Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is sick as a dog. Or not as healthy as a dog. Something doggish. My dogs seem to feel fine, what with laying about the porch, pouncing on refrigerator scraps, snuffling up the broken Easter eggs #2 son and I finally threw out today (dare to behold the horror that is Hillbilly Mom's refrigerator), and sniffing each other's a$$es. I, on the other hand, have no urge to sniff an a$$. I am listless. My head is pounding. Methinks it's a sinus problem. I was up from midnight to 4:20 a.m. trying not to drown in my own snot. I set up camp in the La-Z-Boy or Big-Fat-Man or Hugh-Mon-Gus recliner. It was OK, except for waking up every 45 minutes with a plugged blowhole.
The headache set in this morning around 5:30. It lingered. My eyes cried to stay closed. They were denied. I had to drive my #1 son to summer school. For one day only. So he could go to the park. More on that later. Let's get back to ME ME ME! After dropping off the lad, #2 son and I forged an expedition to The Devil's Playground. Where we chose our 1749th cart that wouldn't steer. Those things have serious alignment problems. You don't take your autos there for service, do you? The boy chose one of each kind of junk food to take as snacks on our upcoming trip to Arkansas. Because apparently, they don't sell food between here and there. I also got each boy a new pair of Wal-Mart fall-apart shoes, plenty of soda to assure a stop every 30 minutes, and some sandwich and breakfast stuff to stay out of the fast-food bandits for two meals a day.
Upon arriving home, the young 'un dashed downstairs to his computer, from where I faintly heard that 'severed head on a pike' crap again. I didn't care. I wanted my severed head on a pike. Maybe that pike would let some of the pain leak out. I clumb (HH's word) back in Big Blue, the recliner, for some relaxation. I used Little Bear as a pawn to block demon daylight from my aching orbs. I twisted and turned for about an hour, with no relief. Then #1 called me to ask if he could leave on his shoes to wade in the water because they had to 'safely float the baby across the river'. I said no. He countered with an offer to take off his socks and only wear the shoes. Again, I said no. He argued that I'd already bought him new shoes. I stood firm. Apparently, he did, too. I later learned that he only wore his SOCKS in the water. What a PITIOT! That boy takes after his father.
I had to go back to school to pick him up, and from there we proceeded to Great Clips for boys' haircuts, because I had a $5 coupon for May. This was the last day of May, you know. I remembered, because it's also my mom's birthday. Don't you worry about Hillbilly Mom's mom...she got a carrot cake and some jewelry and two cards and the promise of lunch out when we get back from vacation. Oh, and her cronies took her to breakfast this morning, too. I suppose you really rake it in for your 73rd birthday. It was a 45 minute wait on the cutting, so we went two doors down, past The Smoke Shop, to Little Caesar's for some nourishment. Except for me. Whew! Long time no talk about ME. I made #1 go in an pick me up some Hot & Sour soup on the way home. Last time I was sick, it cut the illness in half. We'll see. Long story not short enough, we got home after 5:00.
And now that the vat of soup has been slurped, I must report that my headache is not so severe. I might as well have been drinking battery acid, for all I could taste. But right now, the pain is less. #2 son and I are going to watch Pirate Master on CBS at 7:00. It's from the Survivor. There's nothing I like better than a cheesy reality show. And nothing #1 likes better than Pirates.
Hear that, Diva. PIRATES! Arrrrgh...
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
England Salarva Trash Laser
Our vacation was in jeopardy for 24 hours. Seems that right after I made reservations yesterday, HH was called into the boss's office and told that he needed to be on a plane to England Sunday morning. Maybe that's just a euphemism for something else. Maybe he's fired. Maybe he's gonna be sleepin' with the fishes. Naww...there was some $100,000 machine he was supposed to look at and bid on. But this morning, he said he thinks he won't have to go. It's an online auction, anyway. Business, schmizness. I don't know how people operate those things.
I have a sore throat. Only one side of it. #1 son is the carrier. He complained about it over the weekend. Then #2 got it. I knew I shouldn't have finished off his sausage biscuit yesterday. I really knew when I bit into it and it was wet. Eewww! He tried to tell me it was soda. Maybe...if by 'soda', he means 'saliva'. Or 'salarva'.
The school called today. It wants its #1 son back. Really. Two of the summer school teachers called to ask him to come to school for the next two weeks. First thing I asked was: "How did you get my private number?" Just joking. They said they have ways of tracking me down. I told them he couldn't attend next week, because we're going on vacation. "And don't rob me, either, because I'm pretty sure you can find my address where you got that phone number!" They agreed not to rob me if #1 brings a sack lunch tomorrow and clean trash on Friday. See? That's why I haven't been letting him go. Those people are wacky. I think they are going to build some sculpture out of clean trash. But if it's clean, it's not trash. It's a collectible. Just ask HH.
Oh, you can't. HH is off to build my grandma's fence again. A jaunt which he did not inform me of. But it gave me a preposition to end my sentence with. HH says he told me last night. Duh! He was at Grandma's last night, and then down in the woods when he got back. I even called him this morning, and he didn't tell me. And neither did #1 son, who was supposed to help him both nights, but refused. Yet had the nerve to ask for a playmate to come up and play laser tag this afternoon. Nope. Isn't it enough that I gave birth to a built-in playmate for him nine years ago? And I didn't even have to go to Viet Nam to get one. How can it be more fun to laser-kill a kid who is not even related than it is to laser-kill your own brother? Anyway, the playmate is not even out of school yet. Heh, heh. Remember that next August, buddy, when you ask why we have to go back so soon.
**********************************************************
And YOU remember to go read the stories in this week's writing contest
at writeinthethickofit.blogspot.com. It is open until Saturday night at 10:00.
I have a sore throat. Only one side of it. #1 son is the carrier. He complained about it over the weekend. Then #2 got it. I knew I shouldn't have finished off his sausage biscuit yesterday. I really knew when I bit into it and it was wet. Eewww! He tried to tell me it was soda. Maybe...if by 'soda', he means 'saliva'. Or 'salarva'.
The school called today. It wants its #1 son back. Really. Two of the summer school teachers called to ask him to come to school for the next two weeks. First thing I asked was: "How did you get my private number?" Just joking. They said they have ways of tracking me down. I told them he couldn't attend next week, because we're going on vacation. "And don't rob me, either, because I'm pretty sure you can find my address where you got that phone number!" They agreed not to rob me if #1 brings a sack lunch tomorrow and clean trash on Friday. See? That's why I haven't been letting him go. Those people are wacky. I think they are going to build some sculpture out of clean trash. But if it's clean, it's not trash. It's a collectible. Just ask HH.
Oh, you can't. HH is off to build my grandma's fence again. A jaunt which he did not inform me of. But it gave me a preposition to end my sentence with. HH says he told me last night. Duh! He was at Grandma's last night, and then down in the woods when he got back. I even called him this morning, and he didn't tell me. And neither did #1 son, who was supposed to help him both nights, but refused. Yet had the nerve to ask for a playmate to come up and play laser tag this afternoon. Nope. Isn't it enough that I gave birth to a built-in playmate for him nine years ago? And I didn't even have to go to Viet Nam to get one. How can it be more fun to laser-kill a kid who is not even related than it is to laser-kill your own brother? Anyway, the playmate is not even out of school yet. Heh, heh. Remember that next August, buddy, when you ask why we have to go back so soon.
**********************************************************
And YOU remember to go read the stories in this week's writing contest
at writeinthethickofit.blogspot.com. It is open until Saturday night at 10:00.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
A Pitiot is Born
First cat out of the bag this morning, I harvested a new crop of hangers. No, it's not one of HH's new schemes. The hangers were left in my classroom by Friday night's graduates. Good thing I still had some work to do on that special project. I would not like to come back in August and have to shout, "No wire hangers!" to my 1st hour class.
I need to stop using the term 'special project'. It reminds me of Steve Martin as Navin Johnson talking about his 'special purpose' in The Jerk.
Mabel made a guest appearance in my room this morning. Several. She's not getting guest star money. Oh, laws no! M-O-O-N. That spells no special guest star money for you, Mabel.
Did you know that it's 5 1/2 hours from Branson to the Crater of Diamonds State Park? HH says it is only 2 1/2 hours. Perhaps he means as the crow flies. I don't know where he gets his information. Which reminds me of a new word I made up today. 'Pitiot'. Has a ring to it, by cracky. It means 'a pitiful idiot'. Pitiot. Feel free to use it all you want. I don't get a royalty or anything. I'm booting it out into the public domain to fend for itself. Poor little pitiot.
I need to get crackin' and do some laundry so I can get packin' for our little vacation. No need to wait until the night before like some Divas do. We need some clothes and food and money and books and toys and pillows. That should do it. Oh, and some directions might be helpful. I just want to get it over with, so we can say we went on vacation. Because it's actually more work for me. The pitiots don't have to do anything but load the car and climb in. And say, "Didn't you bring..."
With the price of gas, I almost wish HH's Folly, the diesel Mercedes, had grown to fruition. When he bought his ugly little 1980 pale yellow Mercedes, HH thought it was a diesel. Perhaps that does not bode well for confidence in his car-repair skills. He had plans to run it on old french fry grease. Other guys at his work do that. I think they have a gang, and HH wants to be a cool kid. We could travel the back roads of Missouri and Arkansas, filling up at McDonalds and Chinese restaurants. That's what HH says they do at work. They have the Chinese restaurants save their cooking oil. He says.
HH is going to be late tonight, to go do some fence repair at my grandma's house. It's not that he's such a thoughtful grandson-in-law, but that he really wants the wood stove she has promised him to put in his miniMansion. HH's lateness doesn't really mean anything to us, except that the boys want to stir up the buttwater broth tonight, because they have noodles. Yeah. At The Devil's Playground, that's the first thing they grabbed. Pool noodles. Do you know how annoying it is to push a cart of pool noodles through The Devil's Playground? Take my word for it. You'd need the patience of the Gummi Mary not to mind.
Since the noodlers are growing restless, I'm going to watch the pot of buttwater soup.
Think it will boil?
******************************************************
Hey, the new stories are up at Diva's writing contest.
Go read and vote at writeinthethickofit.blogspot.com.
Do it now. Don't be a pitiot.
I need to stop using the term 'special project'. It reminds me of Steve Martin as Navin Johnson talking about his 'special purpose' in The Jerk.
