Thursday, July 06, 2006

The Return of Hillbilly Mom

Bet you didn't even know I was gone, huh? We are back from our
one-day mini vacation to the city. Oh, the horror!

We began with a trip to Chuck E. Cheese for the young 'uns. The
supposedly good Chuck E. Cheese, Diva! But noooo! It took
25 minutes to get our pizza. That's an outrage! Methinks they were
grinding the flour on a stone wheel in the back. The kids had a good
time. I hobbled around on my locked-up knee in great pain. I was
not in my usual form. I was a bit lame at fending off the under-5 set
at that game where you shove tokens off the edge of the token-cliff.

From there, we drove to Harrah's Casino and checked in. It was
in our room that I committed an embarrassing granite-nightstand-
top faux pas. The nightstand and it's stepsister, the window table,
had lovely gray granite surfaces--with small labels that said: 'New
granite tops. Glue may still be wet. Do not touch'. Jeez, Harrah's
people! What kind of an establishment are you running? Don't you
know that 'Do not touch' means 'See if you can get away with
touching me' in hillbilly? I didn't consciously do it. I was in pain,
you see, from my locked-up knee. I went to plop down on the
bed, and steadied myself by putting a hand on the granite-topped
nightstand. It slid back and bumped into the wall. Not the whole
thing, mind you. Just the top. Lucky for me, my Hillbilly Husband
came to the rescue and slid it back into place. He's a handy kind
of guy.

The boys immediately set upon searching the room for the TV.
#2 son was amazed that it was hidden in a cabinet. They ordered
the unlimitied games package for $4.99/hour. Only two hours. It
was well worth it for the absence of squabbling. I gave HH some
money and allowed him an hour in the casino. Hey! It's all about
me. He was lucky to get that much time. When he returned, I
went out. He had plans to take the boys to Bass Pro Shop and
get some McDonald's supper. Hey! It's cheaper than a buffet
where they won't eat anything.

I had a ball without the kids and HH around. Once I got there,
because I had to hobble with my Grandma's borrowed wooden
cane because of my locked-up knee. #1 son told me, "There are
a lot of people down there with canes, Mom. But they have the
metal kind." Great. Now I'm a Flintstones hillbilly in a Jetson's
world. My cane is OH SO YESTERDAY.


Because I can. And it will take me a while to get to the TV.


I hobbled down to the casino which was no little distance. I
went into the first one, because I percieved it as less distance
to walk. For those of you not familiar with our local Harrah's,
they have the Mardi Gras Casino and the Island Casino.
I could not play my regular style, which is to flit here and
there, trying out different slots to see which ones will pay me.
Being mobility-challenged, I had to park my big fat butt in
one place, and I chose $1 video poker. It was a good choice
as I was up $53 in the first hour. Did it last...of course not.
Even though I cashed out my winnings, my machine took a
turn for the evil, and gobbled up my money, even though I
played conservatively.

I made a slow, wobbly circuit around the casino, tried some
Deuces Wild, returned to a $.25 Jacks Or Better, and won
back some of what I lost on the Deuces. I went back up to
the room around 9:50 to let HH escape for another hour.
Of course he won $155 on a $1 Triple Cherry machine. Not
really, because he spent $80 to win it, but still, he was ahead
of me. I went back from 11:00 to 3:00, because I could, and
tried the Island Casino.

This was a big mistake. It was like the industrial oven of Hell
in there. I was dripping with sweat. I had some luck on a
Wild Cherry $.25 machine, but foolishly left it to try my
un-luck at video poker. Several different machines later, I
hauled my dragging leg back to the Mardi Gras. There, I
found my lucky machines both occupied, so I settled for a
similar bandit for $1 Jacks Or Better. I hit four 2s, and won
$100, but that still didn't bring me back to even for the night.
Oh well, easy come, easy go, as this was all my winnings
saved from previous gambling outings. Though HH, that
dirty dog, was given money from the family pot.

Upon returning to the room, I discovered that the Island
Casino had been as temperate as Antarctica compared to
the sweltering subtropic inferno of my slumber chamber.
I felt like Elaine, on the Seinfeld where she visits Jerry's
parents in Florida, and they won't turn on the air conditioner.
After a refreshing 2 hours of sleep, the alarm clock went off
at 5:00 a.m. And 5:10, and 5:20, and 5:30. HH cussed it
and yanked on it and asked me if I set it. Yeah, right. Since
when have I been smart enough to work one of those new-
fangled contraptions? I finally got another two hours of
beauty sleep, and arose to gamble another day. HH took
the boys to breakfast, which I skipped in exchange for
two hours of gambling and four generic Fig Newtons off
the hotel carpet, courtesy of #2 son's snack-unpacking
skills. Yum!

