No Camping Here

Hillbilly Mom is not a happy camper. In fact, Hillbilly Mom is not
a camper at all, even though she has a 5th-wheel camper parked
in her front yard. It is all part of the image, like the Christmas lights
that adorn the Mansion year round.

Today, I went to give my Hillbilly Mama a birthday card and a
cake. The boys stayed with her to party, and I continued to run
errands, such as paying for the Mansion, buying Powerball tickets,
and picking up prescriptions.

I would get better service from the local meth dealers than I do
from my pharmacy. Last month, they charged me $45 for a
prescription that is usually $25. When I questioned it, they said
my insurance list of preferred drugs had changed. I believed them.
Then today, I saw that they had charged me $25 as usual. They
could not explain it...could not look it up on their computer
because, oh, wouldn't you know, it locked up and logged off.

Did I mention that this happened while they were trying to give
me a $92.25 CREDIT on my debit card? Seems they had filled
my prescription wrong, for 90 pills instead of 30. Not to mention
that the 30 pills usually cost, yes, $25. So why do 3 times that
many not cost $75? What's with the $92.25?

The kindly old lady had to come off her lunch break to help them
correct the problem, and they ended up giving me cash, because,
oh, the computer said my debit card was INVALID and wouldn't
give me credit. Funny how it wasn't invalid when they charged me
$170.25 for the 4 prescriptions I picked up. Now I fear they have
messed up my debit card.

Oh, and when I said, "Well, I still need 30 of those pills" like it said
on the prescription I renewed, they said, "That'll be $34.25." What?
I refused to pay until the little guy asked the pharmacy tech if my
insurance had changed the amount. She said, "Oh. I didn't know
she had insurance." DUH! They used the insurance on the other
3 prescriptions!

It is a miracle that they haven't killed me with the wrong pills. And
it's not even the good stuff, like fake Vicodin or real Histinex! It's
just boring blood pressure stuff and #1 son's Zyrtec for his allergies,
and medicine for my goiter. Heh heh. I know there's one of you
that likes that word. Goiter. Goiter, goiter, goiter!

Sooo...now I'll have to watch my bank statement that I get in 30
days, and see how much they really charged me. And when I call
in my refill, they'll probably tell me "NO, YOU GOT 90 PILLS
LAST TIME." Which they did on a different prescription two
months ago.

I know. This was confusing. But I know what I'm talking about.
I doggone near needed some extra blood pressure medicine after
30 minutes of trying to straighten this out.

Don't ever be insured on two policies, people. Because it seems
like you are punished by paying way more than the people who
get their meds for free. The kids at school say they have no
trouble at all getting their prescriptions and doctors and oh, yes...
ER visits for free. And they take advantage of it too, going to the
ER if they need a doctor's excuse so they don't get kicked out
for missing too many days.

I am fixing up my handbasket.

Truckload of Hot Cabana Boys

Eat your heart out, Redneck Diva. I had a truckload of hot cabana
boys at my house all afternoon. They got down and dirty in my
backyard. My actual backyard. That is not a euphemism such as
'back door'. Though I did spend about 20 minutes with one of
them at my back door.

They had their shirts off. They glistened with sweat. One stepped
on his hose, it was so long. And one of them kept putting the hose
in his mouth. (I was about to check his wallet for cat pictures.)
They brought toys. They really dug it. They hooked me up and
turned me on, but alas, left before I'd had my fill.

Yep. A truckload of hot cabana boys. Count 'em.

ONE....















TWO...















THREE hot cabana boys!















OK, so they all three rode out here in a truck pulling a flatbed
trailer with a little Bobcat and all their pool-installing tools. They
were hot. It was about 98 degrees. Fahrenheit, people. We
do not live on the surface of the sun.

We live in Hot Cabanaboy Land. Enjoy, Diva.

I now present to you...The Hillbilly Mansion Pool!














21 feet of summertime fun. The ladder is on order, but it should
be here around Thursday. It will take that long to fill this monster
with our dinky little garden hose. It will take until the weekend
for that 58-degree well-water to warm up enough that the kids
don't get hypothermia. Hmm...I believe it is almost WINTER
in some parts of the world right now. You people can eat your
hearts out, too. We'll have a Good Old-Fashioned Heart-Eating
Party here at the Mansion. I'll supply the Ranch Dressing.

Perhaps you should check the expiration date.

Big Blogger 2, Task 5B, Superhero

Task B: Superhero!
Big Blogger says,
"Each Cyberhousemate has to reinvent themself into a Superhero.
Yes, it is time to wear your underpants on the outside, and prove
that capes are fashionable. Name yourself, let us know what your
super powers are, and your crime fighting motto.As we all know,
every Superhero needs a sidekick, so pick someone else from the
Cyberhouse to be your ward, and explain how they help you in
your fight against evil."

I've been debating this week about my Superhero identity. I've
been through several.

I could have been The Cherry Diet Coke-Wh*re, with a cape
made of Sonic napkins, flinging cherries at the eyes of evildoers.
I could subdue them with giant onion rings dropped over their
heads, pinning their arms to their sides. I could torture them with
straws up the nose (or elsewhere). But no.

I could have been Coors Can Girl, smiling people to death, no
special costume needed (since I already have one). But no.

I could have been Lovely Green Jeannie, making the world a
safer place by banning all criminals from wearing green shirts.
Again, no special costume would be required of me. But no.

I could have been Smirking Ornaments-in-Hair Girl, so scary
that criminals would run screaming when they saw me. But no.

I could have been Ye Olde Expired Food Purveyor, killing
criminals slowly with outdated goodies like Ranch Dressing
and Kraft Macaroni & Cheese. But no.

Drumroll, please.....




My Superhero name is:
The RAVEN.

Because I'm a ravin' lunatic.

Don't mess with me. I'll swoop
down and drag you away to
my nest and read you bad
poetry until you're sorry.

Or wiiiillllll I?


Will folks mess with you if you know The RAVEN? Nevermore!
Here is a little POEm I wrote for my Superhero:

Do not mess with me, you people, I will mess you up severely.
People piss me off a lot, and I can't take it now, you see.
I will pick you up, and flapping my great wings I'll take you, crapping,
To the Hellmouth for some napping, napping for eternity.
"That will serve you right," I mutter. "Napping for eternity.
That'll learn ya. Hear my plea."

Meet my sidekick: she is Cazzie! She's a cleaner, dresses snazzy.
She will help me get you, Spazzy! We can do it. Yes we can.
We won't take no sh*t from you guys. We can see through all of your lies.
Like Cherry Diet Cokes HM buys, buys from her sweet Sonic man.
Every day she purchases those Cokes from her sweet Sonic man.
RAVEN, Cazzie, have a plan.

Cazzie sweeps them up and RAVEN pops a FittyMaid for savin'
Bad boys, mad boys 'til the Hellmouth blazes up through its trapdoor.
RAVEN empties out the Fitty. For those dudes it's kinda sh*tty.
Sure as HM's OH SO PRETTY, they are doomed we know fer shore.
Dudes are cast into the Hellmouth. We will see those dudes no more.
Mess with RAVEN? Nevermore!

Superhero: The RAVEN
Super Power: Bad Poetry, with a little help from the Hellmouth.
Sidekick: Cazzie the Cool Cleaner!
Motto: "People Piss Me Off" (Was there ever any doubt?)
Not evicted yet: Priceless.

Big Blogger 2 Learn it. Live it. Love it.

• Hillbilly Mansion
• I don't do mornings
• Knockin' On The Golden Door
• Lantern of Light
• Legless In Perpetuum
• Perspectives of a Nomad
• Redneck Diva
• Scotland of the Soul
• Will Type For Food

Big Blogger 2, Task 5A, Letter Home

Our Big Blogger 2 challenge this week has two parts. I am only
doing Task A today, because it is a bit long. Task B will appear
later this week.

Task A: Letter Home.
Big Blogger says...
"Seeing as though you have all been inside the Cyberhouse for a
while now, it is time to write a letter home to your loved ones.
Remember back to your days of school camp,when saying
anything bad about the camp would mean detention, so you had to
be creative in hiding your disdain at the place, the people you were
with, and just at life in general."

Letter Home from Camp Cyberhouse

Dear Mom and Pop,
I am writing to let you know things are fine here at the Cyberhouse.
Big Blogger is taking good care of me. A few people have already
gone home. Big Blogger says they were homesick and missed their
mommies and daddies too much. All I know is, one minute they
were here, and the next minute they were gone. Picture it: one
morning, sitting in the Cyberkitchen, humming a little tune, happily
typing for food, and the next morning...VANISHED! Every day I
check the back of the Scorn Flakes box for their pictures.

The food is OK. We have unlimited amounts of Scorn Flakes and
Cut-Up Cow. We don't have milk here. Big Blogger says that
Cazzie's Cool Cleaner is more nutritious, and we can get it for free.
Who knew? We went and bought a cow, and now we don't get
the milk for free anymore. What's up with that?