Mabel made a guest appearance in my room this morning. Several. She's not getting guest star money. Oh, laws no! M-O-O-N. That spells no special guest star money for you, Mabel.
Did you know that it's 5 1/2 hours from Branson to the Crater of Diamonds State Park? HH says it is only 2 1/2 hours. Perhaps he means as the crow flies. I don't know where he gets his information. Which reminds me of a new word I made up today. 'Pitiot'. Has a ring to it, by cracky. It means 'a pitiful idiot'. Pitiot. Feel free to use it all you want. I don't get a royalty or anything. I'm booting it out into the public domain to fend for itself. Poor little pitiot.
I need to get crackin' and do some laundry so I can get packin' for our little vacation. No need to wait until the night before like some Divas do. We need some clothes and food and money and books and toys and pillows. That should do it. Oh, and some directions might be helpful. I just want to get it over with, so we can say we went on vacation. Because it's actually more work for me. The pitiots don't have to do anything but load the car and climb in. And say, "Didn't you bring..."
With the price of gas, I almost wish HH's Folly, the diesel Mercedes, had grown to fruition. When he bought his ugly little 1980 pale yellow Mercedes, HH thought it was a diesel. Perhaps that does not bode well for confidence in his car-repair skills. He had plans to run it on old french fry grease. Other guys at his work do that. I think they have a gang, and HH wants to be a cool kid. We could travel the back roads of Missouri and Arkansas, filling up at McDonalds and Chinese restaurants. That's what HH says they do at work. They have the Chinese restaurants save their cooking oil. He says.
HH is going to be late tonight, to go do some fence repair at my grandma's house. It's not that he's such a thoughtful grandson-in-law, but that he really wants the wood stove she has promised him to put in his miniMansion. HH's lateness doesn't really mean anything to us, except that the boys want to stir up the buttwater broth tonight, because they have noodles. Yeah. At The Devil's Playground, that's the first thing they grabbed. Pool noodles. Do you know how annoying it is to push a cart of pool noodles through The Devil's Playground? Take my word for it. You'd need the patience of the Gummi Mary not to mind.
Since the noodlers are growing restless, I'm going to watch the pot of buttwater soup.
Think it will boil?
******************************************************
Hey, the new stories are up at Diva's writing contest.
Go read and vote at writeinthethickofit.blogspot.com.
Do it now. Don't be a pitiot.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Holiday Edition Part 3
Is it just me, or has this been the freakin' longest holiday weekend, ever?
Holiday Edition Part 3
*I must stop staying up so late
*Is 2:00 a.m. considered late?
*Not to Stewed Hamm, methinks
*And I suppose it's not really late if you fall asleep at 11:00 and wake up at 2:00 and go to bed
*The buttwater soup is now a clear broth, no longer cream of buttwater soup
*Can I get a "H*ll, Yeah?"
*I found out that HH made #1 son put the long-haired cranky cat on a kickboard in the pool
*Don't try this at home
*She's still mad, and it happened yesterday
*While I was at graduation, HH made #2 son hold the bully male cat for tick removal
*Simba still has the bloodsucker
*#2 son has a Band-Aid
*HH is either very smart, or very stupid
*The boys and I vote the latter
*Tomorrow, we are going back to school
*I still have to work on that special project a bit
*The boys can't be left unattended
*The Mansion has no staff
*Except me
*Mabel will be at school for some reason tomorrow
*Perhaps I was daydreaming when she told me
*Last night I dreamed I was a Girl Next Door
*Visiting a Coyote Ugly bar
*So I danced
*And got in trouble for being too wild
*So I left without getting paid
*Perhaps I should watch higher-quality programming
*We leave for vacation on Saturday
*Don't plan to rob me
*My Hillbilly Mama is Mansionsitting
*Don't try to rob her, either
*She has neighbors
*I have a lot to get done before we leave
*But it won't cut into my computer time
*Because that's my nature
*But I might go 3 days without posting next weekend
*Which would be a first since I started this critter 3 years ago
*Unless Lappy hooks me up with some stolen wireless
*Perhaps from a Devil's Playground parking lot
*Because I don't expect fine hotels in Hillbillyland
*And vacation will take us even deeper into it
*Sweet Gummi Mary! Deliver me from duelin' banjos
*And help my youngest boy find some type of gem
*He's the dreamer. It's his vacation, really
*And go-karts for HH and #1
*I'm their social secretary
*But I get the Dixie Stampede
*More money in Dolly Parton's pocket
*Which must be pretty big, to hold $300 million
*Speaking of people who have too darn much money...
*Won't you be glad when I stop typing like Rosie O'Donnell's blog?
Holiday Edition Part 3
*I must stop staying up so late
*Is 2:00 a.m. considered late?
*Not to Stewed Hamm, methinks
*And I suppose it's not really late if you fall asleep at 11:00 and wake up at 2:00 and go to bed
*The buttwater soup is now a clear broth, no longer cream of buttwater soup
*Can I get a "H*ll, Yeah?"
*I found out that HH made #1 son put the long-haired cranky cat on a kickboard in the pool
*Don't try this at home
*She's still mad, and it happened yesterday
*While I was at graduation, HH made #2 son hold the bully male cat for tick removal
*Simba still has the bloodsucker
*#2 son has a Band-Aid
*HH is either very smart, or very stupid
*The boys and I vote the latter
*Tomorrow, we are going back to school
*I still have to work on that special project a bit
*The boys can't be left unattended
*The Mansion has no staff
*Except me
*Mabel will be at school for some reason tomorrow
*Perhaps I was daydreaming when she told me
*Last night I dreamed I was a Girl Next Door
*Visiting a Coyote Ugly bar
*So I danced
*And got in trouble for being too wild
*So I left without getting paid
*Perhaps I should watch higher-quality programming
*We leave for vacation on Saturday
*Don't plan to rob me
*My Hillbilly Mama is Mansionsitting
*Don't try to rob her, either
*She has neighbors
*I have a lot to get done before we leave
*But it won't cut into my computer time
*Because that's my nature
*But I might go 3 days without posting next weekend
*Which would be a first since I started this critter 3 years ago
*Unless Lappy hooks me up with some stolen wireless
*Perhaps from a Devil's Playground parking lot
*Because I don't expect fine hotels in Hillbillyland
*And vacation will take us even deeper into it
*Sweet Gummi Mary! Deliver me from duelin' banjos
*And help my youngest boy find some type of gem
*He's the dreamer. It's his vacation, really
*And go-karts for HH and #1
*I'm their social secretary
*But I get the Dixie Stampede
*More money in Dolly Parton's pocket
*Which must be pretty big, to hold $300 million
*Speaking of people who have too darn much money...
*Won't you be glad when I stop typing like Rosie O'Donnell's blog?
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Holiday Edition Part 2
Which looks suspiciously like the untitled Part 1...
*We are planning a cookout of 1/4 hot dogs tonight at the MiniMansion
*Yeah, we are health food nuts. Marshmallows for dessert
*The boys are big scaredy-cats
*Took table and roasting sticks down to MiniMansion
*Sticks started to vibrate when placed in MM
*Heard a scream
*Drove the Scout back to the house, and rain poured down
*Pulled in garage, and rain stopped
*Look for us on Weird Travels, methinks
*Have been planning Crater of Diamonds vacation
*With a stop in Branson for the Dixie Stampede
*I hate vacations
*But I am looking forward to this one
*Because we will get it over with early in the summer
*Then I will still get my casino trip owed to me from my birthday
*I'm glad I've been secretly saving since Christmas for vacation
*Time to dig up that sock full of money from the backyard
*Hope I don't strike copper
*HH has forgotten about his plan to strip-mine our land for copper
*The pool people gave him the idea, after testing a water sample
*HH is a bit excitable
*Yesterday I made some excellent potato salad
*Not that it has anything to do with exciting HH
*The dogs have been on a killing spree for 4 days
*Armadillo, squirrel, squirrel, baby mole, mouse
*Yes, they murder more than once a day
*I'm suspicious that some of the carnage may be attributed to the cats
*And the dogs bully them out of their prize when they are done toying with it
*Except the armadillo
*Which still lingers, with a mousepad-sized chunk of shell on the side porch
*Ahh...country livin' is the life for me
*And old TV shows with theme songs like that
*Time to gather the vittles for the cookout
*A hillbilly's work is never done
*It has nothing to do with those killings, the vittle-gathering
*Trust me
*We are planning a cookout of 1/4 hot dogs tonight at the MiniMansion
*Yeah, we are health food nuts. Marshmallows for dessert
*The boys are big scaredy-cats
*Took table and roasting sticks down to MiniMansion
*Sticks started to vibrate when placed in MM
*Heard a scream
*Drove the Scout back to the house, and rain poured down
*Pulled in garage, and rain stopped
*Look for us on Weird Travels, methinks
*Have been planning Crater of Diamonds vacation
*With a stop in Branson for the Dixie Stampede
*I hate vacations
*But I am looking forward to this one
*Because we will get it over with early in the summer
*Then I will still get my casino trip owed to me from my birthday
*I'm glad I've been secretly saving since Christmas for vacation
*Time to dig up that sock full of money from the backyard
*Hope I don't strike copper
*HH has forgotten about his plan to strip-mine our land for copper
*The pool people gave him the idea, after testing a water sample
*HH is a bit excitable
*Yesterday I made some excellent potato salad
*Not that it has anything to do with exciting HH
*The dogs have been on a killing spree for 4 days
*Armadillo, squirrel, squirrel, baby mole, mouse
*Yes, they murder more than once a day
*I'm suspicious that some of the carnage may be attributed to the cats
*And the dogs bully them out of their prize when they are done toying with it
*Except the armadillo
*Which still lingers, with a mousepad-sized chunk of shell on the side porch
*Ahh...country livin' is the life for me
*And old TV shows with theme songs like that
*Time to gather the vittles for the cookout
*A hillbilly's work is never done
*It has nothing to do with those killings, the vittle-gathering
*Trust me
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Holiday Weekend Edition
Ahh...yes...the Holiday Weekend Edition. Which looks surprisingly similar to the Hillbilly Mom Lite edition. Enjoy.
Holiday Weekend Edition: A Graduation Ceremony
*Arrived at 5:28 for the 7:00 graduation.
*People were already waiting.
*Mabel arrived soon after.
