Category Archives: General

A Speeding Ticket after 28 Years

I will immediately admit that it was totally my fault.  Saying that, let me quote my son: “Let’s take Hwy 19; it’s two lane, 55 mph all the way there.”

I got my first speeding ticket in over 28 years.  Dammit.  I was so pissed. Of course it was in this dinky ass town called Plummersville and the end of the month and blah, blah, blah. I had never been there before and trust me, will never go there again.

I was cited for going 52 in a 35.  Which I know was not true because there was the 45 mph and then BAM!  50 feet later was the sign for 35 mph.  (They may be a small town but not stupid in knowing ways to obtain money).

When I went online to look up my fine, it was $180.00. WTF!   Surely they jest.  Figuring that I could at least reduce the amount of the ticket, I duly put the date for traffic court on my Outlook calendar and planned on presenting my side of the story (not including my son’s stupid advice).

Used GPS to find the courthouse. Drove by the damn thing three times before finally rolling down my window and asking someone.  “This is it,” they told me.  I was dumbfounded.  Never would have even guessed.

Because this “courthouse” was definitely more like a community hall/fire station/employee lounge/after school program room.  Not kidding.  Because all I could see were metal folding chairs and tables, a microwave and fridge and several cheery religious signs on the wall.  When I walked in, I asked someone where I signed in.  They just looked at me.  “You don’t,” they said.  So I just sat down.

I seriously wanted to take a picture but with the many cops and a few other employees, I was definitely afraid of saying or doing anything other than sitting on that damn uncomfortable metal chair.  And checking my work email because I certainly had other things I could be doing.

Finally the “judge” (I have to use the term loosely here) got the rollie chairs from the lounge area and set up at the folding table at the front of the room.  As the court employee called out names, no one responded.  Finally, after several of these, the judge announced that everyone could just line in up in alphabetical order and he would speak with each person.

When my name was called, I went up the front and explained that I was “not going 52 in a 35; but would agree that I was going 52 in a 45.”

The judge’s response was; “Hon, it doesn’t matter how fast you were going, if you plead guilty you will pay the fine.”

“I respectfully request that you do not call me ‘hon’ and to clarify—it wouldn’t matter if I were in a 35 or 45 mph zone, the fine would be the same?”

“No, if you were going 20 mph over the speed limit, you would also have been cited for reckless driving.  How do you plead?”

“Guilty and do you take credit cards?”

“Yes, pay the clerk $180.00.” (Wait, this gets better)

So I go to the cop-clerk and hand him my ticket and credit card. He looks at me and then says he isn’t sure he can process the credit card because “the last time I tried to do it, the entire card was ruined.”

“But I was told you could take a credit card.”

“Well, we can but Doris has to do it.”

“And where is Doris?”

“Up there with the judge so you’ll have to wait until she is done.”

Now, mind you my last name is at the beginning of the alpha so I REALLY did not want to hang around for another 30 minutes.  And I didn’t bring my Jimmy Dean frozen sausage biscuit to cook in the microwave.

“Now,” the cop-clerk continued.  “You could go to the Country Store and use the ATM to get cash.  I can take that.”

“You have to be bloody kidding me,” I muttered as I left the room, got in my car and drove to the Country Store and used their ATM.

I returned to the courthouse/after school center/church fellowship hall with my cash and proceeded to the cop-clerk again. By this time “Doris” was free and could have taken my credit card but since I now had cash, this wasn’t an issue. I did feel obligated to tell Doris that cop-clerk needed to obviously have training on taking credit card payments. She didn’t care.

Here is a picture of the outside of the courthouse.  If I had waited 10 minutes, I could have included the judge smoking a cigarette next to the vending machine.

If you look really close, you can see the paper “Court House” sign taped to the door.



LWL Musings #62

I gave my son my department store credit card to go buy some clothes.  All I can say is I am thankful he has a girlfriend.  Because when the receipt was auto emailed to me, the first item listed was “Lacy Thong” for $12.99 ($6.00 on clearance). Obviously a little tidbit of information that he didn’t know about.