The kitchen here is open all day, but we're not supposed to go in
there. Every time I hear a noise and think I can enter, this other
camper, Redneck Diva, squeals and says "OCCUPIED!" She
plays with the Cabana Boy, Carlos, quite a bit. I caught him one
day rubbing the Wesson Oil on her Tinkerbell. I think they had a
very special meal planned that night. I don't have a chance in a
Hellmouth with Carlos. Diva is sooo cool. She has that piratey,
unibooby, free-cheesy thing going on. I'm not nearly so exotic.
Diva has a big FittyMaid container of toys that she won't let
anyone play with except Carlos. I feel kind of left out sometimes,
but she swears we are Redneck sisters, and hums a little Dolly
tune for me, and promises that we'll go to Branson when we
get out. That makes it all better.

I do like this one guy, Lantern. He's real bright. He knows a lot of
technical stuff, and he lets me sit in the recliner with him. One day,
he even agreed when I proclaimed myself to be OH SO PRETTY.
As long as we don't listen to 'that rotten little whore' Olivia Newton
John, Lantern is a lot of fun. He is a gentleman, and only says
'boobie' about 20 times a day. I think he only says it to point out
that Diva just has one, instead of the usual two. You can't put
much over on Lantern. When I leave the house, he has agreed to
escort me, to protect me from that evil Mark. We hear him outside
the Cyberhouse every night, howling "Bwahahahahaha". Some
nights, he even pounds on that pretty yellow door.

The other Cyberhousemates are nice. Cazzie is cool. She's a
cleaner. She likes to hang out in the toilet, but to each her own.
She is agreeable and gets on well with everybody. I think she
knows she could kill us and make it look like an accident, what
with her vast store of medical knowledge. She's definitely one I
want on my side. She made us a Boston Bun, which was neither
from Boston, nor a bun. We discussed it amongst ourselves.

Stewed Hamm is a an outgoing little rascal. He gave up his sweet,
sweet Booberry Cereal while he's in the Cyberhouse, so he's kinda
detoxin' like that Shane on Survivor. He has even built himself a
tropical paradise in the back yard. You say 'Tiki', I say 'tacky'
(if ya know what I mean...;). Hammy's talents are Monkeybars
(feet on the ground) and Abe Vigoda trivia. I do know one thing.
Don't ever, ever, mess with his box of Kleenex.
He freakin' LOOOVES it.

Scottage is one of the dudes I don't know very well. He knows
a lot about the big wide world, so I kinda keep my mouth shut
around him. I don't wanna look ignert. He was on the radio the
other night, but I couldn't tune in. Something about my dial-up.
Scottage is a cool guy. He redesigned our basement rec room,
and brought in Van Halen. He even tried to set me up with David
Lee Roth, but I declined. I am on the lookout, lest Scottage
try to initiate some harmless hazing for the Cyberhousemates.

Rachy hasn't checked in yet. She was waylaid by a bug, and is
fighting it in hospital. That Rachy is a sh*t-disturber, for sure. She
would really stir things up in here. The only thing I can remember
that has stumped her so far is a little cuddly kitten. Yep. That ol'
Niles messed with her keyboard one time, and Rachy couldn't type
for sh*t. It was like reading secret code. I'm looking forward to her
release, but not to her competition. Cause I'm a lazy kind of gal.
Rachy would give Scottage some good debates. She's also very
knowledgeable about world affairs. And she likes wine, too.
Copious amounts.

Big Blogger has been keeping us busy with various tasks. I want
to stay as long as I can, but I know sometimes campers disappear,
and then there's an extra sheep on a unicycle pedaling around.
Keep sending the money, cause you never know when I might
have to bribe someone, or pay them to be my friend. I'm working
on my PEOPLE PISS ME OFF issues, and so far, I have not
gotten into any fights. When you come to visit, please bring me
a Sonic Cherry Diet Coke. Until then, I will think of y'all every
evening when we're gathered around the Hellmouth, roasting the
mini marshmallows out of the Scorn Flakes.

Summertime...And the ReRuns Are Easy

Our Big Blogger 2 assignments this week are to write a letter home
from the Cyberhouse, and to make ourselves into superheroes.
While I am polishing up my entries for this year, let's take a walk
back to yesteryear, and my classic entries. Back then, it was just
a letter from camp, not necessarily from the Cyberhouse.

So without further ado...I present Last Year's Big Blogger Entries:

Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Big Blogger Challenge #13 Letter From Camp Blog
It's down to 3 of us left in the cyberhouse at the Big Blogger
contest at Rants of a Rebecca. This week Bec has challenged
us to write a letter from Camp Blog to Mommy and Daddy.
Here we go:

Dear Mom and Pop,

I didn't want to take time away from blogging to write to you, but
they said we have to or else lose internet access. I am having as
good a time as I can, what with being around all these people.

There was a little problem with accommodations. Way more
bloggers showed up than was expected. Somebody said they
must be from Lurkyville. Some people just stumbled in and said
they didn't know how they got here, but they are going to stay.
And then a bunch of 25 year-old-women turned out to be
45 year-old-men. I guess they read the registration form wrong.
They seem to be getting along fine with the other boys, though.

Some people have decorated their cabins all fancy-schmancy,
and some just kind of have a bare-bones motif that is similar
to a lot of others. I don't really care, because I am just interested
in what they have to say. Sometimes you can hardly talk to those
fancy ones, because they are soooo busy beautifying things.

We have all kinds of activites here. The other day we were going
to a neighboring camp to learn how to put pictures on our blogs,
but it took so long to load the bus that we cancelled the trip.

It's kind of hard for me to remember other campers' names.
They have their blog name and their url name and their email
name and their real name. Man....I bet it took a long time for
their mamas to sew that into their underwear.

The first day we had a workshop on humor. To get warmed
up, we rolled on the floor and laughed. Next, we did the same
thing until our a$$es fell off. After a$$ reattachment lessons,
we practiced drawing snowmen cartoons. Next week we're
supposed to learn how to snark. I don't know what that is,
but it sounds like fun.

There's this one guy, Mitch, who won't keep his big mouth shut.
Day and night, he keeps flapping his lips. I am afraid to say
anything to him, because he says he's going to tell. He looks
like he would, too, that jaw-jacking ol' redheaded pecker.

They don't feed us very well. Everyday, breakfast, lunch, and
supper, all we get is something called Jaffle. I know, it baffles
me too. It looks like a grilled cheese sandwich, but that ain't
cheese. Every meal it has a different filling. The best day was
when they made us each eat a large pizza.

The other campers are really funny, and always up to some
kind of trick. All one of them does is talk about cats, and
others argue over breakfast cereal. Some run businesses
that have funny names. I have heard a lot of them say "If I
ran this camp, I would...." We find underwear in unusual
places, like hanging off a sign by the RR tracks, or up on
the roof. This leads to some tales of quite embarrassing
moments. Some campers have been stalking others, and
then writing odes to them, or posting their pictures on
billboards. Some of them actually pretend to be superheroes
or children's TV characters. What a wacky bunch. This one
time....at blog camp, this girl said she put her mouse---oops!
They're calling us to come and comment on something.
Gotta go. See you when I get home.

*****************************************************

Wednesday, June 22, 2005
"Undies on the Outside" BB Challenge v 11
Hmmm....Rebecca's week wasn't very long this time. Here's my
new Big Blogger challenge: pick a superhero who can save the
world, and choose a sidekick from the former members of the
Cyberhouse. I choose to create my own superhero identity,
so here goes....







Here is the logo I will use for
my newly created superhero,
SNIPE.

Beware, evildoers!




I am the incredibly sharp-tongued superhero, "SNIPE." Oh, no,
folks...you don't want to come a-huntin' me. I can wither people
with a single scathing comment from my finely-honed tongue.
Nobody is safe: world leaders, evil-doers (OK, some are one
and the same), candy-from-baby-stealers, prep-insulting-stoner-
students, my-poo-don't-stink snobs, bosses-from-hell, and even
the lowest-of-all-life-forms, the plagiarizer, are not safe in my
world.

I will seek you out and embarrass you to death. Got a skeleton
in the closet? I'll drag him out for Snipe & Tell. Did you pee the
bed? Pick your nose? Forget to flush? Wear raggedy stained
underwear to the ER? Leave toilet paper flapping out of your
pants? Make out with someone (gasp) unpopular? Never make
out at all? Drink from the milk jug? Put an empty Little Debbie
snack cake box back in the pantry? "Borrow" from petty cash?
I will find out, and you will pay!!!!!

My illustrious sidekick is "Mosha." After drinking 7 bottles of
wine, she becomes a kick-a$$ skank-dancer. She also gives
free lessons in kickboxing computers, and chopping potatoes
with an axe, though she will never ever become a prostitute
because that will give her Parkinson's Disease or Multiple Sclerosis.
This distracts the bad guys while I question their so-called best
friends to get the dirt. And believe me, they do tell, as long as
they start out by saying, "Don't tell anybody I told you this, but..."