*Retrieved unironed (mine) and smoky (Mabel's & Ivory's) gowns from cabinet
*Lounged about in the teachers' workroom
*Mabel rifled through Ivory's mailbox for scissors to hack open candy
*Mabel drank a bottle of water she found near the mailboxes
*It was unopened. Mabel may be a thief, but she is a hygienic thief
*Moved to Goody's room to shoot the breeze with cronies
*Gowned up and traipsed out
*Saw Former Crony. Made a flexible lunch date to gossip
*Watched music/picture salute. Barely teared up. Not attached to this group
*Listened to a horrific singer. Could not carry a tune in a bucket
*Talked through ceremony. Softly
*One graduate high-fived the entire front row of school board members
*Marched out. Caught large wad of green Silly String with head
*Mr. S was the intended target. I walk with him every year
*Note to self: demand protection money from Mr. S next year
*Chucked gown in a box. Ran out to beat crowd
*Left a bunch of candy in the sleeve. So sue me
*Top administrator asked about email from #1 son
*Told him to delete. It went to everyone in his mailbox
*Drove home in the rain
*Saw 4 (FOUR) idiots walking in the middle of the road
*At 4 different locations
*What are they putting in the meth these days?
*On gravel road, saw many small frogs jumping to and fro
*Faintly heard "Hello, my honey...hello, my baby...hello, my ragtime doll"
*Nawww
*Watched the news with #1 son
*Children sent home from elementary school due to dead body found in cafeteria
*School locked kids in. With the body
*I kid you not
*Phoenix, Sierra Vista Elementary
*I have some handbaskets for sale
Holiday Weekend Edition: A Graduation Ceremony
*Arrived at 5:28 for the 7:00 graduation.
*People were already waiting.
*Mabel arrived soon after.
*Retrieved unironed (mine) and smoky (Mabel's & Ivory's) gowns from cabinet
*Lounged about in the teachers' workroom
*Mabel rifled through Ivory's mailbox for scissors to hack open candy
*Mabel drank a bottle of water she found near the mailboxes
*It was unopened. Mabel may be a thief, but she is a hygienic thief
*Moved to Goody's room to shoot the breeze with cronies
*Gowned up and traipsed out
*Saw Former Crony. Made a flexible lunch date to gossip
*Watched music/picture salute. Barely teared up. Not attached to this group
*Listened to a horrific singer. Could not carry a tune in a bucket
*Talked through ceremony. Softly
*One graduate high-fived the entire front row of school board members
*Marched out. Caught large wad of green Silly String with head
*Mr. S was the intended target. I walk with him every year
*Note to self: demand protection money from Mr. S next year
*Chucked gown in a box. Ran out to beat crowd
*Left a bunch of candy in the sleeve. So sue me
*Top administrator asked about email from #1 son
*Told him to delete. It went to everyone in his mailbox
*Drove home in the rain
*Saw 4 (FOUR) idiots walking in the middle of the road
*At 4 different locations
*What are they putting in the meth these days?
*On gravel road, saw many small frogs jumping to and fro
*Faintly heard "Hello, my honey...hello, my baby...hello, my ragtime doll"
*Nawww
*Watched the news with #1 son
*Children sent home from elementary school due to dead body found in cafeteria
*School locked kids in. With the body
*I kid you not
*Phoenix, Sierra Vista Elementary
*I have some handbaskets for sale
Friday, May 25, 2007
Hillbilly Mom Lite
Welcome...to this evening's edition of Hillbilly Mom Lite.
*Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is attending graduation festivities tonight.
*It is part of her contract, as in 'other duties as needed'.
*She must arrive at an ungodly hour, since parking spaces are at a premium.
*So there will be none of the ME-fest that usually comprises this blog.
*HM worked at school from 7:40 a.m. to 2:15 p.m.
*She did not throw the baby out with the trash.
*In fact, she did not even throw out the trash.
*But she saw a baby in the hall.
*The Hillbilly boys were fed a lunch of leftover breakfast McDonald's sausage biscuits.
*And a supper of Save-A-Lot corn dogs.
*Their arteries are hardening faster than concrete at 107 degrees in a sunny desert city.
*Mrs. HM finished the main part of her big project today.
*All it needs is fine tuning.
*She has 21 hours and 40 minutes in that project.
*Now she can take her time with the math part.
*Mabel and Mrs. HM have their own spy business.
*HM is going to sing like a canary when she sees Mabel tonight.
*The books on top of the sagging cabinet were moved next door to a storage room.
*They are stored under a table with a microfiche reader on it.
*Methinks they will not be noticed, as the microfiche is not in high demand.
*Go figure.
*Mrs. HM's top half of the brokeback doorstops was found in that storage room.
*He was unceremoniously scooped up and tossed in the closet.
*Somewhat fitting, don't you say?
*We should have started this spy business sooner.
*The double-secret program that the big project is written in kicked HM out.
*HM almost cried, since there were 6 hours of work in question.
*#1 geek said it was expected, to make sure she wasn't just soaking up bandwidth.
*After a restart, Mrs. HM was again able to access the info.
*Only 3 small items were lost.
*They were restored in short order, by cracky!
*Tonight Mrs. HM will leak a few tears during the music/picture salute to the seniors.
*She's funny like that.
*Graduation: the official demarcation of the school year and summer.
*Thank the Gummi Mary!
*Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is attending graduation festivities tonight.
*It is part of her contract, as in 'other duties as needed'.
*She must arrive at an ungodly hour, since parking spaces are at a premium.
*So there will be none of the ME-fest that usually comprises this blog.
*HM worked at school from 7:40 a.m. to 2:15 p.m.
*She did not throw the baby out with the trash.
*In fact, she did not even throw out the trash.
*But she saw a baby in the hall.
*The Hillbilly boys were fed a lunch of leftover breakfast McDonald's sausage biscuits.
*And a supper of Save-A-Lot corn dogs.
*Their arteries are hardening faster than concrete at 107 degrees in a sunny desert city.
*Mrs. HM finished the main part of her big project today.
*All it needs is fine tuning.
*She has 21 hours and 40 minutes in that project.
*Now she can take her time with the math part.
*Mabel and Mrs. HM have their own spy business.
*HM is going to sing like a canary when she sees Mabel tonight.
*The books on top of the sagging cabinet were moved next door to a storage room.
*They are stored under a table with a microfiche reader on it.
*Methinks they will not be noticed, as the microfiche is not in high demand.
*Go figure.
*Mrs. HM's top half of the brokeback doorstops was found in that storage room.
*He was unceremoniously scooped up and tossed in the closet.
*Somewhat fitting, don't you say?
*We should have started this spy business sooner.
*The double-secret program that the big project is written in kicked HM out.
*HM almost cried, since there were 6 hours of work in question.
*#1 geek said it was expected, to make sure she wasn't just soaking up bandwidth.
*After a restart, Mrs. HM was again able to access the info.
*Only 3 small items were lost.
*They were restored in short order, by cracky!
*Tonight Mrs. HM will leak a few tears during the music/picture salute to the seniors.
*She's funny like that.
*Graduation: the official demarcation of the school year and summer.
*Thank the Gummi Mary!
Thursday, May 24, 2007
I'm Not Outta Here!
The school year is over, you know. I've been telling you that all along. See? I was right.
Today I had a half-day of official work, but stayed until 3:15 to finish up some stuff. Stuff I didn't know I would be doing until Monday. Stuff that will take a minimum of 30 hours to do. I have about16 hours in it right now. So of course it's not finished. If I'd only known I was being added to this project before the next to next to last day of school, I could have worked on it on my plan time throughout the year.
My #1 son was a big help. Yesterday, just before we left, we stacked 99 books on top of my wooden cabinets. 99 textbooks on top of the cabinet, 99 books on the top...if one of those books should happen to fall...Mabel will sue me for massive head injuries and live in my Mansion. But the point I am trying to make in a roundabout way is that all that stacking was a waste of time and energy. This morning, when I opened my cabinet to clean it out and stow more stuff in it, I saw that the top board of the cabinet was sagging like a hammock. Tomorrow, I have to find a place for some of those books. The reason I put them up there, from where they magically appeared on my table and desks throughout the last several days of school, brought by little elves who prefer to carry heavy objects rather than sit in class, was because my old, old lunch buddy, even before Mr. K, told me, "You're not going to leave those books there, are you? The custodians will have to move them when they wax your floor." Sweet Gummi Mary! How dare I force the custodians to do their job! It's not that I'm trying to be mean. I even take the drawers out of my desk and stash them in the cabinets so they don't have to carry a heavy desk. I took out three big bags of trash to the giant overflowing dumpster this morning so they wouldn't have to. I give them a good reveiw when those evaluation thingies come out, even though my room doesn't get cleaned during deer season.
Anyhoo...I followed Goodie's advice, and stacked the books. She came in this morning, and said, "Wow, it looks different with those books stacked up there." Then I pointed to the swaybacked top of my cabinet. "Oooh," she said, "you'd better get those books off there. That's what happened to my cabinet shelves last summer." OK. Did I miss something? She told me to put my books up there, knowing that the wood could not hold them. Did she think I got the special kryptonite cabinets, or what? Sometimes she cracks me up.
I also sent my boy on a gift-giving mission to return books I've had for nigh on 6 years. Don't think I'm a scofflaw. I return library books on time (sorry about your John Grisham, Mabel. I still have him here at the Mansion). These were textbooks and core class stuff that I needed for my classes. Some teachers were glad to get them. Others, not so much. In fact, my son said one reacted with, "Oh, great," when he said he had put some books on the desk that his mom didn't need any more. He had a large, yellow metal cart. The kind you can haul a desk and a file cabinet and a TV on, and still have room for a compact car. It had metal wheels, too. He thought he was something with his little stacks of books and directions where to take them. Oh, and I also gave away a perfectly good VCR (with all its connecting cables, Mabel, and it wasn't to YOU, so there, for you little LOCKED UP episode with the rulers and scissors and glue). The VCR was my mom's old one, and I'd been saving it for my old buddy whose job I now have, but she never got a TV. And even an itty bitty child knows that a VCR is no good without a TV. Unless it's my #1 child, and he hooks it up to a computer monitor or something. I gave way 7 parts-of-speech posters. Laminated, by cracky! Too bad Meanie doesn't work in my building. She could have raked it in today.
And now I must go put in a few more hours of work on my 'project' before I go back to school tomorrow, on a non work day, and then take a little recess before returning tomorrow night for graduation.
