In The Beginning...

This is where it all started. Just an update post to save this little blog from destruction.

Moving Day

I've moved! Come visit me at the Hillbilly Mansion.


The link is hillbillymansion.blogspot.com


See you there!

Middle of Nowhere

I can see how you might have trouble finding my new place. Here
are a few sights you might see along the way. Out on the county
road, they have markers for how deep the water gets. A white
one and a rust one. They are marked up to 3 feet. The problem is,
the water goes higher than the markers sometimes. So if you don't
know the road, you might not know how that bridge dips down
in the middle. One time I got almost 3/4 the way across, and I
could feel my large SUV start to creep. I gassed that sucker and
got up out of there. That was mighty scary. There are three other
ways to get to where I'm going, but when it's that high, I have to
go about 20 minutes out of my way. The biggest problem we
usually have with this bridge is the debris left when the water goes
down. Like giant tree trunks lying across the bridge. That, and
backing up in a large SUV when you get close enough to see that
the water is too deep to cross.


This is on our private gravel
road, past the sign that says
"No trespassing." It works
most of the time. We have
to buy rock and maintain this
road ourselves. Not me, but
all of us who live out here.
As you can see, it's fall now.



In the winter, we sometimes
have trouble getting up and
down this hill. Part of the trouble
is the abandoned cars left by
the people who don't drive
large SUVs. They can't make
it, and end up stuck in the road.
That makes it hard to get our
large SUVs past them. People!
If you're going to live in the middle of nowhere, get a car that can
get you in and out! Like a large SUV.

That barn at the top of the hill is not our BARn. We are not there
yet. Because we are only on the edge of nowhere, not yet in the
middle. And I think I'll stop here, in case "Fitty" thinks he can find
me and stuff my dismembered parts into a 55-gallon barrel. Or
several 55-gallon barrels.

On Wednesday, I'll be moved into my new blog home. Come
visit me at the Hillbilly Mansion. You can click the link, or go to
http://hillbillymansion.blogspot.com. I will leave this site here, but
will be posting on the new one. So if you're a regular guest, you
might want to update the link. Or not.

Let's Have a Housewarming Party!

Oh, did I mention I'm moving? Not far. I'm still on Blogger. I just
wanted a fresh start. I don't know why. I've changed templates
a couple times, but it's not the same as A NEW BLOG. I'll leave
my address at the bottom of this post.

Housewarming parties always annoy me. That's why I'm throwing
myself one. Nothing is more redneck than saying, "Hey, y'all, I've
got a new house. Buy me some gifts and I'll let you gave a party
there!" I appreciate the comments from my blogfriends. I will
answer those here now. Why respond in the comments when you
can make a whole post out of it, I always say. Maybe that's why
people look at me funny.

Babs, you are correct. People do come and go here quickly. Like
within 5 seconds. Oh. that's not what you meant? Yes, it does seem
that blogs have a short shelf life. I have worked in schools where
people came and went quickly, too. It usually means there's an
administrative problem. BLOGGER, do you hear me?

Misha, you were indeed one of my firsts. I think I found you on
that "recently updated" blogs thingy, and left you a comment. See,
people, what happens when you are polite? You make a mean
spinach dip, you say? Now you've gone and reminded me of a
dip story. And it was at a housewarming party, no less, with a
new friend who had included me in her social circle.

Long story medium (it's the best I can do), my new friend Karen
took me to a housewarming party at Indian Hills Lake in Cuba,
Missouri. Also along were her friends Wanda and Jim (definitely
not a couple). As the night wore on, maybe some alcohol was
consumed, and maybe someone called the science teacher
into the bathroom to show him her boobs, and maybe someone
ditched our group to pursue a math teacher whom she later married.
Anyhoo, around about midnight, Karen and I ended up at the
kitchen table eating a bowl of dip that Jim had brought. This dip
doesn't sound so good on screen, but it was something like
Braunschweiger mixed with mayonnaise. I know there had
to be more to it, but at the time, it seemed quite delicious. We
dipped crackers into the bowl to scoop it out. Karen and I might
have been double-dipping, because Seinfeld had not yet created
his show, and us rednecks didn't know no better. In comes
Jim, who sits down to gossip with us. Next thing I know, Jim
grabs the bowl of dip, snaps the Tupperware lid in place, burps
it, and says, "That's enough, B****es! This is going to be my
lunch tomorrow." We were incensed! The nerve of that...that...
JIM! Karen and I were best buddies after that bonding experience.
We lived to torment Jim.

Alas, Misha, I doubt there will be pictures of hot country boys
at my new home. Unless you count my Sonic guy. And you know
the saying, "Hotness is in the tastebuds of the free Sonic Cherry
Diet Coke drinker."