Once I have their deep dark secrets, it is curtains for the villains.
I mince no words, though my tongue is so sharp it can mince
onions or other odiferous and cruciferous vegetables. I am quite
suited to the job, because as everyone who knows me well is
aware: people piss me off! All day. Every day.

Trouble With My Crack

No, not that crack, silly people! I'm having trouble procuring the
Hillbilly Mom crack: Sonic Cherry Diet Coke. Ohhh...how I long
for the salad days last summer. The days I had my Sonic lovaahhh,
my Sonic man-boy, to look out for me. To hook me up.

Alas, those days are long gone. I see him sometimes, but he seems
to be in a managerial role. They have a little yayhoo working the
window. The boy doesn't seem quite right. He's nice enough...he
just seems to have short-term memory loss. Which is not a good
thing for working the drive-thru window.

The boy has been giving me a Route 44 Cherry Diet Coke for
$1.07. That is waaayyy too cheap. It should be $1.71. I thought
maybe it was a special, because he did that for about a week.
Imagine my surprise yesterday when I also ordered a large cup
of ice. From $1.07, my price jumped to $2.13. Man! That is one
expensive cup of ice. A whole bag is only $1.07. Not only does
he have money-taking issues, he has order-taking issues.

On Wednesday, I waited and waited at the drive-thru.

Welcome to Sonic. How may I help you?
A Route 44 Cherry Diet Coke.
A Route 44 Cherry Vanilla Diet Coke. Will that be all?
No vanilla!
Do you want vanilla?
No. A Cherry Diet Coke.
With vanilla?
No! Only a Cherry Diet Coke.
A Diet Coke with Cherry?
Yes.
That will be $1.07. Please pull around.

Thursday was not much better.

Welcome to Sonic. How may I help you?
A Route 44 Cherry Diet Coke and a large cup of ice.
A Route 44 Cherry Coke and a cup of ice?
No. A Cherry DIET Coke.
A Route 44 Cherry Diet Coke. And you wanted ice? What size?
Large. Large cup of ice.
A Route 44 Cherry Diet Coke and a large cup of ice?
Yes.
That will be $2.13. Please pull around.

What is this guy's problem? I detest vanilla!!! Where did he get
vanilla? And I detest real Coke when I'm expecting diet. It is
OH SO SWEET. How can anybody drink a Route 44 barrel
of real soda? I make my co-pilot, #1 son, he of the passenger
seat tilted for a space-shuttle launch, taste it. Before we leave the
parking lot. I have had to drive back around several times. Now
I just go to a 'bay' as they call it, and make a carhop correct
their error for no tip. That'll learn 'em. The wrath of the carhop.

Cherry. Diet. Coke. It's not rocket science.
It's crack.

Dead Bird Live Pony

No. That was not the supper menu at the Mansion tonight.

I was reading akaMonty's tale of a day in her life, and it gave
me the most scathingly brilliant idea! Oops! That was Hayley
Mills in The Trouble With Angels. But it really did remind me
of days in my life. Go check it out. Don't cost nothin'.

The picture of Sammy the Squirrel looks OH SO MUCH like a
bird that we had at the middle school. Every day, my boys rode
the bus over there from their elementary so they could ride home
with me. As we walked out to the parking lot, #2 son always
tightrope-walked along a concrete wall, then jumped down into
the parking lot. Except he wanted to grab onto my arm to break
the fall.

During autumn, leaves had begun to cover the blacktop. One day,
as I walked to the jumping-off area, I felt a 'CRUNCH' beneath
my foot. "EEEWWW! What was that?" #2 son, ever the scientist,
ran over and kicked away some leaves. "That's a DEAD BIRD,
Mom! You crushed its bones!" Yeah, blame Hillbilly Mom for all
things dead on a parking lot. "Oh, honey...I'm sure it was dead
before I stepped on it." He walked on to the car, yelling over his
shoulder, "You mean before you CRUSHED ITS BONES!"
#2 son jumped down from the wall and poked at the corpse with
his toe. "Mom stepped on a dead bird! Mom stepped on a dead
bird!" He was practically singing it.

Every day they had to remind me. They yelled to any colleagues
in the parking lot, "Mom stepped on a dead bird." As the seasons
passed, the bird remained. I can't believe people living around
the school had no cats to carry home such a prized gift. The bird
went through the stages of decomposure. By spring, mostly bones
and some feathers were left. It still had its birdy shape, but was
dry and leathery. And then one day it was gone, the skin and
bones ground to dust, powdered down into the blacktop surface.

And even this year, about twice a week, the kids had to say,
"Hey Mom! Remember the time you stepped on that dead bird?"
Ahh...good times.

The other memory was sparked by the pony picture. Yesterday,
as we returned from town with my precious Sonic Cherry Diet
Coke, we passed the neighbor's barn. Their pony was lying out
back. It was around 1:00.

I hope Pony is all right. They don't usually lie down like that.
Oh, Mom. According to you, he has been a pony for the
last three years!
Umm...yeah. What are you saying?
He can't be a PONY for three years! It's like Dad and the goats.
What do you think a pony is?
A baby horse.
No. That would be a foal, or a colt, or a filly. A pony is more like
a smaller version of a horse. They don't get any bigger.
Oh.
Dad did say he was getting three baby goats from his friend to
eat the brush.
That was a couple years ago. They probably died of old age
by now.

I won't even go into my Sonic Cherry Diet Coke issues today.

Hillbilly Mom Smells!

That title didn't turn out quite like I had planned. I can smell again!
Cazzie left me a comment that yellow chunks of snot mean a
bacterial infection, so I called my doctor for some antibiotics.
Because I always rely on blog comments for my healthcare needs.
I am now the proud owner of an Azithromax 5-day pill pack, and
am on the road to recovery.

I am also a confirmed liar now. About two hours after posting my
bon voyage to the Poopies, my Hillbilly Husband and oldest son
declared their misplaced love for them, and their banishment was
rescinded. HH wanted to keep Ann. His reason: she and her
timid brother, Cubby, chased the neighbor's Lab down into the
woods, under the fence, and back to his trailer home next door.
They were baying like he was a fox and they were the hounds.
#1 son says, "She comes to ME, Mom. I want to keep her."

This did not set well with me, as I was already in the process of
getting rid of them. I'd done my research on the shelter, picked
out their replacements. AND, two miles from home, HH had
called and said he saw 4 beagle pups that had been dumped at
a neighbor's driveway. So I thought the signs were good that is
was time for the Poopies to go. But nooooo!

#2 son is not happy. He would much rather have a puppy than
a Poopie. HH says to call and make Ann's spaying appointment,
and drag her to the vet. He says we might as well keep Cubby,
that we don't have to get him neutered right away. I know I can't
drag them both to the vet on the same trip. #1 son says Ann
would miss Cubby too much if we gave him away. That is true.
She can't stand to have him out of her sight. #1 trapped Ann
this morning on the porch, and I fed her part of an old hot dog.
Only the best grub for my Poopies! Hey! It was all-beef. She had
to share with Grizzly, but Cubby laid by the telephone line's
shallow grave and watched. After about 4 bites, he ran under
the porch. Ann got up and went after him. She herded him back
to the yard, then came back for more of her delicious snack.

One thing I'll say for those Poopies is that they're territorial. They
do not allow intruders onto the grounds of the Mansion. Four-
legged intruders, anyway. I have been searching for creatures
that look like them, and the best I can tell, they are a Black Lab,
Black German Shepherd mix. Their fur is so black it is almost
blue. It is kind of long and stiff, not short and sleek like a Lab.
The ears are going to be pointy like a shepherd, but are not pointy
enough. They have a touch of tan fur behind their shoulders and
around their neck, and between their toes, like a shepherd. They
are FULL of energy, like those annoying Labs our neighbor has
had who carry off our ceramic rabbits, squirrels, and turtles, and
who ripped the pump from the Redneck Fish Pond after taking a
dip amongst the giant goldfish.

Here are some pictures to compare. Perhaps you can tell if they
look like the shepherd/lab mix.


Here are our Poopies when
they found us. They looked
like little bear cubs.








Here are some 4 week old
German Shepherd pups.
They have the different
coloring, but their faces
look the same.








Another German Shepherd
puppy. Black.

















Our wet Ann, with her ears
down, afraid of tonight's
thunderstorm. So afraid,
she came to us.







A black German Shepherd






Anyhoo, they don't look like Lab puppies, and they don't look
like Chows. Thank the Gummi Mary! Someone told me Chows
have black tongues. My poopies have black spots on their tongues.
Which I read on the good ol' internet that German Shepherds can
have...black spots on their tongues.

We are keeping the yappy little freeloaders. I am not a traitor
any longer.

Bon Voyage, Dear Poopies

I think we've decided. The Poopies are going away. I will miss their
barking. Though 9 times out of 10 it is at nothing but their sheer joy
of living the wild life and having regular food tossed at them twice a
day, the other 1 time it is keeping the neighbor dog off our porch.