The summer is almost over, you know.
Today I had a half-day of official work, but stayed until 3:15 to finish up some stuff. Stuff I didn't know I would be doing until Monday. Stuff that will take a minimum of 30 hours to do. I have about16 hours in it right now. So of course it's not finished. If I'd only known I was being added to this project before the next to next to last day of school, I could have worked on it on my plan time throughout the year.
My #1 son was a big help. Yesterday, just before we left, we stacked 99 books on top of my wooden cabinets. 99 textbooks on top of the cabinet, 99 books on the top...if one of those books should happen to fall...Mabel will sue me for massive head injuries and live in my Mansion. But the point I am trying to make in a roundabout way is that all that stacking was a waste of time and energy. This morning, when I opened my cabinet to clean it out and stow more stuff in it, I saw that the top board of the cabinet was sagging like a hammock. Tomorrow, I have to find a place for some of those books. The reason I put them up there, from where they magically appeared on my table and desks throughout the last several days of school, brought by little elves who prefer to carry heavy objects rather than sit in class, was because my old, old lunch buddy, even before Mr. K, told me, "You're not going to leave those books there, are you? The custodians will have to move them when they wax your floor." Sweet Gummi Mary! How dare I force the custodians to do their job! It's not that I'm trying to be mean. I even take the drawers out of my desk and stash them in the cabinets so they don't have to carry a heavy desk. I took out three big bags of trash to the giant overflowing dumpster this morning so they wouldn't have to. I give them a good reveiw when those evaluation thingies come out, even though my room doesn't get cleaned during deer season.
Anyhoo...I followed Goodie's advice, and stacked the books. She came in this morning, and said, "Wow, it looks different with those books stacked up there." Then I pointed to the swaybacked top of my cabinet. "Oooh," she said, "you'd better get those books off there. That's what happened to my cabinet shelves last summer." OK. Did I miss something? She told me to put my books up there, knowing that the wood could not hold them. Did she think I got the special kryptonite cabinets, or what? Sometimes she cracks me up.
I also sent my boy on a gift-giving mission to return books I've had for nigh on 6 years. Don't think I'm a scofflaw. I return library books on time (sorry about your John Grisham, Mabel. I still have him here at the Mansion). These were textbooks and core class stuff that I needed for my classes. Some teachers were glad to get them. Others, not so much. In fact, my son said one reacted with, "Oh, great," when he said he had put some books on the desk that his mom didn't need any more. He had a large, yellow metal cart. The kind you can haul a desk and a file cabinet and a TV on, and still have room for a compact car. It had metal wheels, too. He thought he was something with his little stacks of books and directions where to take them. Oh, and I also gave away a perfectly good VCR (with all its connecting cables, Mabel, and it wasn't to YOU, so there, for you little LOCKED UP episode with the rulers and scissors and glue). The VCR was my mom's old one, and I'd been saving it for my old buddy whose job I now have, but she never got a TV. And even an itty bitty child knows that a VCR is no good without a TV. Unless it's my #1 child, and he hooks it up to a computer monitor or something. I gave way 7 parts-of-speech posters. Laminated, by cracky! Too bad Meanie doesn't work in my building. She could have raked it in today.
And now I must go put in a few more hours of work on my 'project' before I go back to school tomorrow, on a non work day, and then take a little recess before returning tomorrow night for graduation.
The summer is almost over, you know.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Paula Deen in my front yard eating a lobster tail!
We'll get to that title a bit later. It sounds like a great new exclamation for a Hillbilly, doesn't it? Kind of like, "Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit!" Or it reminds you of 'Clue'. "Colonel Mustard in the parlor with a candlestick."
In other news, the guilting of Mabel has now ended. Mabel brought her graduation gown (and Ivory's gown, too) to my room this morning to hang in its rightful place: the cabinet de la Hillbilly Mom. I don't know if that's the right usage of 'de la', but I thought it sounded good. Funny thing...Mabel did that without having read the Mabel post yet. But listen to this! After reading it, Mabel showed up at the faculty meeting with an entire bag of candy for my sleeve. Sweet Gummi Mary! I don't know about that...I think it might make a giant bulge.
I spent the afternoon loading up the remnants from my Everything Must Go Grand Extravaganza at Lower Basementia. Then I had my #1 son stack about 300 books on top of my cabinets in my future only building. He kind of put them close to the edge. I hope Mabel doesn't open the door for her gown, and get cracked in the head. Oh, well. She could sleep for a while with tweeting birdies and stars circling her noggin. After all, she has a gown.
This was the last day for the kids. I treated my class to a movie with popcorn and soda. Hey! Some of them even said, "Thank you, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom." There was a bit of a problem with one class. I suppose that 12-pack of Mountain Holler made them feisty. I had to send for one to come back and pick up his popcorn crumbs from the chair and floor. Oh, and the next hour, we kept hearing an odd noise. I reached the root of the mystery when I opened the refrigerator to get out my lunch. The bottom of it was full of water. Seems somebody had turned the control to '1' instead of '5'. It could have been an honest mistake. Except for reminding me how old I am every day, and trying to nomad it about the room, they have never waged war with me all year. So I assume it was somebody taking out a soda, and his hand hit the controller. That's the way it spins.
And speaking of 'Look what the cat dragged in...', I have something to share with you. No, it's not a movie, popcorn, and soda. Don't get so excited. Technically, I suppose we were not really talking about what the cat dragged in. But this morning, after I backed out of the garage, and before I went up the driveway, I spied Ol' Chewy Ann, the Chewingest Dog, munching something out under the cedar tree. I did what any curious Hillbilly would do: I drove through the yard to get a better look. She was lying down, pulling something up off a curved, segmented-looking thingy. Ann looked just like Paula Deen eating a lobster tail. If Paula didn't dip the lobster in butter, and didn't use a fancy fork, but just leaned over and ripped out some lobster with her teeth, and if she didn't sit on a chair at a table, but instead lay on the ground in a little dust patch where she had worn away the grass by turning round and round to lie down there every day, and if she was a bit slimmer, and took on the shape of a black german shepherd/lab mix. Yeah. Just like Paula Deen eating a lobster tail.
Guess what! It wasn't a lobster tail! It was the shell of an armadillo! Who knew? Those critters are traipsing farther north every year, by cracky. OOOOOH! It must be global warming. The sky is falling, the sky is falling! Never let it be said that Mrs. Hillbilly Mom doesn't have an Emergency Broadcast System warning in place. Please get under your desks in an orderly fashion, and clasp your hands behind your neck.
I hear that pieces of the sky are quite heavy.
OK, I have to tell you that I know Mabel really meant for me to OPEN the package of candy before putting a few pieces in my sleeve. And it wasn't 300 books. It was 99. And the last time I checked, the sky wasn't falling. Rainbows hold up the sky, you know. Rainbows. Nature's trusses. Yes, I had to tell you that. Not only am I Even Steven, I am Honest Abe as well.
In other news, the guilting of Mabel has now ended. Mabel brought her graduation gown (and Ivory's gown, too) to my room this morning to hang in its rightful place: the cabinet de la Hillbilly Mom. I don't know if that's the right usage of 'de la', but I thought it sounded good. Funny thing...Mabel did that without having read the Mabel post yet. But listen to this! After reading it, Mabel showed up at the faculty meeting with an entire bag of candy for my sleeve. Sweet Gummi Mary! I don't know about that...I think it might make a giant bulge.
I spent the afternoon loading up the remnants from my Everything Must Go Grand Extravaganza at Lower Basementia. Then I had my #1 son stack about 300 books on top of my cabinets in my future only building. He kind of put them close to the edge. I hope Mabel doesn't open the door for her gown, and get cracked in the head. Oh, well. She could sleep for a while with tweeting birdies and stars circling her noggin. After all, she has a gown.
This was the last day for the kids. I treated my class to a movie with popcorn and soda. Hey! Some of them even said, "Thank you, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom." There was a bit of a problem with one class. I suppose that 12-pack of Mountain Holler made them feisty. I had to send for one to come back and pick up his popcorn crumbs from the chair and floor. Oh, and the next hour, we kept hearing an odd noise. I reached the root of the mystery when I opened the refrigerator to get out my lunch. The bottom of it was full of water. Seems somebody had turned the control to '1' instead of '5'. It could have been an honest mistake. Except for reminding me how old I am every day, and trying to nomad it about the room, they have never waged war with me all year. So I assume it was somebody taking out a soda, and his hand hit the controller. That's the way it spins.
And speaking of 'Look what the cat dragged in...', I have something to share with you. No, it's not a movie, popcorn, and soda. Don't get so excited. Technically, I suppose we were not really talking about what the cat dragged in. But this morning, after I backed out of the garage, and before I went up the driveway, I spied Ol' Chewy Ann, the Chewingest Dog, munching something out under the cedar tree. I did what any curious Hillbilly would do: I drove through the yard to get a better look. She was lying down, pulling something up off a curved, segmented-looking thingy. Ann looked just like Paula Deen eating a lobster tail. If Paula didn't dip the lobster in butter, and didn't use a fancy fork, but just leaned over and ripped out some lobster with her teeth, and if she didn't sit on a chair at a table, but instead lay on the ground in a little dust patch where she had worn away the grass by turning round and round to lie down there every day, and if she was a bit slimmer, and took on the shape of a black german shepherd/lab mix. Yeah. Just like Paula Deen eating a lobster tail.
Guess what! It wasn't a lobster tail! It was the shell of an armadillo! Who knew? Those critters are traipsing farther north every year, by cracky. OOOOOH! It must be global warming. The sky is falling, the sky is falling! Never let it be said that Mrs. Hillbilly Mom doesn't have an Emergency Broadcast System warning in place. Please get under your desks in an orderly fashion, and clasp your hands behind your neck.
I hear that pieces of the sky are quite heavy.
OK, I have to tell you that I know Mabel really meant for me to OPEN the package of candy before putting a few pieces in my sleeve. And it wasn't 300 books. It was 99. And the last time I checked, the sky wasn't falling. Rainbows hold up the sky, you know. Rainbows. Nature's trusses. Yes, I had to tell you that. Not only am I Even Steven, I am Honest Abe as well.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
A Warning To Mabel
Old Mother Hubbard needs to go to the grocery store. Her dog will be getting no bone from my cupboard. By that, I mean the black metal cabinet at the back of my classroom in Lower Basementia. Mabel knows what I'm talkin' about. She bequeathed that cabinet to me back when the new school was built. She didn't wanna haul damaged goods into a brand spankin' new building. Actually, I think there was not enough room for Blackie. So rather than face jail time for abandonment, she gave Blackie to me. He can't hold his goods. He is insecure. You have to jiggle and hold him just right to shut him up. What I am trying to say is that he will not lock unless you fiddle about with him in just the right way.
