One Horse Shy ...

I'm feeling a bit like I moved into Deliverance country lately.  Well, again.  You know what I mean.  I just want you all to feel like you're in the Deliverance Loop. 

Dirty Andy hasn't really been around much lately, so I've not had any good stories to tell.  But he's been busy, all right, so without further ado, here's a little background.

I'm not going to sugarcoat it.  Dirty Andy tucks his shirt into his underwear.  I know.  I know!

Yesterday we went to Home Depot to buy all those terribly non-exciting, but essential, things that we need for the house.   You know, electrical plugs, switches, switch plates, heating system vents, light bulbs, vanity lights, canned lighting, and ... toilets.

Yesterday morning as I'm "helping" (read being accused of ripping out by the roots) Katie with her hair before school, the following conversation took place:

KATIE:  Mom?

ME:  Yes?  (Because she can never just carry on without an affirmative response, even though we're the only two people in a six-foot square room.)

KATIE:  You know how when a buffalo gets hurt, like stabbed with a spear or something, and they go down and all the other buffalo stomp on them, trying to get them to get up, like they're protecting them or something?

ME:    Uh ... yeah?  (I don't know that, but why start an argument at 7:00 in the morning?)

KATIE:   So when the Indians stabbed a whole bunch of them at the same time, were the rest of the herd all taking turns stomping on the hurt ones, trying to get them up?

ME:   Uh ... I'd guess probably so, sure.

KATIE:    Well, how'd the Indians get those buffalo to get out of there so they could get the dead ones and make food?

ME:    Uh ... I think they had some on horses and some on foot and they all ran in there whooping and hollering and waving their hands and making lots of noise to scare the non-hurt ones off.  

KATIE:     Oh.

(Several seconds of dead silence.)

KATIE:   Mom?

ME:   Yes?

KATIE:   Don't the Canadians still do that?

Yes, this is another story about another local man.   I can't help it, they're more interesting people, at least around here.

So.  Anyway.

I'm still going to write in this thing, I swear.  It's just been busier than all get out this last week with working on the house, school starting, and so on,  I now have a Photobucket account, even though I've not uploaded any pics to it, so at least I'm one step closer to getting pics on here.

I'm too old.  I just am.  Friday night the Princess and her servant wanted to have the girls stay the night.  So we figured we'd really cut loose and go out.  We're just spontaneous like that.  Now, just so no one is confused, there are only three or four establishments here that one could really go out to, and none of them would even come remotely close to qualifying as a "club."  They're bars, pure and simple, and not very fancy ones at that, with some very bad karaoke singers.

I never thought I'd be at a loss of something to say, or some long-winded story to rattle on about.  It's weird.  I've been in a funk since I started this thing.  And it's a small town, and aside from the whole Bubba thing, which I'm faced with every time I drive *into said small town, I don't really know of anything else that's going on around here that I can talk about. 

I've decided I have to give up on my project of finding Bubba  a Mrs. Bubba.  (And I know all three of my loyal readers know this story, and I won't pretend like I have others, so I'm not going to repeat the story at this point.)  The reason I feel I must give up on this project, even though other than telling you all about it, I haven't really done *anything, is what I saw this morning when I went past his new house.

Now, I can forgive the 4-wheeler on the front porch.  I can forgive the horseshoe pit in the yard.  I can forgive the can full of fishing poles on the front porch. I  can forgive the big "BUDWEISER" sign across the back window of his truck.  What I cannot forgive are the new curtains that replaced the sheets previously covering  the windows that made an appearance today.  They are camoflauge.  And that's all I have to say about that.