Because I have a long commute I get to bitch.  I can’t understand how  there can be three lanes and all traffic blocked for miles.  On my way home today I just wasn’t in the mood.  So I frogged the entire 22 miles going home at 80 mph. And I was totally okay if I got a speeding ticket. But I would be damned sure that the notation “Consistently used blinkers for all lane changes” was printed on it.

Don’t you hate it when where you go to get groceries is dependent upon what you are wearing?  Crappy clothes = Walmart.  Nice clothes like after work you go to Publix or Kroger. Sometimes I think I would rather pay more at a nicer store than fight the people of Walmart.

We tried the family vacation at the FL Keys. Yeah, just didn’t work for me.  I did dishes, took out trash and ran to the bait store as the designated driver way to much.  My husband and I have scheduled a FL Keys do-over.  We are old. We get to do that.

Pool next to Beach was pretty awesome, though:


Me at Starbucks drive-thru:

“I’d like the Unicorn Frappuccino”
          “We no longer have those”
“Can I have a Mermaid Frappuccino?”
          “No, those are over too”
“Do you have an Ice Cream Frappuccino with pink glitter?”
          “Ah, no.”
“How about a descending blue color Frappuccino?”
          “No.” (Clearly my intercom guy was done with this game but there was no one behind me in the drive thru so I HAD to do one more…)
“How about a That’s What She Said Frappuccino?”

Alas, I got my usual.  But I tried.  If he would have just asked for ingredients I swear I would have made something up that included vanilla, chia tea, caramel, glitter sprinkles and extra whipped cream with nutmeg on top.

LWL Musings #91

  • My daughter asked me if she could have $3,000 to spend the summer in Italy as part of her college education.  I told her no and suggested that she maybe she could find some Italian guy on Tinder instead. I honestly did not know she was being serious.


  • My son was an avid Bernie supporter through the election. Which is why I know he won’t appreciate the job link that his dad sent to him after the election:

Thank you for your interest in serving in the Trump Administration. This website is designed for applicants interested in non-career positions within the Trump Administration. If you previously applied for a non-career Presidential appointment with the Trump Administration and your information has not changed, you do not need to re-submit your application

Now, what would be even better is if we go ahead and submit his information and he gets a phone call from them!

  • I don’t think there is anything wrong with calling a breast mammogram a boob screen.


  • I understand the need for security but why do we have to have so many passwords? I have such a hard time trying to keep track of them all. And when you use your “go to password,” they will eventually make you change it and then have this stupid rule that you can’t just add a number or symbol after your current password. Which is exactly why I maintain a paper folder that is titled “Passwords.”  And forget all the security questions.  It is easier to just use the same answer for all of them:  Willie Wonka.  (Name of spouse? Willie Wonka; name of elementary school?  Willie Wonka; name of first pet? Willie Wonka.  Well, you get it.)


  • I am so pissed at my daughter for putting the Best Fiends app game on my phone.  Because all I want to do is play it. Heaven help me if I ever get Candy Crush.


  • And finally, for all of you who had marijuana laws passed in your state; medical or recreational – if you are not happy with it please feel free to eat a brownie and it will make you feel so much better!

The Rat in the Recliner

It all started with the 6-hour trip to close out our summer Alabama home (No, we do not have a summer home in Alabama but after all the trips there I had to start calling it something).  Our only objective of this last and final trip was to haul back the personal belongings and furniture and sign the papers to close on the house.

Two hours into our trip, my husband received a phone call from our truck rental company.  They were providing a courtesy call to let us know that the big ass truck we had rented would not be available at our original pick up site, but would need to be picked up at another location.  But no worries, they said.  It’s only 30 miles away.  Which turned into 57 miles. And, no they didn’t give a damn about inconveniencing us at all.  (Sorry I can’t provide a reference since I probably shouldn’t name the company; let’s just say it rhymes with Budget)

Not even having any time to curse about that issue, my son calls and tells us that his girlfriend’s car won’t start and she was supposed to drive to Missouri the next day.  Final solution was for us to rent a car dolly behind the big ass truck to haul her car back to our house. I mean it’s not like my husband hasn’t done that a bizzillion times already.