My Hillbilly Husband still wants to keep Ann. He likes her bark.
#1 son wants to keep her, too. But even though she will come to
him once or twice a day, she still skitters away and taunts him.
We had thought of keeping her, giving Cubby away, and adopting
a new puppy. We are concerned that she may be too rough with
a puppy. She is still a child herself.

We are taking them to an animal shelter in a nearby town. I don't
think we have to pay to leave them there. We will even throw in
collars and leashes. We certainly haven't been able to use them.

If we adopt another animal, as our plan goes right now, there is a
$100 fee for dogs, and a $75 fee for cats. That's a lot of money,
HH says, for something you could get free out of a cardboard box
at the front door of Wal*Mart. Still, the shelter makes sure they
have their shots and neutering before you can pick them up. That
is included in the fee, and you don't have to take them to the vet
and pick them up.

We have to fill out an adoption questionnaire, and an adoption
agreement form. They want to know where you plan to keep the
pet, how long it will be left alone, who is your vet, can they come
for a home visit, how many kids, teenagers, senior citizens, etc.
are in your family. And you have to agree that you won't use it for
medical research, and that it will be used for no other purpose
than a pet. I guess they mean no uses such as: target practice,
dinner, 'dating', soccer ball, fur coat, etc. Not that we would, of
course. It's a lot of paperwork for something you could get for
free out of a cardboard at the front door of Wal*Mart.

I checked their website for dogs available for adoption. They
had some cute 'dalmation' puppies (9 of them!) that looked like
they were part dalmation and part beagle. That's because they
were white with little black spots, and some had a large black
splotch on the middle of the back, with black ears and eyes, and
white-tipped black tails. They were much cuter than this sounds.
However, I don't know how long ago that website was updated,
so they could be grown by now. Maybe it's a bait & switch, just
to get you to come in and look at the puppies. Then they try to
give you a St. Bernard or Newfoundland or some such thing.

Anyhoo, that's the plan at this time. We'll see what develops.

Why do I feel like such a traitor?

Hillbilly Mom Has No Taste

I have no taste. That does not mean that I need to be deep-fried
on a stick, rolled in sugar, doused with liquer and set aflame, aged
in a crock buried in the sand, sprinkled with hot sauce, simmered
in garlic, dipped in chocolate, set aside in a barrel of brine, baked
with sage stuffed in my body cavities, or simmered in a crockpot
of sauce for three days.

I have no taste. That does not mean I do not know how to dress
myself or decorate my Mansion. Speaking as an OH SO PRETTY
hillbilly icon, I heartily recommend my everyday ensemble of my
Lovely Green Jeannie shirt layered under gunmetal gray sweats,
which are covered by a cardboard Coors Light poster held up by
black suspenders. I accessorize that with an inverted visor covered
in tinfoil, adorned by a black cardboard bat. My fashionable lady-
mullet with stray tendrils plastered across my cheeks, showing just
a hint of gray at the roots, and sporting Christmas tree ornaments
galore, accents the outfit quite nicely. As far as my Mansion goes,
who can forget my Redneck Lamp, or my Redneck Bathroom, or
my John Deere nook inside my BARn? Not many people, I'm sure.
They kind of stick with you.

No, I mean I have no sense of taste. Or smell. But to say "Hillbilly
Mom has no smell" would be stretching the truth just a bit. Since
I caught this not-Type A Influenza on Thursday, May 11, I have
been quite miserable. And now I can't taste or smell. It's gone on
for about 4 days now. I am tired of it. I have tried to smell with my
antennae and taste with my feet, but that only seems to work for
butterflies. And I get some funny looks at McDonalds. Hillbilly
Mom is not an animal. If you bite me, do I not scream
"WHY THE #*%& DID YOU BITE ME!!!"? Yes. I do.

Last night, as I tried to eat my leftover Terrible Tater from lunch
on Saturday, I even chugged down three packets of hot sauce from
Taco Bell. Because sometimes, salsa will clear up my head when
it's stuffy, and I had that sauce just sitting there daring me to open
the package and suck some out. Umm...no taste. No head-clearing.
But today my tongue has some painful little bumps and a whitish
coating. Oh, well. I'm not using it for anything anyway, since I
CAN'T TASTE ANYTHING!

My head is stuffy. It is putting a real crimp in my car-singing. I
sound like my head is in a bucket. I can not sleep at night for the
wheezing and coughing. When I cough, I get a sharp shooting
pain in my forehead, just above my right eye. I am sure it is an
anuerysm waiting to burst. But as my Hillbilly Husband (the
Typhoid Mary who gave this to me) would say, "You ain't the
first woman ever to have an aneurysm." Every now and then
the stuffy head tricks me by turning on a dripping faucet out
one nostril. I turn my head a certain way, and it gushes out.
Other times, I have to struggle to blow thick yellow mucous
from my nose. Am I getting too graphic?

I am thinking about going to the doctor. Just thinking about it,
because he will charge me $20 and say, "You have a virus."
I thought I would be over it by now. I have even tried Mucinex
for the last two days. It does make the yellow mucous easier to
cough up and blow out. I can't seem to catch my breath, what
with the gunk taking up oxygen space in my lungs. Even my sweet,
sweet Histinex does not help anymore. And HH had some of that
Phenergan stuff that Redneck Diva raves about...does nothing
for me. Nada. Couldn't even tell that I took it.

My Hillbilly Mama told me to get some Peppermint Schnapps.
She said my Hillbilly Grandma used to swear by it...that is really
broke up her cough and helped her get well. Yeah. It made her
not care if she ever got well, more likely. But while I will chug
my sweet, sweet Histinex, I do not intend to imbibe demon
alcohol for a cold. If I ever start that, it will be for a good time,
not for an antidote.

I do have my standards to uphold.

Poopies Problem

We have a problem here at the Mansion. A problem with the
poopies. It seems like only 3 months ago that they arrived, on a
dark and stormy night in the dead of winter. Well, as winter as it
got here this year. It was actually pretty mild. We took them in.
We built them a house. We fed them. We gave them as much
attention as we could, what with it being winter, and dark by
5:00 p.m., and having homework and supper and baths and
bedtime. We gave them their worm medicine. We took them
to the vet for shots. We gave them baths with prescription anti-
fungal shampoo. We bought them squeaky chew toys, and
bouncy balls to play with. We gave them dog treats. Did they
appreciate it? H*LL NO!!!

How did they respond? They hid in their house every time we
walked by. They ate the food we poured into their bottomless
stomachs. They ate Grizzly's food. They took over Grizzly's
new house. They tore up HH's new pillow. OK, so it was
really Grizzly's pillow. Grizzly is the one who's gotten the short
end of the rawhide chew bone. They galloped around the porch
several times every night, from 12:00 to 4:00 a.m. They tore up
whatever wasn't nailed down. They dug up the telephone wire
in its shallow grave. 3 TIMES. They dragged deer skulls and
unidentified gooey dead things with livers hanging out onto the
porch. We have tried to pet them, to play with them. How did
they return the favor? Like this:


Every time we go out, they
act like we're going to beat
them. We have never, ever,
even ONE time laid a hand
on them, except to try and
pet them. This one is Ann,
the female. She is top dog.
She even bosses Grizzly.

She is a barker, which I like. She runs the neighbor's dog off the
porch when he comes scrounging for food. She also shoves the
other dogs out of the way so she gets the most food. She is the
leader of the pack. Sometimes, #1 son can lure her close enough
to pet her. He managed to get that red collar on her.


This is our usual view of the
poopies. They retreat as we
advance. They are not pets.
They are uninvited guests who
have worn out their welcome.
And that is our dilemma. I
want pets. I don't want free-
loaders.

I can not see spending more money on these wild dogs who have
decided to eat and sleep here. We have already spent over $200
on their vet bills. Not to mention their house and their food and
their toys. It is time to have them spayed/neutered. I do not want
to waste this money. I want to take them to the Humane Society
and trade them for two puppies that will bond with us. The money
will be better spent on shots and operations for new puppies.
Puppies that will be pets.


These poopies are only about
half grown. They are going to
be big. We can not get them to
walk on a leash. They are not
easy to catch. I can not imagine
trying to get them to the vet for
shots. IF we can catch them, I
will have shove them in a pet

carrier, which means that we will have to buy a bigger one. I will
have to DRAG them on their bellies into the vet's office. How will
that look? Of course, I am only concerned about ME. They will
make me look like a bad dog-mama. So what if they lose a little
skin off their bellies with the draggin'. It's appearances I'm worried
about, people.

It is OH SO ANNOYING to
try to pet these 'pets', and have
them back away. It ain't ever
gonna happen. We have tried
for three months to make it
work. I am tired of trying and
seeing no progress. HH wants
to give away Cubby, the male,

and have Ann spayed. He says that will calm her down, and she
will settle down without Cubby to run around with. I don't think
that will make much difference. Even the boys want to get rid of
them and start over with new puppies.

