Friday, May 04, 2007

Up Your Street With A Rubber Hose

The school year is almost over, you know. Next week, I have a faculty meeting Monday, the #1 son's Top Ten Percent academic banquet on Tuesday, and an insurance meeting on Thursday. Time flies when you're almost out.

Tomorrow, we have a school carnival. It raises money for the kids to take a senior trip. NOT to Amsterdam. The last few years, the trip has been to Hawaii or Mexico. The kids vote, depending on how much money the class has raised over 6 years, and where the majority agrees to go. The Veteran is going to be one of the Grand Marshals of the parade. The theme this year is 'Superheroes.'

I don't know if it's for the parade tomorrow, or what the deal is, but the town has been washing the streets with a giant firehose. (No, to those of you who plan to ask, giant firehose is not a euphemism for anything. Sometimes, a giant firehose is just a giant firehose.) I can't explain it. Especially since it has rained for the last 4 days. Washing the streets seem a bit redundant. Perhaps they are washing the mud that has washed down by the sewer grates. But I have only seen that in one place. The rest of the road looks clean to me. Today, it was pouring down rain when I went to Basementia. The giant firehose was stretched down the middle of the street, and all the early birds had moved their cars around back to the gravel lot. Welcome to MY world, early birds! I don't quite understand the hosing of the streets in a downpour. The workers weren't complaining. I could tell from their gray pants and white T-shirts that they were on loan from one of the local prisons. Not jail. PRISON. I guess the city wanted to get its money's worth out of the laborers.

Since we got out at 12:45, and HH had taken off the entire day, he called to see if we wanted to meet him for lupper. That is the meal between lunch and supper. Theoretically, lupper is when you haven't had lunch and are not going to have supper. I wish HH had told us this before we ate lunch, but whatever, I was game. We agreed to meet him in another town, on past the school town. I had to stop by the bank to deposit my hefty paycheck. Right, Mabel? That was kind of a problem, what with sitting in line at the drive-thru for 20 MINUTES waiting on the 4 cars ahead of me. I think the window girl was printing her own money today, and had to hang it up with clothespins to dry. Anyhoo, the front lot was full, and since last time I went in, I waited in line for 5 minutes behind a guy who finally turned to look at me like I had two heads, (which I don't, but I'll claim to be as smart as a woman with two brains, not to be confused with the Steve Martin movie The Man With Two Brains, which was really quite funny, in an early Kathleen Turner kind of way, and by the way, you did know that Kathleen is from Missouri, didn't you, and went to the same university as I did, but was years ahead of me, though I suspect she fudges on her age a little bit), and then stepped away from the counter and the girl pointed to her wooden sign thingy, which clearly said, 'Next window', I chose to remain in the drive-thru. HH blew on past us down the highway, and was waiting at the BBQ restaurant before we even left the bank. Stupid bank. I would keep the money in a sock in the backyard if I didn't think that chewin' dog would dig it up like a Case collector knife.

After a hearty lupper, we climbed back in the Large SUV for the ride home. I say 'we', not because I had a mouse in my pocket, but because neither of the spawn would ride with HH. Go figure! It might have something to do with the way he doesn't bother to look at the road while driving. We called him twice to remind him not to drive through the creek if it was flooded, because sometimes he just doesn't use good judgment. Then we called to ask if he'd picked up the mail, and he said, "No, the mailboxes were underwater." Which was not a very nice thing to say, because that would mean the bridges were also underwater. I'll have to keep my eye on HH, getting all clever and sh*t, and actually making a joke.

I dropped #1 son off at the front of The Devil's Playground for 4 AAA batteries, what with my beloved remote not asking how high when I say jump. Oh, and it has the words, "Low Battery" at the top of the screen every time I change channels. That was my first clue. Because I just thought I had a crappy remote, like my crappy receiver, which even though you pay the regular amount, they send a 'reconditioned' receiver to everybody and hope it freakin' works, which of course it did NOT when we first got it, and had to send it back, and then the next one did not work, and we had to send IT back, and the third try was the charm. Thievin' Dish Network! But they are not as bad as the Cable Pirates I had to pay protection money to when I lived in town. Their freakin' service could be down for days at a time, with NO refund or discount. Meanwhile, back at The Devil's Playground, I circled the lot until sonny appeared again, and swooped in to pick him up. He loves using the self-check thingy, the one that robs old people and teenagers of their minimum-wage jobs with no benefits. It's like an arcade game for him.

After all that excitement, we forgot to pick up medicine, which, contrary to popular opinion, is NOT for my Alzheimer's. But we DID NOT forget my Sonic Cherry Diet Coke, which the girl overfilled, and said, "Wait a minute," as she handed it out the window, and tipped it sideways so about a cup of liquid spilled through the X on the top, and then handed it to me, already seeping again, and I gave it to the shotgun-riding #1 son, and told him, "Slurp that up before it gets in the car," so he did, noisily, with his head bent over, leading to another lecture about children and front-seat riding, and my assurances that his death from an airbag inflation would be quick and painless, so he sat up a bit, and put in the straw, and put his lips on it to slurp some more, which made me scream, "I didn't mean through the straw! I don't want your salarva all down in my soda!" Which is a new word my students taught me this year, and it kind of has a ring to it, salarva, say it to yourself, salarva, see, don't you like it, you may to use it all you want. You're welcome.

And now I've retired to my dark basement lair, made my internet rounds, and am planning to go try out my brand spankin' new AAA batteries to see if my Intervention is on tonight.

Good day to you!


Cazzie!!! said...

I want somma that sonic cherry diet colaaaa, waaaaaaa. All in a day at the Mansion hey, we are all soo busy aren't we??

Whispering Hope said...

You're kidding right? I thought salarva was already a word! :)

My daughter and I, instead of saying hello, we use "hellure, hellure".

I like your blog, have been reading it a while without commenting - I think my xanax kicked into today. :)

Hillbilly Mom said...

Sorry you can't drive over here and get some. You know what that means...MORE FOR ME!

That 'hellure' sounds like Jerry and George making the 'Mr. Belly Button' voice that made Jerry's girlfriend leave him.

Keep reading, and keep commenting. I've heard of that Xanax. I've heard that it's as good as my sweet, sweet histinex. And it's a palindrome, too!

Stewed Hamm said...

Salarva? Would that be referring to all the little parasites and microscopic vermin that live in someone else's spit? (because one's own spit is naturally OH SO CLEAN)

Word Verification: something that isn't "salarva." How disappointing.

Redneck. Diva. said...

Salarva: n. The gooky back-washy stuff that children leave in their parent's drinks which is why I never ever let a child drinketh from my cup. One of us will dehydrate before that happens. Either I simply refuse and watch them begin to dry up like raisins or I just give up my drink and let them salarvate all over it to their heart's content.

Hillbilly Mom said...

You certainly know my spit. Are you one of those CSI guys in your spare time?

You say 'salarva', I say 'weenus'. I used to let my kids drink out of my large water jug thingy that I carried around with me. Until I took it out of it's little diver-suit zip-up thingy, and it looked like I'd dipped the water right out of the Mississippi. Now I scream, "NO! NO! For the love of Gummi Mary, get your own freakin' water!!!" In the privacy of the Mansion, of course.