Where the Blog Takes You
Toot, toot...yeahhh...beep, beep! I never tire of the disco. But I'm
not listening to it tonight. I'm warning you that I am posting without
a net. I have no idea what I'm going to say tonight. Beware! Thin
Blog: Read at Your Own Risk. No proofreader on duty.
In case you really don't like me, and haven't voted yet, I am still in
the Blog of the Week contest at A Mischief of Magpies. You can
vote here. You don't have to LIKE me to vote, you know. But you
need to know that Ill Man has outsmarted us hillbillies, and won't let
you vote more than once. For all of you who tried to cheat for me...
HooRah! In Hillmomba, we're all about the results. We don't care
what we had to do to get there. Unless it involves eating some kind
of nasty creamed corn casserole, with mushy, milky cornbread
gruel and kernels of corn that we think at first is a cheese casserole
and after a big bite find out that we are sadly mistaken, and we
can't spit it out on the plate because everyone at the potluck dinner
will see us, including possibly the person who made it and thinks
it is good. Or her best friend we will inadvertently complain about
it to later in the afternoon.
My Hillbilly Husband has been gone on a business trip for the past
two days. Do I miss him? Nawww! It is only TWO days, people.
I can still remember what he looks like. He calls several times a
day. Can I tell that he's gone? Yesssss! How, you ask? (Play along,
even if you didn't).
TOP TEN SIGNS THAT HH HAS LEFT THE MANSION:
10. The trash can is returned to the garage the day it is picked up.
HH has issues. The trash is picked up at the end of the 1/10-mile
driveway on Thursday mornings. HH sometimes leaves our little
dumpster up there until Sunday. That is just wrong. #1 son is
much more efficient.
9. The tape is not picked off the satellite remote.
OK, #1 son dropped it and broke it eons ago. We tape the door
of the battery compartment so the batteries don't fall out. SOME-
BODY peels off the tape slowly, over about a week. HH has
always blamed it on #2 son. Funny, it didn't peel off in the summer,
when #2 was home every day with it.
8. No pile of snack wrappers/cans on the TV table.
Does he actually think I'M going to pick them up? OH H*LL NO!
It gives me ammunition to throw at him when I'm mad. Not the
actual trash...the IDEA of it.
7. No squalling cat when the kitchen door opens.
HH does not look down. The cat wants food. Big boot plus cat
tail equals MEOWWW! Every morning.
6. Little chocolate donuts do not disappear.
I buy them for the kids. Expecially sweet #2 boy. He CRIES,
people, when he wakes up to see that his donuts are gone.
5. I am not awakened from my 5:00-6:00 a.m. nap in the recliner
by the slamming of the bathroom cabinets and shower door.
I'm sure he does it on purpose. Never mind that I get up at 4:20
so he can get ready on time. He is evil. Hey! 4:20! Isn't that
Stoner's Holiday? I must rethink that time. I hope it isn't anything
in my subconscious.
4. The dog is heartbroken.
Grizzly love him some HH. After all, HH gave Grizzly that new
pillow.
3. I am now the bath overseer.
HH's only real child-rearing job. I'm handlin' it.
2. No nasty feet rubbing all over my legs in the bed.
I can not stand HH's feet. They are stubby and hairy, and he
broke his big toe and it sticks straight out, and I do not like them,
Sam-I-Am.
1. The bed is OH SO COLD.
Yes. Well. The man is a human furnace. I throw the grandma-quilt
off, he throws it back on me. I have to poke my feet out the end.
HH pulls the quilt up over his head, but he won't suffocate. I have
issues. He makes me hot. But not in THAT way. Enough! You
now know too much about Hillbilly Mom's boudoir.
There. That's where the blog takes you. On a detour in the life
of Hillbilly Mom.
not listening to it tonight. I'm warning you that I am posting without
a net. I have no idea what I'm going to say tonight. Beware! Thin
Blog: Read at Your Own Risk. No proofreader on duty.
In case you really don't like me, and haven't voted yet, I am still in
the Blog of the Week contest at A Mischief of Magpies. You can
vote here. You don't have to LIKE me to vote, you know. But you
need to know that Ill Man has outsmarted us hillbillies, and won't let
you vote more than once. For all of you who tried to cheat for me...