Yep, Mabel gave me Blackie, back in the day when she had a multitude of Blackie's paler cousins ringing my room. They were tan. The fleshtone color of Band-Aids. OH SO MANY goodies were stored in them. You see, my old room, which I was booted from this year, used to be a storage room. I worked hard to clean it out. And then I was yanked from my happy home, banished to Lower Basementia. But getting back to those cabinets...Mabel would pop in every now and then, looting her own cabinets, while my students looked on in awe. Mabel even went so far as to tell me, "If you ever need any scissors or rulers or tape, it's all right here in this cabinet. LOCKED UP! Bwahaha!" That's the way I remember it, anyway.
Now Mabel has forsaken me again. She has broken the routine. Every year, we drag our graduation robes out of the cardboard boxes piled in the office, and hang them side-by-side in my wooden cabinet at the new building. This usually happens a week or two before graduation, and the robes have time to de-wrinkle. This year, nobody cracked open the boxes until yesterday. Graduation is Friday. Still, I hung mine in the cabinet, on a pink plastic hanger that Mabel had sent to my room for just that purpose. Mabel has a scam going, methinks. She ends up with an inordinate amount of plastic hangers. And I see the custodians providing her with black market pencils, too. Anyhoo...Mabel seemed a bit antsy, a bit beside herself, just not quite right this morning when we performed the unveiling of the robes. She did not put hers down. She draped it over her forearm like a waiter's towel. Then she broke the news, "I'm not hanging mine. I have to take it to MathCrony. I promised her." WHAT? Mabel is two-timing me with a new best friend!!! Who knew? Though I must say, the signs have been there for a couple of weeks now. Mabel doesn't drop in to chat. She sticks her head in my classroom door and tells me how busy she is. Unh huh. That's how it starts. She's too busy for me. I see. And now this.
I know all about MathCrony. In fact, she used to have the room right across the hall from me. We were buddies.We were hired the same year. We were like ebony and ivory. Except that we're both white, so I suppose we were Ivory & Ivory. But seriously, we were Math and Science. What could go together better than that? We broke up fights together. We attended IEP meetings together. We watched to make sure the students didn't take advantage of substitutes. But then I had to move to the junk room. I was forgotten. I was no longer a real teacher. Ivory moved on. And now Ivory is just MathCrony, Mabel's minion. I wish her no harm. (Which is disturbingly what a guy I used to carpool with would say before he threatened to kill the person he was dissing.)
Don't worry, MathCrony...the scissors are all LOCKED UP!
Why, why, WHY, Mabel? Just because my husband will not iron your gown for you, you go and abandon me? What about all the good times, Mabel? Sure, I am not quite so entertaining as MathCrony. I do not come to a faculty inservice with my flowered panties hanging out my pantsleg. But we have a history, Mabel. Who was there to comfort you when your TV-to-VCR cable disappeared? ME, Mabel. Not MathCrony. Who drove you 30 miles for a flu shot, Mabel? ME. Not MathCrony. Whose shoulder did you cry on when Mr. Girly Italian Shoes dared to walk on your stepping stones, Mabel? ME. Not MathCrony.
So I'm just sayin', Mabel, that if you don't offer me candy to put down in the sleeve of my robe during graduation ceremonies...IT'S OVER! I will kick the remaining brokeback doorstop to the curb, and use the giant wooden doorstop my little ol' Hillbilly mother swiped from the outer door. And perhaps I shall rekindle my Ivoriness with MathCrony.
Two can play at that game, you know!
Disclaimer:
I'm not really mad about it, Mabel. I'm just funnin' with ya.
I don't care who irons your gown.
You'll come back to me.
Because I make you look so good when you stand next to me.
Yep, Mabel gave me Blackie, back in the day when she had a multitude of Blackie's paler cousins ringing my room. They were tan. The fleshtone color of Band-Aids. OH SO MANY goodies were stored in them. You see, my old room, which I was booted from this year, used to be a storage room. I worked hard to clean it out. And then I was yanked from my happy home, banished to Lower Basementia. But getting back to those cabinets...Mabel would pop in every now and then, looting her own cabinets, while my students looked on in awe. Mabel even went so far as to tell me, "If you ever need any scissors or rulers or tape, it's all right here in this cabinet. LOCKED UP! Bwahaha!" That's the way I remember it, anyway.
Now Mabel has forsaken me again. She has broken the routine. Every year, we drag our graduation robes out of the cardboard boxes piled in the office, and hang them side-by-side in my wooden cabinet at the new building. This usually happens a week or two before graduation, and the robes have time to de-wrinkle. This year, nobody cracked open the boxes until yesterday. Graduation is Friday. Still, I hung mine in the cabinet, on a pink plastic hanger that Mabel had sent to my room for just that purpose. Mabel has a scam going, methinks. She ends up with an inordinate amount of plastic hangers. And I see the custodians providing her with black market pencils, too. Anyhoo...Mabel seemed a bit antsy, a bit beside herself, just not quite right this morning when we performed the unveiling of the robes. She did not put hers down. She draped it over her forearm like a waiter's towel. Then she broke the news, "I'm not hanging mine. I have to take it to MathCrony. I promised her." WHAT? Mabel is two-timing me with a new best friend!!! Who knew? Though I must say, the signs have been there for a couple of weeks now. Mabel doesn't drop in to chat. She sticks her head in my classroom door and tells me how busy she is. Unh huh. That's how it starts. She's too busy for me. I see. And now this.
I know all about MathCrony. In fact, she used to have the room right across the hall from me. We were buddies.We were hired the same year. We were like ebony and ivory. Except that we're both white, so I suppose we were Ivory & Ivory. But seriously, we were Math and Science. What could go together better than that? We broke up fights together. We attended IEP meetings together. We watched to make sure the students didn't take advantage of substitutes. But then I had to move to the junk room. I was forgotten. I was no longer a real teacher. Ivory moved on. And now Ivory is just MathCrony, Mabel's minion. I wish her no harm. (Which is disturbingly what a guy I used to carpool with would say before he threatened to kill the person he was dissing.)
Don't worry, MathCrony...the scissors are all LOCKED UP!
Why, why, WHY, Mabel? Just because my husband will not iron your gown for you, you go and abandon me? What about all the good times, Mabel? Sure, I am not quite so entertaining as MathCrony. I do not come to a faculty inservice with my flowered panties hanging out my pantsleg. But we have a history, Mabel. Who was there to comfort you when your TV-to-VCR cable disappeared? ME, Mabel. Not MathCrony. Who drove you 30 miles for a flu shot, Mabel? ME. Not MathCrony. Whose shoulder did you cry on when Mr. Girly Italian Shoes dared to walk on your stepping stones, Mabel? ME. Not MathCrony.
So I'm just sayin', Mabel, that if you don't offer me candy to put down in the sleeve of my robe during graduation ceremonies...IT'S OVER! I will kick the remaining brokeback doorstop to the curb, and use the giant wooden doorstop my little ol' Hillbilly mother swiped from the outer door. And perhaps I shall rekindle my Ivoriness with MathCrony.
Two can play at that game, you know!
Disclaimer:
I'm not really mad about it, Mabel. I'm just funnin' with ya.
I don't care who irons your gown.
You'll come back to me.
Because I make you look so good when you stand next to me.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Typer Goiter Faster
I spent the day in a business/computer lab, typing objectives and Grade Level Expectations into the curriculum. It was not as bad as it sounds. Once somebody showed up to log us on, and somebody else showed me how to get into the screens I needed, it went rather smoothly. That's not to say that I'm finished. I have about 1/2 done. Not bad, considering that I am dealing with information that was in different form when I taught it eight years ago, and do not currently know it like the back of my hand. I have a sneaking suspicion that I will have to do the same for my math class. Not that I will teach it any differently--I will just have to type in the info in this format. I still don't understand why the Basementia teachers have theirs already completed and my counterparts don't. Except for being time-intensive, it's not rocket science.
I had to leave an hour early for my doctor's appointment. I pushed the appointment back once already, due to a meeting, and I couldn't do it again. Oh, the bad luck...they already had a sub for me so I could type up the curriculum.
The doctor says I am as healthy as a horse. Not in so many words, because I imagine patients get quite testy when being compared to a horse. My goiter is under control. I dooooo loves to talk about my goiter. I regret to inform Mabel that my total cholesterol was 156, with the HDL being 52, and the LDL being 83. Shh...don't tell Mabel, but I eat a little sausage biscuit for breakfast every morning, don't eat oatmeal, cook my green beans with bacon, and umm...it's been quite a while since I exercised. Don't hate me because I'm choleresterolly correct, Mabel. We know you are quite well-preserved from your healthy regimen. Why, next to me, the students think you are but a mere fetus. Just the other day, they told you how much younger you look than I. And when you left, we discussed how I am so old, I have an autographed Bible.
Because I am Even Steven, there is happiness and anger to report concerning my little doctor's visit. Not that my doctor is little. He is somewhat rotund, and a former Army doctor. He pretty much calls a horse a horse. Except not in those words. Haven't you been paying attention? He said my lab results were excellent, and showed me the paperwork. On the bottom of the second page, someone had written "Not Fasting!" with an exclamation mark, just like that! How DARE they!!! I ate my little sausage biscuit and took my medicine at 4:50 a.m., and was completely done by 5:00 a.m. No particle of food or drop of liquid passed my lips from that time until the phlebotomist needled me at 4:00 p.m. If that's not fasting, I don't know what IS! When you have a lab in the morning at 8:00 a.m., the tell you, "Nothing to eat or drink after 10:00 p.m., except for a sip of water if you take medication." So that there, for you non-Mathies, is 10 hours of fasting. I went 11 hours, by cracky, and all I got was a snotty lie on my labwork. "How dare they!" the doctor chuckled, when I pointed it out to him. (He must be psychically in to with me). "It's nothing, your labs were great." I suppose I would have had an excuse if they were not in the normal range. In case you hadn't noticed, that was the ANGER part. The Happiness part is that the receptionist did not call me back to the window for my insurance info and co-pay. The insurance I understood--I was just there on Thursday. I went back after the appointment to give her the co-pay. She said, "I'm going to give this check back to you. Between your two insurances, that should be taken care of." Hmm...maybe that's why the doctor's office sent me that $60 check. Three $20 co-pays from last year. I ain't complainin'. About that.
