OK, vacation's over. Back to the routine, people. Don't you feel like you've been on the vacation with me? Now it's time to unload that smelly LSUV and wash up the laundry. Step lively, now! I don't have all summer, you know.
Speaking of the LSUV... HH put new brakes on it. I know. I just heard that collective "GASP" from all of you. If I don't post for a few days, that means I am DEAD from an unfortunate braking faux pas. I told HH a month ago that my brakes were making a noise. I told him, because that is HIS job, the automobiles. I don't ask him to pay the bills, because that is my job. Well, and because I don't want everything repossessed when he 'forgets' to pay them. HH said he had the brakes checked when he took the LSUV for an oil change. He used to do these things himself, when we were just married, and lived in my $17,000 house, when I drove my favorite car of all time, a cherry red 1990 Toyota Corolla, and we had no garage, so HH had to change the oil in the driveway. Now that we have the LSUV, and a nice barn with a concrete floor, as well as a nice garage with a concrete floor, not to mention that slab of concrete we call a carport, HH takes the vehicles to Quik Trak. Or so I thought. Then I found out he took my darling LSUV to The Devil's Playground for the oil change, which is just OH SO WRONG, ever since they left the oil plug out of my brother-in-law the mayor's little white pick-up and he burned up the engine and they refused to take responsibility. Like he was fiddling with the plug after they changed the oil, and burned up his engine the next day on the way to work on purpose.
Anyhoo, getting back to MEEEE...HH said he told them to check the brakes when they changed the oil, and they said the brakes were fine. Which I do not believe for one hot Hillbilly minute, because no way would The Devil's Playground pass up a chance to stick it to us by charging for brakes and the labor to replace them. So we went on vacation, what with HH driving all the time and his technique according to then-4-year-old #2 son of "gas, gas, gas--brake, brake, brake". And when we pulled into the driveway upon arriving home, HH said, "Those brakes don't sound right." I'll fix them tomorrow. Which would have been Tuesday, but he didn't, and Wednesday we went to the casino, and Thursday, when we got home, HH said, "Those brakes have GOT to be replaced!" But Friday and Saturday, HH went to antique stores and flea markets and left us at home with no brakes, so on Saturday we cured our cabin fever with a trip to CiCi's Pizza, and noticed that the brakes sounded like a big ol' jet landing in the backyard every time we tried to stop.
Sunday, HH started his little brake-repair shop. He said he didn't want to pay retail for parts, and for all that labor, and since he has a tech school degree in auto repair, he would do it himself. He spent about $150 on parts, and worked on it about 3 hours, methinks. Unless he was just sitting in his BARn drinking. Now the brakes work, but they still make a little squealing sound, which HH says is just the ceramic brake pads on metal, whereas the jet engine screaming sound was metal on metal, which was very very bad. I don't know. It's all Greek to me. HH said he took the front rotors to town for turning, and replaced the entire set of rear brakes, which was the problem, and did everything except replace the right rear emergence brake. He says. For all I know, it's like he's telling me I need to change the air in my tires. I am automotively challenged.
The boys and I went to see Surf's Up today. Oh, and we took my mom with us. She likes that G-rated fare. She was kind of shocked when that little bitty penguin said another one was 'a dirty trash can full of poop'. That's how she rolls. The movie was better than I expected. And the previews of Evan Almighty look hilarious.
I don't have time to chit-chat tonight. I must begin my newest challenge for writeinthethickofit, Diva's writing contest. We all have a different assignment this week, with a specific genre, three pop culture references, and the list of words we must include. Karma is a b*tch, baby. Why, just last week I confessed to cheating, and now this week I have been assigned a Herculean task. No. That's too easy for my luck o' the draw. I have garnered myself a Sisyphusian task. And if you were not cursed with a teacher who made you learn Greek mythology in 10th grade, this will all be Greek to you. Every time I think I have come up with an angle to make this little story work, I remember that I have not used something trifling, like, umm...THE FREAKIN' SIX WORDS WE ALL HAVE TO INCLUDE, and I have to start all over again. I'm starting to think my little assignment can't be done. But if it can, I'm just the Hillbilly to do it.
By cracky!
So I'm off to beat my head against the wall. Wish me luck. Not on the head-beating, of course. On the writing. And if you are also entering this week, you don't even have to do that. I understand. But don't be tryin' to wish me luck on the head-beatin', either.
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7 comments:
Awww, my 6 words are fun arent they?? LOL. I am half done with my story now.
Cazzie,
It's not so much the words as my genre. You'll see what I mean when the stories come out.
Sure, rub it in. I haven't started yet. My story is just a twinkle in my eye right now.
I must agree, the words aren't so bad. Actually, in normal circumstances, they'd easily make a nice story. But because I was smoking DOPE and thought that it'd be fun to mix things up, tonight I'm trying to work Al Gore's invention of the internet into a horror story frought with tranquilizers and destiny. Wonder if Al ever went to a sexologist.....
Good luck with your story... I totally feel your pain.
Diva,
With nobody here to pass me a crack pipe, I am having trouble working these words and pop culture thingies into HISTORICAL ROMANCE! Put that into your dope bong and smoke it, baby!
I have issues with the independent accounting firm of Paul, from the official site of Paul's recliner, under the supervision of Paul.
How come there's nobody to play me the world's smallest violin when I need it?
But to be a good sport, I WILL wish you and the Cazzmeister good luck in your literary endeavors this evening. After that, you're on your own. Yep. It's good will for ONE NIGHT ONLY. Because that's how I roll.
Is it bad karma to correct a teacher? Personally, I dunno... but when some wiseacre pipes up to tell you that "Sisyphusian" isn't a word, lemme know how that all works out.
Alternatively, you could quietly replace it with "Sisyphean," and nobody will be the wiser.
When I first read the last line I thought it said, "Because that's how I throw rolls."
Yeah, you did get a rotten genre to mix in with pop culture refs. The independent accountant, Paul, from the independent accounting firm of Paul, from the official site of Paul's recliner, under the supervision of Paul even asked me if you'd hate him forever and seek revenge. I said, "Nah,don't worry. She won't come out of hiding in order to murder you, so you're safe."
Stewthesemiprofessionalproofreader,
No bad karma for YOU!
Actually, I did not even Google it to find the correct usage. It's an affectation, like in 'The Throwed Roll Restaurant', where I used 'Arkansasish', which I know is not a real word, but I liked the ring of it.
I am sure my posts are chock-full of improper nuggets. I do not spend enough time on proofreading.
And the sad state of the world is that more attention was given to Sisyphus than Arkansas.
Which is perhaps fitting, in a classical sense.
Diva,
I would never throw rolls. I would douse them with honey from the plastic bear, and they would stick to my fingers.
That Paul fellow thinks he's mighty powerful, running the world from his Laz-E-Boy, eh? He doesn't scare me. I've developed a hard outer shell to deal with his kind. I get daily practice from his alter ego, the HH Free Hairwad Hot Tub Maven.
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