Grizzly came from the Humane Society. He has been a loyal pet.
He is good with the kids, and appreciates all we do for him. His
worst trait is that he tries to run into the house during storms. He
is a big fraidy-cat of a dog.

Don't go hatin' on Hillbilly Mom because she wants to abandon
her furry children. The Humane Society is a no-kill shelter. They
won't come to a bad end. If they stay here, running wild, some
yayhoo neighbor is going to shoot them. They really are annoying,
chewing and digging and skulking around like wild hyenas--but
without the laughing. They don't bite...they're not bad with kids...
they don't kill chickens...they just want to do their own thing and
eat up our food.

Is it so wrong to want a dog that will kiss your a$$ and be a pet?

Pool Plane Flu Ghost

Today we bought a swimming pool. It cost the tax refund and the
Bonus of Christmas Future. This ain't no Wal*Mart pool! It's a
21-foot round above-ground something-or-other. It's supposed
to be installed next week or the next. I am not a fan of the pool,
but since my Hillbilly Husband really wanted it, and the kids of
course wanted it, I loosened the purse strings and gave in. They'd
better be in it all day every day, until their skin is wrinkly and fish-
belly white. It's a lot of money for something to play in 3 months
a year. Just think of how much fun I could have gambling with
that money!

My #2 son flew his styrofoam airplane up onto the roof this
morning, just before we left to go pool-shopping. HH told him,
"Don't worry. It'll blow down." When we returned, it was not
on the roof. "See, I told you. Now, where is it?" And #1 son
replied, "Hey! Cubby still has part of it in his mouth!" I have
issues with those Poopies. I swear, I am going to write a post
all about them as soon as I get a recent picture. Hillbilly Mom
is not pleased.

HH is recovering from his flu. Actually, he never even coughed
or sneezed. That Tamiflu must be a miracle drug. I have been
sicker than him. He does have a problem with the cellulitis, but
the doctor said it was slowly healing, and gave him another 10
days antibiotic refill in case he needs it.

Not much else worth reporting...so I'll go on. I suppose I'll
return to my regularly scheduled bedroom soon. HH is no longer
contagious, and I have coughed up just about all the lung tissue
I can spare. #1 son, who has not slept in his bedroom for about
two years now, wants me out. "Hey, do you think you can sleep
on the top bunk?" Great Googley Moogley! That boy must get
his lack of common sense from HH. I am not about to sleep on
the top bunk. He won't even want the room, once I'm gone.

I do not enjoy sleeping there. It is the formerly haunted bedroom.
The one which used to be 10 degrees colder than the rest of the
house, winter, spring, summer, fall. It was not a heating or cooling
issue. It was colder year-round. A couple nights ago, I was putting
#2 son back to bed in his room across the hall. I'd found him
sitting up in bed, wide awake, at 2:00 a.m. I sent him to the toilet,
and tucked him in. He left on the bathroom light, which is at the
end of the hall, between the bedrooms. As I was looking at little
#2 in his bed, a shadow went across the bathroom door. Like
someone was walking around in the bathroom. EEEEEE! I don't
know what it was. I tried to tell myself it was a piece of my lovely
lady-mullet. Not walking around in the bathroom, silly! Swinging
across my cheek by my eye, looking like a shadow in the light.
Nope. All hair was tucked behind my ear.

I turned off the bathroom light and went to bed. Of course I
heard talking. I don't know what it was. All TVs were off. I tried
to tell myself it was HH in our bedroom at the other end of the
house, talking in his sleep. I hope that's what it was. Though I've
never heard him all the way across the house. I kept my eyes
closed, and my appendages under the blanket, so I was fine.

I really must get a life.

Big Blogger 2 Task #4 Interior Design

For our Big Blogger 2 task this week, we each have to make over
a room in the Cyberhouse. We can let our imaginations run wild.
I have chosen a bedroom. I shall call it

The Hillbmomba Slumber Cavern

I am a creature of the dark. I would like one of our Cyberhouse
bedrooms to reflect my personal style. It will have all the ambience
of an Ozark cave. We are safe from any calamity that might befall
the rest of the house. Fire? Not to worry...the HSC will not burn.
Earthquake? Its solid bedrock walls and floor will not crumble.
Hurricane? Tornado? Nuclear war? We are in the safest place
in the world.

The HSC needs no heating or air conditioning. Its temperature
stays a comfortable 57 degrees F (13 degrees C) year round.
If this is a bit chilly for you, I will loan you one of my bobcat fur
robes, or your can snuggle under a woolly mammoth bedspread.

The walls are a delight for the eyes. You may gaze at primitive
cave paintings, some classy Vargas nudes (on loan from Mark),
selections from the Christian Coigny collection (on loan from
Lanternlight), or something from the Victor Gilbert Gallery
(thanks to Cazzie).

A stream runs through the HSC, with blind albino cave fish to
hunt for sport, and as a source of food. Each Cyberhousemate
may choose a fish for a pet. The pets will not be hunted or eaten.
An added feature of the stream is 'panning for gems.' We will
use the money from any gems found, along with the money from
the sale of bat guano to the make-up industry, and paid tours for
tourists, to make the Cyberhouse self-supporting. Six-packs of
Sump Cola and Coors Light can be cooled in the stream, leaving
room in the refrigerator for milk for the Scorn Flakes. Thank the
Gummi Mary that the Cut-Up Cow can store itself.

The bats will be housed in a separate branch of the cave. An
added value of the bats is their sale at Halloween. You never
know when somebody may need one to decorate the pop-top
hat of her Coors Light costume.

The entire HSC will be handicap accessible, so I can share my
bedroom with Rachy when she is sprung from the big house.
I will attach a long wire for a satellite receiver to perch on top
of the HSC so that Rachy, Mark, Scottage, Stewed Hamm, and
Lantern can get their daily dose of world affairs. Diva, Cazzie,
and I...meh. WE delight in making those around us happy. Who
cares what is happening outside the Cyberhouse? Not us.

And now we come to my favorite feature of the HSC:
The Hellmouth. Behold...in all its glory:














The Hellmouth's function is threefold. First of all, it is for those
people who PISS ME OFF! Beware, pissers! Into the Hellmouth
with you! My nerves are shot from living in the Cyberhouse. I
tolerate no disrespect. You will be banished to the Hellmouth
until you see the error of your ways. Now don't go worryin'
about the pissers. They will not be harmed. There's a rim around
the Hellmouth for them to sit and dangle their feet over the abyss.
It's more like Hell's outer waiting room, complete with screaming,
unattended 2-year-olds on crack, farting old men, the occasional
waist-boobed old lady, and a fellow called 'Nub' who pushes
himself around town in a little red wagon. Oops! That was a
character on that old Burt Reynolds TV series, Evening Shade.
Leave Nub out of the Hellmouth.

Secondly, the Hellmouth is nature's incinerator. Big Blogger has
requested that we pick up the place, due to a recent build-up of
rubbish. All we (and by 'we', I mean Cazzie, she of the cleaner)
have to do is sweep the trash over the edge of the Hellmouth,
and VOILA! Trash gone. Pissers, make sure you're wearing
your hardhats.

The third function of the Hellmouth is atmosphere. By leaving
open the trapdoor to the Hellmouth, we get a warm glow, much
like a fireplace. And we don't have to stoke it with wood. (This
warm glow also sets the mood for romantic liasons, should any
of the Cyberhousemates decide they need a little somethin'
somethin' before they are booted out. Thank the Gummi Mary
for Mark's product.) The rest of the HSC lighting comes from
lamps on hardhats, which are issued at the door. Of course,
Lanterlight is always prepared for a visit to the HSC.

I must make a note-to-self to put a little barrier around the
Hellmouth when Rachy moves in. It wouldn't do for her to
get a wheel off in that thing. I am afraid I would rather do
my time in the Hellmouth itself than to listen to her chastising.
Though I'm sure it would be quite colorful. That gal is a
regular spitfire, she is!

So there you have it, the newly-remodeled Big Blogger 2
Cyberhouse bedroom. Enjoy.

Housemates

• Hillbilly Mansion
• I don't do mornings
• Knockin' On The Golden Door
• Lantern of Light
• Legless In Perpetuum
• Perspectives of a Nomad
• Redneck Diva
• Scotland of the Soul
• Will Type For Food

Search Party Sickos

Move along. Nothing to say here.

Ohhhh...if you insist. First day of summer vacation, and I am bored.
Nothing much happened today. My #1 son built a semi truck and
a gooseneck trailer out of Legos. My #2 son beat me at a game of
pool. Hey! I knocked in the 8-ball. I don't like those rules. I could
have whooped him good except for that doggone 8-ball.