They're probably making a killing off of me.
I'm their cash horse.
But not in so many words.
P.S. for Mabel (that means Personal Secret for Mabel). So y'all don't read it, OK?
Mabel: I know, it's just NUTS! Not nuts like in crazy nuts. NUTS! I eat cashews every night. I know that almonds are supposed to be more healthy, but this old nag's teeth ain't what they used to be...ain't what they used to be...many long years...ago.
I had to leave an hour early for my doctor's appointment. I pushed the appointment back once already, due to a meeting, and I couldn't do it again. Oh, the bad luck...they already had a sub for me so I could type up the curriculum.
The doctor says I am as healthy as a horse. Not in so many words, because I imagine patients get quite testy when being compared to a horse. My goiter is under control. I dooooo loves to talk about my goiter. I regret to inform Mabel that my total cholesterol was 156, with the HDL being 52, and the LDL being 83. Shh...don't tell Mabel, but I eat a little sausage biscuit for breakfast every morning, don't eat oatmeal, cook my green beans with bacon, and umm...it's been quite a while since I exercised. Don't hate me because I'm choleresterolly correct, Mabel. We know you are quite well-preserved from your healthy regimen. Why, next to me, the students think you are but a mere fetus. Just the other day, they told you how much younger you look than I. And when you left, we discussed how I am so old, I have an autographed Bible.
Because I am Even Steven, there is happiness and anger to report concerning my little doctor's visit. Not that my doctor is little. He is somewhat rotund, and a former Army doctor. He pretty much calls a horse a horse. Except not in those words. Haven't you been paying attention? He said my lab results were excellent, and showed me the paperwork. On the bottom of the second page, someone had written "Not Fasting!" with an exclamation mark, just like that! How DARE they!!! I ate my little sausage biscuit and took my medicine at 4:50 a.m., and was completely done by 5:00 a.m. No particle of food or drop of liquid passed my lips from that time until the phlebotomist needled me at 4:00 p.m. If that's not fasting, I don't know what IS! When you have a lab in the morning at 8:00 a.m., the tell you, "Nothing to eat or drink after 10:00 p.m., except for a sip of water if you take medication." So that there, for you non-Mathies, is 10 hours of fasting. I went 11 hours, by cracky, and all I got was a snotty lie on my labwork. "How dare they!" the doctor chuckled, when I pointed it out to him. (He must be psychically in to with me). "It's nothing, your labs were great." I suppose I would have had an excuse if they were not in the normal range. In case you hadn't noticed, that was the ANGER part. The Happiness part is that the receptionist did not call me back to the window for my insurance info and co-pay. The insurance I understood--I was just there on Thursday. I went back after the appointment to give her the co-pay. She said, "I'm going to give this check back to you. Between your two insurances, that should be taken care of." Hmm...maybe that's why the doctor's office sent me that $60 check. Three $20 co-pays from last year. I ain't complainin'. About that.
They're probably making a killing off of me.
I'm their cash horse.
But not in so many words.
P.S. for Mabel (that means Personal Secret for Mabel). So y'all don't read it, OK?
Mabel: I know, it's just NUTS! Not nuts like in crazy nuts. NUTS! I eat cashews every night. I know that almonds are supposed to be more healthy, but this old nag's teeth ain't what they used to be...ain't what they used to be...many long years...ago.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
I'm Movin' On Up
The school year is almost over, you know. Tomorrow I have a substitute, because apparently I am going to work on the science curriculum. They've been working on it all year, and I hear that the Basementia teachers are finished with their part. I will pitch in to do what I can, what with not having taught science for 8 years now, and having all those 3 grade levels of math GLEs and 2 grade levels of communication arts GLEs dancing in my head this year. I'm sure I can pull it together in this short amount of time, even though the others who teach it have had all year to work on it. D'ya think?
The last day for the kids is Wednesday. They have an early out. Teachers have to stay until the regular time, and go back on Thursday to check out. I have been preparing my tomb--er---room in Lower Basementia for the past week. I plan to be ready for Thursday, so that I don't even have to go down to my room. I shall have everything gone, and just turn in my keys and gradebook and parent contact log and copies of final exams and summer contact sheet and hoof it on out of there. I'm sure we will have graduation practice at the other building, which will take up some time. So I played the game everybody else does, and took care of all that stuff during the day. If you can't feel superior to 'em, join 'em. That's what I always say.
Yep. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom has been holding an 'Everything Must Go' sale. Not so much a sale as a grand giveaway of suicidal proportions. That's what I told a fellow Mathie, "I'd like you to have these books and this oscillating fan that works if you plug it in, even though the switch is broken, and still oscillates, you know, and have these posters while you're at it, since I won't be needing them any more, but don't worry about me, I'm not committing suicide or anything, I just don't have use for these things after Wednesday." I sent my language reproducibles to two different teachers, and gave about 12 games to another, and sent a framed picture of the flag, which every teacher has, to Upper Basementia, to a teacher I figured might want one at home, and I did SELL my mini-fridge to still a different teacher for $25, and I am buying back a TV/VCR combo and two rolly chairs and a computer, because, HEY, I bought them myself with money I earned through an ongoing fundraiser, and I figure I get first and only crack at them because I did all the work.
Then there's the trash. Which is mainly files that I won't be needing now that my program has kind of gone by the wayside. And while I was at it, I cleaned out the whole file cabinet, which I inherited 8 years ago. There was some funky stuff hiding in there. I found a gradebook program on floppy disks. Not so unusual, you might think...except that they were on the 5" floppies, for an Apple IIe computer. I trashed them. Think that's OK? You know how we don't want to throw away valuable school property.
I have some things to straighten out at my main and only building for next year, but that's not such a rush. I can always go up there for a day in the summer. I won't know what to do next year, with only ONE room to get ready, and only ONE faculty meeting to attend, and only ONE gradebook and ONE plan book and ONE faculty handbook and ONE set of discipline and attendance policies, and ONE administrator to answer to, and ONE building to collect donations from me. Gosh! It will be like a year of half-days. Or not.
This may take some getting used to.
The last day for the kids is Wednesday. They have an early out. Teachers have to stay until the regular time, and go back on Thursday to check out. I have been preparing my tomb--er---room in Lower Basementia for the past week. I plan to be ready for Thursday, so that I don't even have to go down to my room. I shall have everything gone, and just turn in my keys and gradebook and parent contact log and copies of final exams and summer contact sheet and hoof it on out of there. I'm sure we will have graduation practice at the other building, which will take up some time. So I played the game everybody else does, and took care of all that stuff during the day. If you can't feel superior to 'em, join 'em. That's what I always say.
Yep. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom has been holding an 'Everything Must Go' sale. Not so much a sale as a grand giveaway of suicidal proportions. That's what I told a fellow Mathie, "I'd like you to have these books and this oscillating fan that works if you plug it in, even though the switch is broken, and still oscillates, you know, and have these posters while you're at it, since I won't be needing them any more, but don't worry about me, I'm not committing suicide or anything, I just don't have use for these things after Wednesday." I sent my language reproducibles to two different teachers, and gave about 12 games to another, and sent a framed picture of the flag, which every teacher has, to Upper Basementia, to a teacher I figured might want one at home, and I did SELL my mini-fridge to still a different teacher for $25, and I am buying back a TV/VCR combo and two rolly chairs and a computer, because, HEY, I bought them myself with money I earned through an ongoing fundraiser, and I figure I get first and only crack at them because I did all the work.
Then there's the trash. Which is mainly files that I won't be needing now that my program has kind of gone by the wayside. And while I was at it, I cleaned out the whole file cabinet, which I inherited 8 years ago. There was some funky stuff hiding in there. I found a gradebook program on floppy disks. Not so unusual, you might think...except that they were on the 5" floppies, for an Apple IIe computer. I trashed them. Think that's OK? You know how we don't want to throw away valuable school property.
I have some things to straighten out at my main and only building for next year, but that's not such a rush. I can always go up there for a day in the summer. I won't know what to do next year, with only ONE room to get ready, and only ONE faculty meeting to attend, and only ONE gradebook and ONE plan book and ONE faculty handbook and ONE set of discipline and attendance policies, and ONE administrator to answer to, and ONE building to collect donations from me. Gosh! It will be like a year of half-days. Or not.
This may take some getting used to.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
HM's Supermarket News Flyer
Since nobody is reading on the weekends, I shall please myself tonight. Please. Not pleasure. What kind of a freak do you think I am? Good thing nobody is reading to answer that. I feel like a little dose of "Hillbilly Mom's Free Supermarket News Flyer." You can find it stacked on the counter at the front of the Save-A-Lot. It is canary yellow. Pick one up today. I glean all my information from my keyword searches.
HILLBILLY MOM'S FREE SUPERMARKET NEWS FLYER
HOW TO IRON NYLON
Put your nylon on the ironing board. Turn on the iron. When it is warmed up, place the iron on the nylon. As you can see and smell...nylon melts when you iron it. Good to know, huh?
BUILDING A BERM FOR DUMMIES
Get some dirt. Push it up in a pile, then flatten out the top. You have just built a berm. Don't worry if your berm doesn't look quite right. It's for dummies. They don't know a berm from a hole in the ground. In fact, you could just dig a hole in the ground, and say, "Hey! Dummies! Here's that berm you wanted. That'll be a hundred bucks. Cash." After the dummies pay you, you can walk off counting your money, mumbling, "Stupid dummies!" Because they won't know you are making fun of them. DUH! They are dummies. Kind of takes the fun out of it, though.
OPEN MOUTH INSERT FOOT BABY PICTURE
OK, this would be a really funny picture, but I advise you not to make it, because the Division of Family Services kind of frowns upon that kind of thing, quite frankly. You can make a baby open his mouth, but you can't make him insert his foot. And you most certainly can't insert YOUR foot, because that would just be twenty different kinds of wrong. A baby doesn't want your stinky foot in its mouth. And it wouldn't fit, anyway, not without stretching that baby's mouth, which I'm pretty sure is against the law in most states. And that whole bare baby on a bearskin rug photo shoot is probably out of the question, too.