HooRah! In Hillmomba, we're all about the results. We don't care
what we had to do to get there. Unless it involves eating some kind
of nasty creamed corn casserole, with mushy, milky cornbread
gruel and kernels of corn that we think at first is a cheese casserole
and after a big bite find out that we are sadly mistaken, and we
can't spit it out on the plate because everyone at the potluck dinner
will see us, including possibly the person who made it and thinks
it is good. Or her best friend we will inadvertently complain about
it to later in the afternoon.
My Hillbilly Husband has been gone on a business trip for the past
two days. Do I miss him? Nawww! It is only TWO days, people.
I can still remember what he looks like. He calls several times a
day. Can I tell that he's gone? Yesssss! How, you ask? (Play along,
even if you didn't).
TOP TEN SIGNS THAT HH HAS LEFT THE MANSION:
10. The trash can is returned to the garage the day it is picked up.
HH has issues. The trash is picked up at the end of the 1/10-mile
driveway on Thursday mornings. HH sometimes leaves our little
dumpster up there until Sunday. That is just wrong. #1 son is
much more efficient.
9. The tape is not picked off the satellite remote.
OK, #1 son dropped it and broke it eons ago. We tape the door
of the battery compartment so the batteries don't fall out. SOME-
BODY peels off the tape slowly, over about a week. HH has
always blamed it on #2 son. Funny, it didn't peel off in the summer,
when #2 was home every day with it.
8. No pile of snack wrappers/cans on the TV table.
Does he actually think I'M going to pick them up? OH H*LL NO!
It gives me ammunition to throw at him when I'm mad. Not the
actual trash...the IDEA of it.
7. No squalling cat when the kitchen door opens.
HH does not look down. The cat wants food. Big boot plus cat
tail equals MEOWWW! Every morning.
6. Little chocolate donuts do not disappear.
I buy them for the kids. Expecially sweet #2 boy. He CRIES,
people, when he wakes up to see that his donuts are gone.
5. I am not awakened from my 5:00-6:00 a.m. nap in the recliner
by the slamming of the bathroom cabinets and shower door.
I'm sure he does it on purpose. Never mind that I get up at 4:20
so he can get ready on time. He is evil. Hey! 4:20! Isn't that
Stoner's Holiday? I must rethink that time. I hope it isn't anything
in my subconscious.
4. The dog is heartbroken.
Grizzly love him some HH. After all, HH gave Grizzly that new
pillow.
3. I am now the bath overseer.
HH's only real child-rearing job. I'm handlin' it.
2. No nasty feet rubbing all over my legs in the bed.
I can not stand HH's feet. They are stubby and hairy, and he
broke his big toe and it sticks straight out, and I do not like them,
Sam-I-Am.
1. The bed is OH SO COLD.
Yes. Well. The man is a human furnace. I throw the grandma-quilt
off, he throws it back on me. I have to poke my feet out the end.
HH pulls the quilt up over his head, but he won't suffocate. I have
issues. He makes me hot. But not in THAT way. Enough! You
now know too much about Hillbilly Mom's boudoir.
There. That's where the blog takes you. On a detour in the life
of Hillbilly Mom.
posted by Hillbilly Mom at 7:46 PM
6 Comments:
Hi Hillbilly Mom,
I found out you can vote more than once, you just can't vote more than once in a day.
I know how it is having your partner gone for a while. Whenever my ex was away, things got done around the place. Thankfully for me, I was the human electric blanket, so being in bed alone, was no big deal for me.
HooRoo
Rebecca
Shhhhh.........I have a lap-top, and 4 computers at work, I can vote more than once!!!!!
Ah! You found the loophole. Don't kick the arse out of it though.....
Bec,
You are quite the techie, you crafty wench. As I said before (which has never stopped me from saying it again) "With enemies like you, who needs friends?"
So...I guess you are saying you're hot? Do you listen to that "Toot, toot...yeahhh...beep, beep" Donna Summer song, too?
Mrs.,
I won't tell. You are a credit to Hillmomba, my faithful Minister of Cheese.
Ill Man,
Rebecca has never been known to play by the rules. And apparently, Mrs. is being paid to vote for me throughout the work day. I truly have some loyal readers. Perhaps because I'm OH SO PRETTY.
HI Hillbilly Mom,
I could melt ice at fifty feet.:-P
No, I don't know that Donna Summer song, but I do know the Beatles song which has that line in it.
HooRoo
Rebecca
Bec,
There you go, putting on airs again! At least you've done your homework, and converted those freakish meters to feet. Your homework for tomorrow is to listen to the entire Donna Summer "Bad Girls" album. Not a CD--a vinyl LP. Good luck.
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