My front left tire had a six inch screw in it today. The man at the dealership said the only way it got all the way in there was to use a power drill.
The interesting thing is that where we live in Florida, there are three Mustangs on two streets. We are all friends. We all had the same type of screws in our front tires. Are people just not raised right anymore?? Does someone have a vendetta against us?? Was someone just in a drilling mood, and thought Mustangs would be fun? We have a combined age of almost 150. Who could we possibly be threatening? Jeeze, Louise.
It takes real tennis balls to walk up someone’s driveway with a portable drill and ram in screws into a car. Who knows where the Happy Driller is tonight? I just know what I’d do with my drill if I ever find him. Insert evil laughter here.
Here’s the third installment of IAISMC. The first one was running behind the DDT jeep.
My sister told me a few weeks ago that she has competed with me since I was born. Why???? I am about as competitive as a rock.
When I was little, we lived in Red Bank, NJ. It’s a wonderful little town if you want someplace cool to go. Anyways, my sister and I had friends way down at the other corner who’s last name was Scarpelino. We were allowed to walk down to her house. This was the sixties, back when kids could just roam. A lot of the streets with houses in Red Bank have slate instead of cement sidewalks. For some God awful reason, we decided to race home on uneven slate. Call me Fleet Foot, I was ahead. Prancing and a dancing, just like Stewball.
I was only five, but I was beating my nine year-old sister, and the Scarpelinos and whoever else was with us. Maybe I should rename myself Fleet Foot.
We were just getting to the last slate before we left the sidewalk to go into my grandmother’s backyard, when I felt a leg come out in front of mine. Bam! Face plant! I remember just screaming like hell, and walking home alone because everyone.just.scattered. I needed five stitches.
Years later, I asked her why she did it. Her answer? She wanted to win. Well, that’s nice. Kill the little sister.
It’s ok. Last Christmas she felt guilty about all the wonderful ways she tortured me while we were growing up, so she bought me an IPad. She can trip me anytime. Next time, I want a pony.
I think my sister is thinking of ways she could dispose of me. My brother has his typical don’t take my picture face. My dad is sporting his Army crew cut.
This song was originally sung by the Chordettes. In this version, it’s performed by Linda and the Lemurs.
I bet we’ve gotten an inch today alone. Two of our brand new double pane windows are leaking. Super, duper.
I am the family genealogist. I also will do quick search for friends. My cousin Michael enjoys asking me to find his old girlfriends. He’s always thanks me. I wonder if he ever goes out with his former babes once he has their numbers.
There are always skeletons in the closet. We have a few. One is my great grandfather. He was orphaned by six months and raised by his aunt. I have done DNA on my great grandfather’s grandson, and nothing ever comes up, so I wonder if my grandfather’s father was not anyone we know. Who’s your daddy?
I have a cousin who had a baby out of wedlock, his mom told my sister, and she told me. I asked him if I could do DNA testing on him, but he wanted to protect his privacy. That’s great, but guess what? We know you had a kid, and we know where he lives and what he looks like. There is no privacy.
That’s it for now. All this type makes me need a nap. And chocolate. And a real Coke.
Forgive me for not writing within the past month:
Here are some good and true excuses:
The heat index has been 95F since we got here in August, and my fingers slip on the keys because I am one giant sweat ball.
My doctor in Delaware lied. Florida weather is not making my RA better, it’s made it worse. I get carpal tunnel ever time I type, so it makes writing a whole lot less fun.
My husband The Big Guy feels I must go with him on every.trip.to.home.depot even if it’s three times in one day. I need to cut the cord. With a hedge trimmer.
We are starting a small booth in an antique store down here in FL, so worry about that has taken up some time.
I’ve had too much fun giving the Civic Association’s home page on FB too much of a hard time to type. Most of the people on there are stuck in their ways. I’ll have to tell you about the woman who thought poisoning stray cats here was ok another time.
I’ve gotten hooked on Veronica Mars, and am now starting to watch it all over from the pilot episode.
TBG and I have begun a life of crime. Ralph moved. We never met him, but his gf had sex in our house with a known felon. I know it wasn’t Ralph’s fault that his slutty girlfriend cheated on him, but it’s guilt by association. He’s moved, his house is vacant, and he has good plants. I now have a Mexican post cactus and several agaves.
End of excuses.
It’s nice to start writing again here. I will be happier when the weather cools down, which should right around Halloween when we will be leaving. Never fails. Crazily, we will be coming back about a week later, laden with vintage stuff to sell in our little shop at the antique store. Basically, we will either stuff all of our bins of collectibles into our van, or if they don’t fit, rent a trailer.
We have a new best friend down here. His name is Terry, and he has had fun suggestions of things to do down here. He’s lived in FL three years longer than us, so he knows cool places. Yesterday, we went to the Chiluly Exhibit in downtown St. Petersburg.