spelling bees and bill collectors

Evidently, my wonderful spelling skills don't make much of a difference after all when it comes to making a lot of money and such. I mean, everybody knows that spellcheck is a writer's best friend and all. Today I faced off with a group of my co-workers to celebrate hospital week by representing team lab. Ever since I lost the county bee as a sixth grader, I've been driven to spell mo' better. Not really....I've just read a lot of newspapers and magazines over the years. Um, and books too. All of the ones that I was in before were for charity and I competed against the editor of the local newspaper in front of a real live judge. To save time with the easy words, our PR lady had us write down five words from the "hard" list and see who came out alive. There were three of us left from a group of ten or so and even though I forgot to keep score for team lab, the others did it for me and we got ten points. Now the rest of 'em have to do the agility games and the athletic stuff. Screw that when it's a hundred degrees in the shade.

I'm trying to learn to be ladylike and all even when it's hot as hades and the lemonade would be melted in five minutes on the wraparound little bitty porches. About all I can say at this point is thank you lord for the new central unit and whomever made it happen. I went by to negotiate with the utility company after work today so the whole 300 bucks wasn't due yesterday. They gave me my first of two extensions for this year. He told me that a two ton would adequately heat or cool a 1200 square foot house sans full attic and basement, not to mention almost a hundred years old. Damn...the things we do for family history.

On a brighter note, I did send a check to the propane guy today which is something that hasn't happened in a looooong time. Just ask him, only give it two days to get to Gates via Memphis and the USPS. God love all ya'll for tromping around in the heat and sleet and snow to deliver grandma's birthday cards with money in them. If you live to be 67, the current congressional clusterfuck will let you be a Medicare recipient, provided you survive that long. The way things look, I'm not banking on it. In a way, my divorce was a blessing in disguise because I took out every penny I had invested in the market to survive in the early days. Then the whole thing went to hell in a handbasket, so at least I didn't lose anything when the market crashed. I never have been that kind of corporate player.

It's a mixed bag of emotions and shit happening around here. Gigi took a vacay to see Jimmy go at Daytona and came home to find that her sister was critically ill in the hospital and "things don't look good." BF has visited and snoozed with his newest grandchild, giving her momma a break for some nappy time. My yard looks like a typical southern acre that has had plenty of rain and not much mower time lately. The orchard grass is a freakin' foot tall. As I type, my brother is unloading the mower in the front yard for that little chore which shall be either early morning or almost dark. It's parked in the shade. Who says Big Ernie ain't good to the faithful?

^j^