Rebecca, yes, I do plan to load everything on a truck and haul
the whole thing across town. My Hillbilly Husband did that with
a shed he built. He had a flatbed car-towing truck to load it with
a winch and drive it to town. Then when we built our house here,
he loaded it up again to bring it back. Excuse me a minute...sluurrp.
Ahhhhhh....Sonic Cherry Diet Coke...sweet, sweet nectar. Now
what was I saying? Oh, yes. We will look like the Beverly Hillbillies
bringing Granny's shack to Beverly Hills.

Mrs. Coach, you certainly may rummage through my stuff. I am
hoping to leave behind one ceramic rooster that my HH picked
up somewhere. I think he had it before we were married. He
would set it on the kitchen windowsill, and I would put it under
the kitchen sink. This went on for a long time, until I let it stay
out for two days in a row. He thought he'd won, and forgot to
check. Forgot until we moved to the new house, 7 years later,
and he said, "Have you seen my chicken?" We had a kid by this
time, and he knew the proper place for a ceramic rooster was
under the kitchen sink. Unfortunately, he didn't know that there
are some secrets we'd like to keep from Daddy. Now it's on
top of my kitchen cabinets with the world's largest Coke bottle
collection. May I offer anyone a beverage?

MamaKBear, I've dropped in on you several times. I'm just
not very talkative when I meet new people. After I get to know
them well, they can't shut me up. I won't go strainin' myself in
the move. That's what you have young'uns for--to do the heavy
liftin' and bring you the remote and the phone.

Mabel, my teaching-buddy-without-a-blog, I'm sorry I slighted
you. Yes, you do exist. I know you're the rightful owner of the
winner's title of the "What do you think it is?" post. But while
you were snoozin', you were losin', and Dave was winning.
You can still comment, you know, even without a blog. It won't
matter anyway, though, because Rebecca's back, and she wins
every contest. Just ask her. Oh, I forgot. You don't have a blog!
OK, now who have I made madder, Mabel or Rebecca?

If you want to start a feud with me, you can find me at my new
home, the Hillbilly Mansion. Y'all come visit, y'hear? If you need
specific directions, it is http://hillbillymansion.blogspot.com.

I'll Be Moving Soon

I am going to start a new blog. Just because I can. It's getting hard to
find things around this here blog. Too much junk that I just don't want
to throw away, you know. So I'll do what any self-respecting redneck
would do when the house gets dirty--move.

I'm not skipping out on the rent. I pay my free rent every month. I am
not hiding from anyone. I just wanted a new place to clutter up like
this one.

It seems like only April when I moved in here. Oh. It was April. One
of the first people to welcome me was Misha. Which was kind of
funny to me, because she welcomed me from way down under in
Australia. So did Rebecca, who entered me in her Big Blogger
contest without my knowledge. I soon came to expect such things from
Rebecca. Somehow I stumbled onto Redneck Diva (sorry if that left
a mark), and I have been looking over my shoulder for "Fitty" ever
since. I can't remember how I found DeadpanAnn, but I claim to know
her from back in the day when she was still unemployed and living in
her mother's basement. You've come a long way, Baby. Oh, I forgot
that you gave up the smoking thing. Rachel found me in the early days,
and look what she's made of herself. I think she's on her third blog that
I know of. She's much more political than I am, and also politically
incorrect sometimes. That makes me start hee-hawing. Sometimes
she uses a little alias. I won't blow her cover. I think I did that a while
back. These are the people on my blogroll that I can count on to visit
me every week or so. Regular company that I don't have to pick up
the house for. I know others visit me daily, but they are not as vocal.
You don't think they are scared of me, do you?

There are some who drop in every now and then. I visited them daily
in the summer, when I was a slacker. Now that school has started
again, I don't make it quite every day, but I try. I glommed onto them
by kidnapping them from other people's blogrolls. I have others that
I've bookmarked but haven't rolled yet. I'll fit them in sometime,
after I'm finished unpacking.

I'm going to miss a few things around the old homestead. Walk with
me. We'll take a reminiscing little stroll around the grounds. I will get
you my new address tomorrow, unless you are the stalker type and
can find it on your own. It's not that hard, really. Even I could do it.

What Do YOU Think?

Here are a couple of photos, courtesy of my 10-year-old son.
We were out and about today, with Hillbilly Husband gone to
Germany for 6 days.

Do you know what this is? I'm not going to tell you. Now, anyway.
I'll bet Dave in Ardmore has a clue. This picture was taken in the
middle of the town where I grew up. It's a part of our history.

Need another look? Try this.
















It's quite large, as you can see. Don't go guessing things like:

It's a tree.
It's a flagpole.
It's a truck.

You know that's not what I'm talking about. It's not nice to try to
fool Hillbilly Mom. I teach middle school, remember? You can't
get away with guesses like this, no more than I will believe that
Canada is a state, Illinois is a city in Missouri, or Alaska is located
down by Hawaii in the Specific Ocean.