For inspiration, I have turned to my keyword search list. It is a bit
disturbing. Some people just ain't right in the head. For example...

best pranks feces...that is never a good prank, ya hear me? We had
a kid at school a few years ago who played a little feces prank.
He dropped a log in the basement bathroom (yeah, the one right
next to my new classroom in Lower Basementia) and took it back
upstairs to another boy's locker. He opened a Social Studies book,
inserted his little surprise, and slammed the book shut. Eeewww.
You know, he had to carry that thing upstairs. He said, "Well, I
put it on a piece of toilet paper." Oh, of course.

puppy chow methamphetamine manufacturing...what? There's a
new ingredient? This person even spelled it right.

health benefits of refried jeans...do you eat them? Wear them?
I, too, would like to know the health benefits.

fitties camp prices...Fitty has his own camp? Who knew?

fentanyl patch feline removal cat leg...aagghhh! What have you
got planned, home surgery for Puss-Puss?

shooting the bull chewing the fat...here now! I'm sure there's
enough fat to go around. No need to be hasty.

air gun poison dart game frogs...I'm sure every kid would like to
have one. Have you tried that American Inventors show?

stump crutching with peg leg woman...I don't know about this.
Maybe you should join up with the guy looking for gaping
buttholes girls and throw a party.

cape girardeau county unattended bed and breakfast...hatching
a little robbery plan, are we?

hillbilly lying by pond...is there something you'd like to confess,
before the body is found?

southern hillbilly saying, romantic, sweet...sorry. There is no
such thing.

hillbilly boobs and balancing soda on her boob...we know where
you came from!

I'd rather set my hair on fire...than read my blog? The h*ll you say!

iron deficiency children sucking on metal...oh, so regular children
won't do?

sardine cans cartoon mice curl up in to go to bed...I sold them on
e-bay last week. Move along.

cat cry mice sing nyah nyah nyah cartoon kitten kidnapped...good
headline. I hope you find the perpetrator.

get in that kitchen and rattle them pots and pans, and look pretty...
I hate it when people tell me what to do.

at least show me as I really am, breathtaking not butt ugly...why
did you arrive here? Have you seen my Coors Light picture?

why don't satanists wear gold...I don't know, why? This is a riddle,
isn't it?

I was drunk the day my ma got out of prison...thanks for sharing.

michael ontkean harry hamlin kissing...umm, not here. Try Redneck
Diva. I hear she has Heath and Jake kissing over there.

final jeopardy answer for april 14, 2006...I'm not that psychic and
I'm not that smart. Not to be confused with 'You're not that pretty
and you're not that special', which is what Luka told Abby on ER,
causing them to break up, and driving Abby into the arms of that
Little Lord Fauntleroy, Gamma's boy, fentanyl-shooting, Carter.

See. You should have moved along. Really.

School's Out!

Schoooooool's out. For. The summer!

No more pencils
No more books
No more teacher's dirty looks


Well we got no class
And we got no principles
And we got no innocence
We can't even think of a word that rhymes

And that's just us teachers! I guess the kids feel the same way,
huh, Mr. Alice Cooper?

I finished packing up my classroom for the move to Lower
Basementia next year. I suppose I'll survive. There will be
fewer people to PISS ME OFF down there. Nobody will
know what's going on in my classroom except the teacher
next door. I won't tell if she won't tell.

I hauled home a buttload of stuff. I have to come up with some
type of course plan for next year. I will have 5 preparations:
9th grade math, 9th grade communication arts, 8th grade math,
7th grade math, and 7th grade communication arts. It's not like
I'm teaching brain surgery or rocket science. It will just be time
consuming to get things ready this first year. The good news is,
I have all summer. The bad news is, I have to use my summer
vacation time to do it. Is anyone playing the world's smallest
violin for me yet? HEY! I want someone to play the world's
biggest violin. I think it's that one in Branson, with the end
sticking out of the wall, it's so big.

My boys have had one day off. They're not bored yet. My
Hillbilly Husband is home all week with the flu, and a new
ailment. It is cellulitis. He had it last fall when he had pneumonia,
and spent 5 days in the hospital. He goes back to the doctor
on Friday morning to see what they're going to do about it.
His brother called him from Las Vegas yesterday, and said he
had cellulitis last year, and spent 4 weeks in the hospital on IV
antibiotics, and missed another 5 weeks of work. They sent him
home with an IV, and a visiting nurse had to come change it.
He said the doctors were afraid the infection would get into his
bone. Does that sound right, Cazzie? Kim? You nurse-type
people? They had an aunt who had some odd bone disease
years ago, and they are wondering if there might be some genetic
factor in this susceptibility to cellulitis. HH's was in the other leg
last year. Both times, it has started in his knee, and moved down
into the foot. His brother said he banged his leg on something,
and cut it, too. HH has never had a cut or open sore. The doctors
can't figure out how he is getting the infection.

That's just like HH, timing his illnesses to coincide with my time
off. I do not like him underfoot. He messes with our routine.
In other words, he thinks it is ALL ABOUT HIM! I don't know
where he got that idea. Certainly not from me. I will grudgingly
admit that he cleaned one of the bathrooms while I was at school
Monday. It even looked good. He did a load of his own laundry
on Tuesday. Today he made the bed. This debilitating illness
thingy seems to agree with him.

I mentioned that he made the bed...the bed I have not slept in
since Friday night, because, hey, HH has THE FLU. I have been
sleeping in #1 son's bed. Here now! It's not like that! The boy
sleeps on the basement couch. Of course, the second night, he
said, "Mom, can you sleep in my TOP bunk?" Um...NO! He has
not slept in that bedroom for almost two years. But now that I
want to sleep in there, he has to have it back. No dice, kid.
Maybe by the weekend. Then he won't want it anymore.

But let's get back to ME. I have not caught the flu, but the sore
throat that HH accused of giving him the flu has now moved down
into my chest, and is suffocating me. Even my sweet, sweet Histinex
does not help. Right now, I have a washcloth coated with Vicks
VapoRub pasted onto my chest. WooHoo! I bet HH wants me to
come back to bed tonight! Oh, and for you rowdies who read
Rachy's and Rebecca's blogs, that washcloth is covering part of
my b**bies. But we don't need no discussion of that here! So
simmer down, and save your comments for the Big Blogger 2
cyberhouse.

That's about all the news fit to blog from here at the Mansion.
This afternoon, we all went out back and shot the BB guns at a
chunk of styrofoam from my Hillbilly Mama's new computer
monitor. That was the high point of the day. It's going to be a
slow summer around these parts.

Promises Made

All right, Redneck Diva. You can quit
yer harpin'. Here I am in all my glory.
Who's sorry now, huh? I will visit you
in your nightmares. No meek Hillbilly
Mom directing the band. Nope. This
is why I don't drink, kids.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.
From what I remember, that is. A
friend of mine happened upon these
free posters that a bar was giving
away as a promotion. The posters
were shaped like beer labels. The
Rocky Mountain Spring Water one
caught my eye.

I was in the market for a Halloween
costume, and my little hillbilly brain
put two and two together and got:


"Go as a can of Coors Light!" Of course, the can was not big
enough to cover Hillbilly Mom's naughty bits, so she improvised
with the classic gray sweatpant ensemble.

No self-respecting beer can is complete without its pop-top,
so I devised a pull-tab from an upside down visor and some
Reynolds Wrap. Oh, and notice the stylish bat glued to my
pop-top. It WAS Halloween, people. I had to accessorize.

As you can see, Hillbilly Mom has a good time wherever she
goes. Be it under a Christmas tree wearing her Lovely Green
Jeannie shirt, or in a basement apartment dressed as a can of
beer. This was in an era before People Pissed Me Off.

You notice that I am not actually drinking Coors Light. The
identity of my beverage shall remain a secret. Though enough
clues have been posted in the distant past that a loyal, detail-
oriented, stalker of Hillbilly Mom might be able to guess it.

In retrospect, it was perhaps not the best costume idea. Hey!
At least I didn't dress as Custer, with a mustache made of my
dead grandmother's hair, like someone at that party did. I
could never dress that way now. I would have to be the entire
six-pack. Age (much like HH) has not been kind to Hillbilly Mom.

So, Diva, did it meet your expectations? Are you still cackling
about it? Oops! DOGGONE! I forgot you don't like chickens.

End of the Year Activities

This was the next to last school day with the students. Tomorrow,
the kids get out at 12:45, but we have to stay until 3:10. I have
been trying to get things ready for check-out. It's kind of hard,
because one building didn't even give us a list. We have to kind
of guess what we need based on what we needed last year.

I took down the stuff from my walls. My grades are entered in the
computer. My biggest headache will be packing up my room at one
building, because I'm getting a new classroom in the basement. Yes,
I'm movin' on down, to the south side...to that deeeluxe old
office underground. Doesn't quite have the same ring to it as that
old Jefferson's theme song, does it? My room will become the ISS
room, and I get the social worker's office. The social worker will
move upstairs to a storage room. The old ISS room will become a
computer lab. The times, they are a-changing. I don't really mind,
except for moving, and for the mold. There's a storage room
downstairs that has a dirt floor. Yeah, this school is pretty old.
When it's hot and humid, the whole basement has a moldy smell.
I'm sure I will adapt. At least it will be cooler in the fall and spring.