I'VE GOT SOME CHANGE IN MY POCKET GOING JING
Man! That's nothing to brag about. Don't you feel cheated? Everybody else's change goes 'jing a ling a ling'. You got some defective pockets, or some defective change, buddy. I'd try to keep that quiet if I was you.
MABEL SITTING ON THE FRONT PORCH DRINKING CHERRY COKE LYRICS
Mabel sitting on the front porch drinking Cherry Coke, honey.
Mabel sitting on the front porch drinking Cherry Coke, ba-abe.
Mabel sitting on the front porch drinking Cherry Coke...
she'll get fat if she don't switch to Cherry DIET Coke.
Honey, ba-aby, mine.
And don't be callin' Mrs. Hillbilly Mom a plagiarist. That little ditty is in the public domain. Isn't it?
RAISING CANADIAN NIGHTCRAWLERS
Good evening, nightcrawlers. Nice and cool tonight, eh? Here's some garbage for you to munch on. You'll love them round bacon slices. I'll be back in aboot 10 hours to check on you. I'm going to watch the Leafs game. Bon appetit.
LYRICS SHE CURLED UP HER NOSE AS SHE WALKED BY MY CADILLAC
She curled up her nose as she walked by my Cadillac.
She knew the change in my pocket was defective and she laughed.
Mabel was drinkin' Cherry Coke on her front porch,
Canadian nightcrawlers were raised, and she was bored,
And she yelled, "Boy, I built a special berm for you!"
CHORUS
Genius? I ain't one,
But I ain't that dumb.
I'm wild, and I iron my nylon, too.
Some girls don't like boys like me...
Eh...but some girls do.
SAYING, DON'T THROW THE BABY OUT WITH THE TRASH
The origin of this saying is a bit murky, much like the bathwater after a hillbilly takes his yearly bath, whether he needs it or not. One thing is for certain: this idiom is not of hillbilly origin. A true hillbilly would never say something like, "Don't throw the baby out with the trash." Who ever heard of a hillbilly throwing out the trash? Now, he might have said something like, "Don't lose the baby in the trash," or "Don't throw the baby out, I was just about to insert my foot in his mouth and take a picture." Then he went went back to pickin' his banjo with that city fella who was going on a float trip.
De de dee dee dee dee dee dee dee...
***************************************************************
That's all for this edition. I think I hear a pig squealing...
HILLBILLY MOM'S FREE SUPERMARKET NEWS FLYER
HOW TO IRON NYLON
Put your nylon on the ironing board. Turn on the iron. When it is warmed up, place the iron on the nylon. As you can see and smell...nylon melts when you iron it. Good to know, huh?
BUILDING A BERM FOR DUMMIES
Get some dirt. Push it up in a pile, then flatten out the top. You have just built a berm. Don't worry if your berm doesn't look quite right. It's for dummies. They don't know a berm from a hole in the ground. In fact, you could just dig a hole in the ground, and say, "Hey! Dummies! Here's that berm you wanted. That'll be a hundred bucks. Cash." After the dummies pay you, you can walk off counting your money, mumbling, "Stupid dummies!" Because they won't know you are making fun of them. DUH! They are dummies. Kind of takes the fun out of it, though.
OPEN MOUTH INSERT FOOT BABY PICTURE
OK, this would be a really funny picture, but I advise you not to make it, because the Division of Family Services kind of frowns upon that kind of thing, quite frankly. You can make a baby open his mouth, but you can't make him insert his foot. And you most certainly can't insert YOUR foot, because that would just be twenty different kinds of wrong. A baby doesn't want your stinky foot in its mouth. And it wouldn't fit, anyway, not without stretching that baby's mouth, which I'm pretty sure is against the law in most states. And that whole bare baby on a bearskin rug photo shoot is probably out of the question, too.
I'VE GOT SOME CHANGE IN MY POCKET GOING JING
Man! That's nothing to brag about. Don't you feel cheated? Everybody else's change goes 'jing a ling a ling'. You got some defective pockets, or some defective change, buddy. I'd try to keep that quiet if I was you.
MABEL SITTING ON THE FRONT PORCH DRINKING CHERRY COKE LYRICS
Mabel sitting on the front porch drinking Cherry Coke, honey.
Mabel sitting on the front porch drinking Cherry Coke, ba-abe.
Mabel sitting on the front porch drinking Cherry Coke...
she'll get fat if she don't switch to Cherry DIET Coke.
Honey, ba-aby, mine.
And don't be callin' Mrs. Hillbilly Mom a plagiarist. That little ditty is in the public domain. Isn't it?
RAISING CANADIAN NIGHTCRAWLERS
Good evening, nightcrawlers. Nice and cool tonight, eh? Here's some garbage for you to munch on. You'll love them round bacon slices. I'll be back in aboot 10 hours to check on you. I'm going to watch the Leafs game. Bon appetit.
LYRICS SHE CURLED UP HER NOSE AS SHE WALKED BY MY CADILLAC
She curled up her nose as she walked by my Cadillac.
She knew the change in my pocket was defective and she laughed.
Mabel was drinkin' Cherry Coke on her front porch,
Canadian nightcrawlers were raised, and she was bored,
And she yelled, "Boy, I built a special berm for you!"
CHORUS
Genius? I ain't one,
But I ain't that dumb.
I'm wild, and I iron my nylon, too.
Some girls don't like boys like me...
Eh...but some girls do.
SAYING, DON'T THROW THE BABY OUT WITH THE TRASH
The origin of this saying is a bit murky, much like the bathwater after a hillbilly takes his yearly bath, whether he needs it or not. One thing is for certain: this idiom is not of hillbilly origin. A true hillbilly would never say something like, "Don't throw the baby out with the trash." Who ever heard of a hillbilly throwing out the trash? Now, he might have said something like, "Don't lose the baby in the trash," or "Don't throw the baby out, I was just about to insert my foot in his mouth and take a picture." Then he went went back to pickin' his banjo with that city fella who was going on a float trip.
De de dee dee dee dee dee dee dee...
***************************************************************
That's all for this edition. I think I hear a pig squealing...
Friday, May 18, 2007
Thar She Blows!
Great Googley Moogley! Nobody has been up in this place today! Only three regulars, and the others were probably just searching for Cletus. I get a lot of Cletus-stalkers. Was it the promise of a blood-letting tale that has made me as popular as a parent at a middle school dance?
Yesterday, I rushed to the doctor's office after school to give some blood for my 'routine' blood test that did not seem to be covered last time by either of my two insurances. Don't get me started on that one again, by cracky! The phlebotomist assured me that the office uses the lab required by my insurance, and the the diagnosis code would not show that it was a 'routine' blood test, what with Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's goiter and high blood pressure. I just love talking about my goiter. I have a feeling some of you think it is imaginary. But I assure you that my goiter is as real as Mabel. And my blood pressure is not high because I take my medicine. It only becomes high when I have to pay $166 for a test that has cost me $0 over the last two years.
I kind of like going to the doctor's office sometimes. Especially yesterday, when everybody in the waiting room was OLDER THAN ME! Except that cute little toddler, but he was there with his grandparents, so he doesn't count. The only annoying thing was at the sign-in window. They have taped up signs that say, "For the privacy of yourself and others, DO NOT open this window." Duh! Who in their right mind opens the window? Tap on it, maybe, but OPEN it? And they also put up a sign on the door leading back to the exam rooms, "Do Not Enter until your name is called by the nurse." WTF? Has there been a rash of people yanking open the window, rushing into the exam rooms willy-nilly? See what you miss when you haven't been there in 5 months?
The phlebotomist called me right on time for my appointment. There was nothing taped on her door. She did look at me sideways and ask, "Have you been fasting, Hillbilly Mom?" I assure you, that question had nothing to do with my appearance. It was a fasting blood test. I informed her that I HAD been fasting, since 5:00 a.m., as I was instructed by the office person who gave me the 4:00 appointment. I suppose most fasters want a morning appointment. Then the horror commenced.
I told Phlebby, "I didn't even get hungry this time until around 3:00. So it wasn't too bad. It was not being able to have water that was the worst." Again, she looked at me sideways. I said, "Don't tell me that I could have had water! That would be even worse than not having it--knowing that I could." She said, "We like you to drink water. The body is 70% water. You could have had all you wanted." Doggone it! Why do those office people always tell me, "Only a sip if you need it to take your medicine. Then nothing until the test." ?
Phlebby strapped that rubber hose thingy around my upper arm, and commenced to stabbin'. It did not hurt at all. The one thing I noticed was that the blood was coming out slower than usual. I didn't say anything. Phlebby said, "We just got these new tubes today from Dr. Across-the-Hall, and I'm not sure I like them." I told her my blood usually shoots out in no time. "Maybe it's because I didn't drink enough water, huh?" She said, "You could have had water. Remember that next time. This might just be the tubes." She sucked her fill, and pulled out the needle, and still, it didn't hurt a bit. Phleb put a small square of that folded gauze stuff on my armhole, and taped it down with the clearish kind of tape that rips off my tender skin. I left, thinking it was a pretty simple affair.
When I got to the Large SUV, I took out the phone to call my mom and tell her I was on my way home (but really to make sure the kids hadn't tied her up and laid a bonfire's worth of sticks around her feet). As I switched the phone over to my left hand so I could talk and drive, I glanced down at the little bandage. I turned off the LSUV. The little gauze thingy was soaked with blood. It was seeping out from under the bandage, making a little puddle on both sides, leaving an unsightly oozy mess from where I had bent my arm. That can't be good, I thought. I told my mommy. She told me to go back in. Uh uh. I wasn't going back to ask for another bandage or tourniquet or cauterization or amputation. You know how these things can snowball.
I took a tissue off the dash, where I carry them to hand backwards to the #2 son (but #1 nosepicker) on the way to school. I folded it and stuck it over the tape/gauze thingy, and put my finger on it and bent my arm. I waited about one minute. I peeked. The tissue was soaked. I threw it in the handy Devil's Playground trash bag that we hang from an armrest. I folded another tissue. After another minute, the gushing fountain of arterial blood (OK, that's a bit of drama for Mabel, who really doesn't like to hear about blood leaking out of anybody) had slowed to a mere seep. I kept my arm bent, and drove with one hand. Hey! Like none of you ever do that--drive with one hand while staunching a geyser of arterial blood!