If you were hoping I'd say "Let me answer for you," hope some more.
I'll tell you tomorrow, if Dave doesn't tell you in the comments. Dave,
if you're reading, give a few others a chance to take a guess. But don't
give them long, because here at Hillbilly Mom's place, if you snooze,
you lose. Kind of like seeing some rolls of burlap at the Goodwill Store
and buying one, then deciding that you have to go back for more because
even though you don't know what to do with that burlap, you can't pass
up such a good price. But wouldn't you know it--when you go back
later in the afternoon, all the burlap has been bought. No burlap for you!

If you don't know what it is, there is no penalty for guessing. Within
reason, that is. Don't guess that it's a giant Bigfoot turd or something
frivolous. So...any guesses? Anybody...anybody? Bueller...?


OK, I can see from the response that all of you are dying to know. I'll
put the answer in the comments. The statue of limitations has run out.
(Don't you hate it when people say "statue"?)

I See Slow People

I have issues with slow people. Not mentally slow. They can't help it.
I mean people who waste time. MY time.

I went to a different Walmart today, to pick up a prison suit for my
#1 son's Halloween costume. I wasn't embarrassed or hiding his
identity or anything--it was the Walmart in the town where I had
my doctor's appointment. #1 son wasn't going to dress up this year,
but his school is having a sock hop party, and he has to go in costume.
Yeah, that'll make the girls come a-runnin'. A zebra-striped convict
uniform. O Boyfriend, Where Art Thou? We had a discussion at
the school lunch table a couple years ago about how any man can get
a woman. In prison awaiting the death sentence for killing your
other three wives? There's a woman out there just dying to marry you.

I went to a regular checkout line, because I refuse to scan my own
Walmart merchandise. That self-checkout took away a person's
job! I might have gone through the 20-items-or-less line, but I had
about 19-21 items, and was too lazy to count. Big mistake. I picked
the lane presided over by Methuselah's anemic great-grandma.

I had time to peruse the last-minute-junk-food shelves. I resisted
for a while, but my innards started to rumble. Yep. One innard flicks
the other innard on the ear, and he responds by giving the first
innard a titty-twister. Next thing I know, they're flailing around on
the floor. Innard One has a stapler that is opened, leaving a zipper
track down Innard Two's spine. Innard Two retaliates by biting
Innard One in the "private area." Oh, wait a minute...that was a fight
that we had at school a few years back. My gut was just growling.

What did I choose from the junk food shelf? Is chocolate my dark
master? No, that would be the portly fellow, George, on Seinfeld.
A Slim Jim, perhaps? Nope. I don't like the way that guy said,
"Eat me!" in their commercials. I succumbed to the temptation of
the pork rinds. What's that you say? Yes, I am aware that they are
deep-fried pig skins. And the problem with that would be...? Did
you forget, I am Hillbilly Mom? I am no stranger to the pork rind.

Several years ago, we had a whole lunch shift consumed with the
low-carb trend. You never saw so many people eating pork rinds
and cheese and ranch dressing and sugar-free Jello. It was bad
enough when one would snatch a soda out of another's hand and
scream, "What are you doing? That's a real soda! I just save you
from drinking one million billion carbs!" I knew the end of the world
was coming when one told the others how to make pork rind pancakes.
Yes, there is the edge of insanity, and then there is the abyss. That is
just wrong, people. Do not make pork rind pancakes. Get off the
Atkins, and eat some fruits and vegetables. Snap out of it!

I consumed my porcine epidermis snack as I continued on my errands.
Next, I stopped to fill the belly of my SUV beast. $2.48 per gallon
for super unleaded, people. Read it and weep. Of course, the pump
I pulled in to had a plastic bag over the handle. The regular unleaded
was $2.52 per gallon. Go figure. I refused to buy it, and waited for
the guy ahead of me to finish and pay so I could use his pump.
Another error in judgement.

Goober went in to pay, and I would say it took him 10 minutes. Did
he buy Milwaukee's Best, or Powerball tickets, or Skoal...something
worthwhile? Let me answer for you: "NO!" He stood around talking to
the cashier. They must have been reminiscing about the Molasses-
Chugging Festival last January. I think Goober's beard grew two
inches while I waited. Bad enough to not wait and pay $50.60 for
half a tank of gas.


I was in a hurry to get to Sonic before 5:00. You know what happens
at 5:00, don't you? Happy Hour ends, and drinks are full price again.
I made it with 4 minutes to spare. I had to have my fix of Cherry Diet
Coke. Cheap. And though I was 5-deep in the drive-thru lane, the
little Sonic girl came running out to me with my beverages. Ya
gotta love the Sonic. It's not for slow people.