This will upset my interpersonal dynamics. Just when I get used
to talking to people, I'm whisked away to a new land, where I
must befriend the natives. OK, so I have known these people
for 7 years now. I'm slow to warm up.

Mr. K is leaving our district to return to his old district. All I have
to say to him is: CATLOVER! I am taking him a very special
gift tomorrow. It is a book of mycathatesyou.com pictures, with
personalized captions. He has told me to expect something big.
I'm a bit apprehensive. I hope it's not a real cat in a cardboard
box. He asked what I'd do if it was.

This morning, 'Mum' was trying to finish a bunch of journals that
he owes Mr. K. He showed me one.

Look, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom.
I'm not sure you'll get credit for that one.
We could choose 'any subject' on that one. That's what I picked.
Well, I'm not sure he'll give you credit for 'meow' written 150 times.

That was kind of funny. Almost as funny as me telling the class to
use the work 'hacksaw' in their story last week. Mr. K noticed.
He thought it was a good joke. I'm going to miss my little prankee.

Good riddance, and good luck, Mr. K. I wish you well.
May there always be a cat picture for your wallet.

Sneezy and Grumpy

It's official. My Hillbilly Husband has the flu. Yeah, he had a flu
shot--back in October. I don't know what strain the shot was for,
or if it just wore off. But the fact is, he went to the ER last night,
they tested him, and he has Type A Influenza. I'm staying away
from him. He has 4 prescriptions, one for Tamiflu, and one for
ibuprofen, and I think the other two are for a suspected kidney
stone. May. Flu. Go figure!

It all started yesterday afternoon. He had been mowing the yard,
we went out to lunch, and the next thing I know, he's whimpering
that he's cold. #1 son got him the thermometer. 98.7 degrees.
He didn't believe it. I got him the thermometer. 98.2 degrees. He
piled on two blankets, and put a pillow over his head. I checked
on him again an hour later. 103.2 degrees. He kept shivering and
whining. I told him I'd take him to the ER if he waited 10 minutes
for the kids to finish their supper of buttered noodles.

Oh, no. He couldn't wait. He staggered around gathering up his
keys. I told him to wait. "There's nothing wrong with me. I can
drive," he shouted. Hmm...nothing wrong with him. Then why was
he going to the ER? Plus, the hour of drama that he was dying.

I never know what to believe from him. There was the time he
was sure he was having an aneurism or a stroke, so he went to
the ER. Diagnosis: ear infection. Then there was the time he had
epiglottitis. His throat was closing up and he couldn't breathe.
ER diagnosis: sore throat. This time, he'd been to the doctor on
Thursday, and the doctor told him he must have a bug. He'd
felt nauseous on Thursday morning, and came home early from
work Thursday and Friday with a headache and achy joints. I
just thought this was a new bid for attention, since I am almost
out of school for the summer.

Anyhoo, he drove himself to the ER. Hey, it's only 5 miles from
our house. He called to report that he had a temp. of 104.5. I
guess I believe him. They did the flu test, and sent him out to get
medicine at 9:00 p.m. Which is kind of hard to do around these
parts. He ended up at a Walgreens 20 miles away. Hardhead.
I could have done that. But when I volunteered to drive him to
the ER, he said, "No. Then they'll be there waiting with me."
Hmm...not a very nice thing to say about your own kids. How
would he like to spend every waking moment with them all
summer? Not much, I bet. It might give him an aneurism.

So...he had planned to take #1 son to a Cardinals game today.
4 free tickets, field box, section 132, row 22, seats 15-18, $33
apiece. I called all around trying to give them away, but could not,
due to Mother's Day, and such short notice. Now he has spent
the day lounging around, yelling at me. As in: "What do you mean
you don't want to catch it from me? I probably caught it from you!
You are the one who's been hacking and coughing all week,
complaining about a sore throat!" To which I replied, "Oh yeah.
I've had the flu all week! I've been doing everything around here,
and I haven't been to the ER, and I don't have any medicine, and
I have to go to work tomorrow. Amazing how I can survive it
but you have to go to the ER!" Which didn't go over very well,
but hey, it's Mother's Day, and I don't feel like putting up with
his bull for this one day of the year.

Oh, they gave me Mother's day gifts. Which were on the receipt
from Walgreens last night. I guess I wouldn't have gotten anything
if he hadn't been sick. I got cards from each of them, and some
Hershey's Pot o' Gold chocolates, and a pen & pencil set. And
I bought myself a folding chair at Wal*Mart this morning, because
my old one has about 20 mud daubers' nests in it, and it crumbles
when I unfold it. WooHoo! Happy Mother's Day to me! I am
still waiting for my birthday trip to the casino. Maybe we can go
when school is out, and spend the night on the cheaper rates
during the week.

My #2 son picked out a lottery ticket for me when we picked
up a bag of ice this morning. It was a $5 Solid Gold scratch-off
ticket. He won $15. I'll let him choose more often. He was
thrilled. We got the gamblin' fever here at the mansion!

Now I must run to town again to take my Hillbilly Mama her
Mother's Day card and gift, and one for my grandma as well.
The menfolk will lie around here starving, waiting for me to get
back and prepare supper. Oh, and I forgot to mention that
while I was shopping this morning, HH did a load of his laundry.
Which he does about once a month, due to being hard-headed
and not putting his clothes in the hamper where they belong.
Thing is, when he put his in the dryer, he took out a load of the
boys' jeans that needed to dry another 40 minutes. My dryer
is a 1986 Sears Kenmore. It still runs, but takes longer.
Anyhoo, HH dumped the pile of damp jeans onto some already
clean clothes in the basket. When I confronted him, he said, "Oh,
those aren't dry?" Duh! You'd think he could feel it when he picked
them up. Last time I checked, the flu doesn't cause you to lose
sensation in your arms.

It's going to be a long week.

Big Blogger 2 Task #3 "Write an Ode"

The Big Blogger 2 task this week is to write an ode to something
we love. And I love my Sonic Cherry Diet Coke. Who knew?
All of you who've been reading for a while.

Ode to My Sonic Cherry Diet Coke

Sonic Cherry Diet Coke,
I love the way you make me feel...
So special every day, no joke.
Your half-price fee is such a deal.
Your crushed ice makes you OH SO COOL,
Your caffeine gives me quite a lift.
I love the cherry on your top,
Can't wait until I'm out of school.
The drive-thru's broke? I'm really miffed!
Now get it fixed, I need my pop!

My daily dose I must not miss.
I mope about, my thoughts unformed.
With you, I climb from the abyss,
Go forth to blog, ideas charmed.
You are my drug, you're all I need
To think, to type, to make me happy.
Some people like to shoot or toke...
Yet others might need meth for speed.
Their lives, to me, are OH SO CRAPPY
Without a Cherry Diet Coke.

Graduatin' Ceremony

Late again. I have just returned from graduation ceremonies. Oh,
don't think I went by choice. Hillbilly Mom doesn't like crowds.
Our high school faculty have to wear graduation robes and walk in
the processional and sit behind the podium for the whole deal.

In one way, it's good, because you have a guaranteed seat, the best
in the house. In another way, it's bad, because you are required to
be there. Sometimes I even work up a little tear. Not because I
have to go, but because I have had some of these kids for 6 years.
Some I've just had for a year. Still, I claim them. I am sure I am
the sole reason for their success. I am all-powerful, remember.
I can force my Hillbilly Husband to eat an entire can of baked
beans with 4 hot dogs. WooHoo! Don't mess with Hillbilly Mom!

We had a good time waiting for the thingy to start, sitting around
in Ms. L's room. Funny how you gravitate to those people who
amuse you. After a brief interlude with Mabel, I found myself
surrounded by none other than Mr.K, Mr.G, and Mr.S. They're
like moths to my flame, I tell you. Mabel had to run off to sing
for her supper. No, not really. She had pot roast, with 4 bites
of meat and 1 green bean. I think it was a Smart One. Apparently,
she wasn't. That wouldn't stick to my ribs for long. In fact, it
may not stick at all, what with all the fat being in the way, and
making my ribs slippery. At least I don't have dislocated ribs,
like one of my graduates this evening.

Mr. K has been up to his tricks again. He told me not to even
think this cat-deal is over. Heh heh. He is the one who should
be preparing. I'm going to make him a nice little going-away
book for his home library. A 'cat-alogue', if you will.

He also found out that my photos come from mycathatesyou.com.
Darn you, K-man, for having the smarts to google the quotes that
appear on the pictures. I think I have changed the words enough
when I post the quotes that he won't end up at my mansion. I
always forget the cat's name, or the exact wording of the quote.
Hip hip hooray for my peri-Alzheimer's disease.