I returned to the Mardi Gras, tried some Double Cherry,
Triple Cherry, and Hot Pepper slots, and came up $85
ahead. HooRah, Hot Pepper! From there, I went to my
sweet, sweet video poker. When my time was up, I was
$239 ahead for the morning. That's the good news. The
bad news is that from my losses last night, I came out
with $6 less than I brought. By cracky, that ain't bad!
Eleven hours of gambling for the low, low cost of only
$6. I'm Even Steven, I tell you! Doggone that HH! He
doesn't even like to gamble, and came out ahead.
Go figure!

From the casino, we headed to Grant's Farm. I had told
HH since Monday, from the time my knee was hurt, that
I didn't think I could make it. I had even told him that I
would have cancelled the gambling trip, except that the
room had already been reserved. I thought he listened.
Yesterday, I told him at Chuck E. Cheese. Last night, I
told him in the hotel room. On I-270, I told him again. We
took a look at the crowd and the parking lot, and I told him
I would be better off waiting in the car. He dropped me off,
and the boys and I waited for him about 10 minutes to park
and walk up to the line. I told him in line, "I don't think I can
do this. It's too much walking for me and my unfashionable
cane." And he said, "Well, you never said anything about it
until now! That's been the plan all along." EEEEEEEEEEE!
I almost caned him, right there in line. We got across the road,
where we were funneled into another line for the tram thingy.
I sat down on a bench, and said, "I'll meet you when you come
back." I think it is really unreasonable of him to expect me to
walk all over Grant's Farm with a cane. AND, I still had the
half mile to walk back to the car, because the place where he
said he'd pick me up was marked 'No Passenger Pickup'.
So that put HH in a foul mood the rest of the day, because
I couldn't traipse about the grounds with him, and he had to
take care of his own kids! Oh, the horror!

Anyhoo, we are home now, and not speaking to each other,
which is generally the way all our vacations end up.


Blogger Cazzie!!! said...

and he had to
take care of his own kids! Oh, the horror!"...why didn;t he do what mine does and just tell everyone "these are not my kids..(pointing) not my kids okay!!"

6:07 AM  
Blogger Rebecca said...

Hi Hillbilly Mom,
Yes we do miss you here, but our aim is getting better.

6:11 AM  
Blogger MrsCoach2U said...

I've always thought it was Mr.Coach and I who could go all over the country in a bus full of teenagers in 100 degree weather and come home laughing but put us in a car with our 2 children and we can't drive 10 miles without wanting to kill each other.

8:12 AM  
Blogger Hillbilly Mom said...

I don't think he's thought of that tactic.

Yikes! I'd better start practicing those evasive maneuvers the Witness Protection Program taught me.

Something about being trapped in that small space brings out the worst in both of us. Me and HH. Not me and you.

10:29 PM  
Blogger Chickadee said...

Oh ya didn't miss anything with Grant's Farm's filled with all sorts of strange animals that GF breed together, jackalopes and what not. If I were you, I WOULD have caned that man of yours. Geesh.

I giggled at your Harrah's granite tabletop experience. Yea, that little not is NOT an invitation to disaster. Heehee.

10:39 PM  
Blogger Redneck Diva said...

It always infuriates me when Mr. Diva says something about "babysitting" the kids. It's not babysitting if they're YOUR kids, bucko!! Grrr.

Of course, now that he's working the night shift he doesn't have to worry about that pesky babysitting business anymore - he's dodged that bullet quite effectively.

10:17 AM  
Blogger Hillbilly Mom said...

It's been many years since I went to Grant's Farm. I hate crowds. I expecially hate crowds of city preppy people. A bazillion little kids walked by and grabbed a leaf or two off the trees. Like they'd never seen leaves before. Then I'd hear the whining in the loop of the line that went behind me, and the adults would say, "Use your words!" That's just not my lifestyle. People piss me off! And they should be very careful, when they can clearly see that I'm armed with a cane.

HH needs a good caning every now and then, but the worst I've done is hit him in the back of the head with a roll of toilet paper.

Harrah's is lucky that we don't have a brand new granite nightstand and table top at the Mansion right now.

The lengths these men will go to so they can avoid their childrearing responsibilities!

9:37 PM  

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