young, not the ones who think my Social Security number is '1'.

Chickadee said...

Your boy blew his nose in his sock and put it on? Sounds like boy stuff indeed. LOL.

And after trying to pull a fast one on ya with the money, I'd put HH in Tank's pen too.

Poor Tank. But one day he will be big enough to defend himself and Ann will be SORRY.

LanternLight said...

But just think about the walking frame for a sec., If you put lights and a horn on it, it's just like a poker machine.

You are indeed right. I am under 50. How much under 50 remains between me and my DoNots.

I'm calling early 40's. Perhaps Mabel can help with the maths :-)

Hillbilly Mom said...

Yep. That's my boy.

We went out to dinner, and I only gave HH the bare minimum I thought it would cost. He said "I had to pay $2 out of my own pocket!" I told him he would rue the day he took a cash refund and put the replacement item on the debit card. I'm not sure he understood the meaning of 'rue'.

Yes, like my #1 son is now sorry that his little brother can fight back.

I didn't know I could trick it out.

Mabel does not know my true age, either. She is also remarkably well-preserved for her age. We have a secret source of H2O that we do not share. Ponce de Leon did not find it, you know. He was too far south.