Today there is a bruise in my inner elbow crack the size of a dime, and a raised-up pencil-eraser-sized nipply-looking thingy in the center of it that is pink and not purple. It never did hurt, though. I am quite the freak of nature. It looks like Phleb tried to turn my vein inside out. Yes. I know the difference in a vein and an artery. I only used the 'arterial blood' reference for my own dramatic purposes. It would have done no good to tie off my arm with the rubber hose for arterial blood, because, duh, that would stop blood from getting to the puncture site. You're welcome for the anatomy/physiology lesson.
Mabel sent me a Hallmark e-card last night with a little bee getting repaired so he could fly. I don't know what it said, because my annoying absentminded-professor of a son used my computer for ONE thing (he says he looked up the IP address to use it to put another computer on his network) and suddenly it would not play any sound. I'm going back to check that little card tonight. The boy tells me the sound is working now. I'm afraid to try it just yet, because then I would have some more complaining to do. FYI, Mabel...the bleeding has stopped!
I'm not sure Mabel has been able to read this far.
She's a bit squeamish when it comes to blood-letting.
Yesterday, I rushed to the doctor's office after school to give some blood for my 'routine' blood test that did not seem to be covered last time by either of my two insurances. Don't get me started on that one again, by cracky! The phlebotomist assured me that the office uses the lab required by my insurance, and the the diagnosis code would not show that it was a 'routine' blood test, what with Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's goiter and high blood pressure. I just love talking about my goiter. I have a feeling some of you think it is imaginary. But I assure you that my goiter is as real as Mabel. And my blood pressure is not high because I take my medicine. It only becomes high when I have to pay $166 for a test that has cost me $0 over the last two years.
I kind of like going to the doctor's office sometimes. Especially yesterday, when everybody in the waiting room was OLDER THAN ME! Except that cute little toddler, but he was there with his grandparents, so he doesn't count. The only annoying thing was at the sign-in window. They have taped up signs that say, "For the privacy of yourself and others, DO NOT open this window." Duh! Who in their right mind opens the window? Tap on it, maybe, but OPEN it? And they also put up a sign on the door leading back to the exam rooms, "Do Not Enter until your name is called by the nurse." WTF? Has there been a rash of people yanking open the window, rushing into the exam rooms willy-nilly? See what you miss when you haven't been there in 5 months?
The phlebotomist called me right on time for my appointment. There was nothing taped on her door. She did look at me sideways and ask, "Have you been fasting, Hillbilly Mom?" I assure you, that question had nothing to do with my appearance. It was a fasting blood test. I informed her that I HAD been fasting, since 5:00 a.m., as I was instructed by the office person who gave me the 4:00 appointment. I suppose most fasters want a morning appointment. Then the horror commenced.
I told Phlebby, "I didn't even get hungry this time until around 3:00. So it wasn't too bad. It was not being able to have water that was the worst." Again, she looked at me sideways. I said, "Don't tell me that I could have had water! That would be even worse than not having it--knowing that I could." She said, "We like you to drink water. The body is 70% water. You could have had all you wanted." Doggone it! Why do those office people always tell me, "Only a sip if you need it to take your medicine. Then nothing until the test." ?
Phlebby strapped that rubber hose thingy around my upper arm, and commenced to stabbin'. It did not hurt at all. The one thing I noticed was that the blood was coming out slower than usual. I didn't say anything. Phlebby said, "We just got these new tubes today from Dr. Across-the-Hall, and I'm not sure I like them." I told her my blood usually shoots out in no time. "Maybe it's because I didn't drink enough water, huh?" She said, "You could have had water. Remember that next time. This might just be the tubes." She sucked her fill, and pulled out the needle, and still, it didn't hurt a bit. Phleb put a small square of that folded gauze stuff on my armhole, and taped it down with the clearish kind of tape that rips off my tender skin. I left, thinking it was a pretty simple affair.
When I got to the Large SUV, I took out the phone to call my mom and tell her I was on my way home (but really to make sure the kids hadn't tied her up and laid a bonfire's worth of sticks around her feet). As I switched the phone over to my left hand so I could talk and drive, I glanced down at the little bandage. I turned off the LSUV. The little gauze thingy was soaked with blood. It was seeping out from under the bandage, making a little puddle on both sides, leaving an unsightly oozy mess from where I had bent my arm. That can't be good, I thought. I told my mommy. She told me to go back in. Uh uh. I wasn't going back to ask for another bandage or tourniquet or cauterization or amputation. You know how these things can snowball.
I took a tissue off the dash, where I carry them to hand backwards to the #2 son (but #1 nosepicker) on the way to school. I folded it and stuck it over the tape/gauze thingy, and put my finger on it and bent my arm. I waited about one minute. I peeked. The tissue was soaked. I threw it in the handy Devil's Playground trash bag that we hang from an armrest. I folded another tissue. After another minute, the gushing fountain of arterial blood (OK, that's a bit of drama for Mabel, who really doesn't like to hear about blood leaking out of anybody) had slowed to a mere seep. I kept my arm bent, and drove with one hand. Hey! Like none of you ever do that--drive with one hand while staunching a geyser of arterial blood!
Today there is a bruise in my inner elbow crack the size of a dime, and a raised-up pencil-eraser-sized nipply-looking thingy in the center of it that is pink and not purple. It never did hurt, though. I am quite the freak of nature. It looks like Phleb tried to turn my vein inside out. Yes. I know the difference in a vein and an artery. I only used the 'arterial blood' reference for my own dramatic purposes. It would have done no good to tie off my arm with the rubber hose for arterial blood, because, duh, that would stop blood from getting to the puncture site. You're welcome for the anatomy/physiology lesson.
Mabel sent me a Hallmark e-card last night with a little bee getting repaired so he could fly. I don't know what it said, because my annoying absentminded-professor of a son used my computer for ONE thing (he says he looked up the IP address to use it to put another computer on his network) and suddenly it would not play any sound. I'm going back to check that little card tonight. The boy tells me the sound is working now. I'm afraid to try it just yet, because then I would have some more complaining to do. FYI, Mabel...the bleeding has stopped!
I'm not sure Mabel has been able to read this far.
She's a bit squeamish when it comes to blood-letting.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Halllooooo!
What's this?
I went to create a new blog...and that doggone New Blogger picked a template for me. That ain't right. What is this, like the car that drives itself? Are people too dumb now to even make a choice on what a blog looks like? OK, my last one wasn't all that purty. But I was in a hurry when I did it. And 298 posts later, I still had not changed the template. I'll see what I can do here in a few minutes.
Now I must create a sidebar. Excuse me.
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Sidebar is DONE, man! That took a bit of copying and pasting. I hope I don't develop carpal tunnel syndrome. That stuff is painful. I had it once, back when I worked in a junk store for a year and wrote prices on things all day with a Sharpie. At night, I would wake up with my forearms and wrists aching so bad that I had to plunge them into a bowl of ice water. Which hurt like a pimple up inside the nose, only in my arms, but was a better pain than the lukewarm aching that awakened me. I didn't see a doctor about it. I was working in a junk store, by cracky! What makes you think I could afford medical care? I was also finishing my Master's Degree that year. Which was not nearly so much fun as working in a junk store. After I quit the junk store and got a real job, the aching went away. Do you think I will get any people searching for 'junk store' in my stats?
Now, I'm off to change the color from this antiseptic white, which gives me flashbacks to the time I WOKE UP DURING SURGERY.
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There. Have I told you I like GREEN? Is this a bit much? It's kind of bright in my dark lair. I don't know how it would look in office light, because I don't blog at work. That kind of thing is frowned upon. And besides, I don't have time, because HELLO! I am working when I am at work. Duh.
I'll try this for a couple of days. If I have a lot of complaints, I'll tone it down. Or not. I can't make all of the people happy all of the time. Actually, I don't try to make people happy. It's not in my nature. I try to keep from pissing them off so much that they want to do me bodily harm. That's about as warm and fuzzy as Mrs. Hillbilly Mom gets.
Whew! Now I'm exhausted. I think it might be due to blood loss. You'll have to come back for that story tomorrow. And for those of you who received that little Mother's Day e-card from Hallmark (Mabel), I'd like to warn you: "WE'VE GOT A BLEEDER!!!
I went to create a new blog...and that doggone New Blogger picked a template for me. That ain't right. What is this, like the car that drives itself? Are people too dumb now to even make a choice on what a blog looks like? OK, my last one wasn't all that purty. But I was in a hurry when I did it. And 298 posts later, I still had not changed the template. I'll see what I can do here in a few minutes.
Now I must create a sidebar. Excuse me.
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Sidebar is DONE, man! That took a bit of copying and pasting. I hope I don't develop carpal tunnel syndrome. That stuff is painful. I had it once, back when I worked in a junk store for a year and wrote prices on things all day with a Sharpie. At night, I would wake up with my forearms and wrists aching so bad that I had to plunge them into a bowl of ice water. Which hurt like a pimple up inside the nose, only in my arms, but was a better pain than the lukewarm aching that awakened me. I didn't see a doctor about it. I was working in a junk store, by cracky! What makes you think I could afford medical care? I was also finishing my Master's Degree that year. Which was not nearly so much fun as working in a junk store. After I quit the junk store and got a real job, the aching went away. Do you think I will get any people searching for 'junk store' in my stats?
Now, I'm off to change the color from this antiseptic white, which gives me flashbacks to the time I WOKE UP DURING SURGERY.
******************************************************************
There. Have I told you I like GREEN? Is this a bit much? It's kind of bright in my dark lair. I don't know how it would look in office light, because I don't blog at work. That kind of thing is frowned upon. And besides, I don't have time, because HELLO! I am working when I am at work. Duh.
I'll try this for a couple of days. If I have a lot of complaints, I'll tone it down. Or not. I can't make all of the people happy all of the time. Actually, I don't try to make people happy. It's not in my nature. I try to keep from pissing them off so much that they want to do me bodily harm. That's about as warm and fuzzy as Mrs. Hillbilly Mom gets.
Whew! Now I'm exhausted. I think it might be due to blood loss. You'll have to come back for that story tomorrow. And for those of you who received that little Mother's Day e-card from Hallmark (Mabel), I'd like to warn you: "WE'VE GOT A BLEEDER!!!
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