It was a beautiful evening to drive home. A big 'ol full moon lit
up the sky. The orange Low Coolant light lit up my large SUV.
He's a liar, my small rectangular luminescent friend. He might as
well change his name to The Little Orange Light Who Cried
Low Coolant. Because every time I make HH check it, the
coolant is fine. Yeah. What's he gonna do when I quit believing
him, that LOLWCLC? I'll tell you what he's gonna do--he's
gonna go up in a fiery conflagration when the coolant really is
low, and I don't believe him, and burn up the engine. It'll be
curtains for you, TLOLWCLC! And me to, I guess. Though
my #1 son is such a believer in ON STAR that he will no
doubt sit in the flames and await their rescue.

That's all I've got for tonight. That 1 hour 35 minute graduation
took it out of me. My sacroiliac was achin' by the time it was
over. Another year almost gone. We have Monday, Tuesday,
and a teachers' work day Wednesday. Then I will be running
amok through Blogland.

Pranks Are Us

Great Googley Moogely! It's about time I posted something tonight,
huh Mabel? I know I'm late. I've been to my boy's 6th Grade
Orientation Night. How did I get so old?

He had a good time, though he didn't get the advisor he was hoping
for. The advisor who was pranked yesterday. Bwahaha! The kid
will get over it. The advisor, I'm not so sure.

It was pouring rain when I arrived at Building Number Two
yesterday. I noticed the advisor's car in the visitor's parking
space. We are not allowed to park there. I mentioned it to the
lunch crowd when I went in. Another staffer came up with the
perfect plan.

She called Advisor on the intercom.
Advisor, are you parked in the visitor spot?
Whyyyy?
Because Administrator wants you to move your car.
Ummm...I'll need someone to watch my class.
I'll be glad to.

Advisor went outside in the pouring rain. He moved his car.
Oh, and I might not have mentioned that Advisor is a bit vain.
He hates to have a hair out of place. I guess it stayed in place,
but it was soaked.

Staffer told the class: When he comes back in, I'll be gone.
Make sure you tell him, Staffer got you good!

Tonight, I stopped in to see Advisor. I said,
I hear you had to move your car yesterday. Did you get wet?
YEAH! And it was all a joke. But I'd been warned before
about parking there, so I thought I'd better move it.
Haha. That was a good one.
Yeah. Staffer called me on the...
I know.
YOU??

Bwahaha...we're just a bunch of prankin' fools. That's your
Missouri tax dollars at work, folks.

But we really DO educate the kids...when we can take time out
from our busy prankin' schedule.

Hillbilly Mom Has a Mad Day

Hillbilly Mom is angry tonight, my friends. Angry, like a teacher
who discovers at 2:56 p.m. that his truck (which he assumed was
safely ensconced on the school parking lot) has been prankishly
filled with newspapers.

It is a combination of things making me angry. I will try to shorten
the list to just the major reasons that PEOPLE PISS ME OFF!

1. I am fed up with shopping for food. Let my household forage
for themselves. Nothing has been going right. My junk food
junkies needed a fix of gourmet chocolate chip cookies found
only at the Save-A-Lot every now and then. We stopped there
yesterday, which I didn't mind, because Save-A-Lot makes me
feel OH SO PRETTY. Except they were out of chocolate chip,
so I bought oatmeal raisin. This caused an accusatory bellow
of "Why should YOU have cookies when WE don't?" Jeez!
You'd think I robbed their Easter baskets like their dad does.
Because these kids won't eat oatmeal cookies. So of course I
bought them for me, to taunt them with.

When I was in line, with the checker who is older than Methusela's
great-great-grandpappy, the previous customer came back to
whine, and take up MY one-on-one time with the crypt-keeper.
It was an older lady (older than me, heh heh) who looked like
Miss Jane Hathaway from the Beverly Hillbillies. Not the Lily
Tomlin Miss Jane from the movie with Jim Varney. The Nancy
Kulp Miss Jane from the black-and-white reruns. "Can't you
give me a better five than this? It's all ragggggggged." She was
a slow-talker and a man-talker. And she got a new five. Hey!
Miss Jane! It's currency. You have it now, and when you buy
something, you give it away. You don't need mint money to
hang on your wall. Get over it!

Tonight I tried to eat a Wal*Mart big salad for supper. It was
the chef salad, not the chicken caesar salad that I prefer. This
thing was so bad that Elaine would have told George to go get
a refund. The lettuce was watery. It was limp. I could squeeze
water out of it like a pale green minisponge. It was limp, I tell
you. Limp, like a black hairwad from a free hot tub. Eeewww!

2. My Hillbilly Husband's buddy, Buddy, is a borrower. Forget
the picnic table he had for 3 years, the 'gallon' of gas that his son
asked for repeatedly to power his 4-wheeler, the bottle of BBQ
sauce...Monday evening, he showed up at 6:00 p.m. and asked
to borrow my computer. WTF!!! I said, "No." He had already
pushed past me into the mansion. He stopped and stared at me.
"No?" Like he couldn't believe it.

I told him my #1 son might let him on. That boy bought his own
computer, and does not like to loan it. Well, he did. I think he
was in shock. We were actually in the middle of him trying to
e-mail me a prank letter for his teacher, so I could use my
printer to make it more colorful. We were rushing to get done
by 7:00 to see David Blaine pretend to do magic.

Buddy said he just needed 10 minutes to check his e-mail.
Right. He was here 30 freakin' minutes, and was on Match.com.
I don't know what this is. Is it a shopping thingy like an internet
PriceCutter or something? At first, I thought he was on some
dating site, by listening to my son describe it. Anyhoo, Buddy
said AOL kicked him off for spam, but that it was really a
virus. None of this made any sense to me. But I wanted my
internet, and I wanted my life.

I hate visitors. Especially unannounced, time-sucking visitors
on a school night. The ones who've never done anything for
me, but expect me grant their every desire. And like it!

3. My HH himself is on the naughty list. How many times do I
have to tell this man to stay out of my freakin' stuff? I do not
want him using my pink razor tailored for a woman's sensitive
skin to shave his scruffy freakin' beard or elsewhere! Eeewww!
Yet there it is, full of man-hairs, dull as HH himself. AND, this
morning I took the lid off my Lady Speed Stick Sunset Breeze
antiperspirant and found!!!HH's ARMPIT HAIR!!! Make the
images stop! I threw it away. I can't stand that sh*t! Oh, and
I wouldn't be surprised if he has used my toothbrush on occasion.
He has no sense of personal belongings. His excuse is, "Well,
you're married to me. It's all ours, not yours." EEEEEEEE!
Get this...he leaves his toothbrush in the shower. On one of
those seat thingies that are built into two corners of our huge
shower. Doesn't he know that water hits body parts and then
splashes onto his toothbrush, and he then puts it in his mouth?
Eeewww! That toothbrush ain't ours, honey--it's yours!

4. My #1 son is on my last nerve. Monday night, since we got
delayed with his little prank project, I asked him to run up to
his room and tape David Blaine for me. I labeled a brand-
spankin' new tape 'David Blaine'. I reminded him to start it
a couple minutes early, and end it a couple minutes late, so
I didn't miss anything. He came back down. "It's taping, Mom."
I quizzed him on whether he actually saw the counter moving.
He assured me all was well. I didn't watch the news Tuesday
morning. I didn't want the David Blaine ending spoiled for me.
I told my students at school that I taped it, and I would show
it to them when all work was caught up. This morning, I took
the tape to school. As I was readying my room for the day,
I popped it in to make sure it was at the beginning. Did I see
my David Blaine? H*LL NO! I had 6 freakin' hours of
freakin' Cartoon Network! EEEEEEEEEE!

5. My #2 son, who has been fighting a cold, earned a rare (for
him) slot on my sh*t list. After his bath, he allegedly ran through
the living room and wiped his nose on the back of the recliner.
I say allegedly, because I didn't see it. From downstairs, I heard
the SLAP of HH's hand on his bare little 8-year-old a$$, which
made me cry and put HH in a second slot on my sh*t list. And
to compound the crime, HH was heard to brag, "YEAH! It left
a big red spot, didn't it?" I hate his child-rearing (oops! I said
'rear' when I was talking about an a$$, heh heh) techniques.
Make the kid clean it up, or go to his room, or give up the
GameBoy. But (heh heh, 'butt') don't whack him for something
like this. Save the whackin' for the lying or the backtalking.

6. My DoNots have worn out their welcome. Have they tried
all year to do their best, to wring every ounce of help out of
poor old Mrs. Hillbilly Mom, just so they could pass? H*ll no!
They played the timewasting game, pretended to be working,
didn't ask for help, lied about already having it turned in. What
do they do 3-and-a-half days before school is out, when Mrs.
Hillbilly Mom would like to show them a David Blaine tape,
so she can wrap up the end-of-the-year loose ends? Bring
freakin' work, that's what! "Oh, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom? Could
you check my 5-page science worksheet for me?"

Sure. That's my job. Just like your job is PISSING ME OFF!