THEN: There was a police truck check point that my husband passed right on by on the way to the house. Which resulted in a cop running his ass down and making him go back.  Wasn’t a semi, wasn’t a real truck FHS (For Heaven’s Sake – my new OMG).  But Oh. No. Had to go through this whole long ass drill before they sent him on his way.  Did I mention we were paying $70 an hour for helpers to load the truck?  Which was stopped on the side of the road?

As we enter our lovely home for the last time, it is sweltering Alabama Armpit Heat.  And of course the air conditioning wasn’t working.  So all we had was one little window AC unit that was set at 64 degrees and only worked if you stood directly in front of the damn thing.

Our final surprise of the trip was my daughter calling in hysterics because “The cat brought something into the house and it ran into the recliner.” Pause.  Wait for screaming to weaken. Wait for her to quit calling the cat a number of super offensive swear words.

“Christina, calm down.”  Now this sentence immediately got my husband’s attention so I had to quickly add, “Now, what did Boca do?”  He immediately lost interest.

It didn’t help that my son grabbed the phone and proceeded to “talk her down” explaining how flattered she should be that the cat brought her a special treat.  The final decision was for her to go into her bedroom, put a blanket along the bottom gap of her door and lock it. She would text me occasionally over the next 24 hours:

“Boca is stalking the recliner.”

“Still stalking the recliner.”

“I can’t deal with him, I think he has been in the same position all night.’

“Adulting is hard.  Can you come home soon?”

My son ended up back at the house the next day. It wasn’t a bird like my daughter thought it was.  It was a rat.  A pretty big rat.  And I am so glad that my daughter thought it was a bird.  Otherwise, like us, she would have been staying in a hotel for the night.

So, I shall end, as always:  Bad Cat.


Ever Have One of Those Days?

  •  When you get the bag of Doritos from the pantry before leaving for work to put some in a baggie to take for lunch. And then say to hell with it and just take the entire bag with you?
  • When you ignore the pet barf on the floor because rule is: First to See It, Cleans It? And then end up cleaning it up anyway because everyone in the house knows the same rule?
  • When you help your daughter study for her Art Appreciation college class, see a picture and totally call out big penis? So every time she sees it, all she sees is a big penis?
  • When you secretly wish your husband would go on a business trip so you can totally veg out and do nothing for days? (Wait a minute; I do that anyway).
  • When you tell your family you have every intention of cooking pork chops for dinner knowing full well that they are past their expiration date and you’ll have to order pizza instead?
  • When you feel just a little bit guilty for turning on your electric heater at work when it is 110 degrees outside?
  • When you just give up trying to be the line leader and drive the posted speed limit in the middle lane?
  • When you have a garage sale and sell something by mistake that belonged to your son’s girlfriend for 50 cents?  I. Will. Never. Live. It. Down.
  • When you erase your browser history because you were looking up breast cancer and opened up porn sites by mistake?
  • When your 8-pound, 13-year-old deaf and blind dog runs out into the road barking and chasing the little boy riding his bike past your house scaring the shit out of both of you?
  • When you go to Starbucks drive thru to get your usual drink and they recognize your car and tell you to just drive straight up to the window?



What? Like I wouldn’t include the picture?

LWL Musings #71

I swear I can’t prove it, but I know my son borrowed my car this past weekend and drove it to New Orleans.  Seriously, how else could he go through an entire tank of gas in one day?

Hurrah!  My daughter FINALLY got a part-time retail job.  What I simply cannot understand is that she had three (3) THREE! Interviews before she was offered the position.  Now, I don’t want to question this too deeply, but I got my job after one interview.  I’m just hoping I am getting paid more.

Watched a very good TV documentary on Michael Jackson the other day.  Surprised to find out that the song “Ben” was about a demented rat. Because that song was one of my go-to lullabies I would sing to my kids at bedtime.  I already know how this is going to play out.  Now they are going to tell me that they have been subliminally forever scarred  because I sang a lullaby about a demon rat to them before they fell asleep when they were babies.

Driving home the other day I saw a license plate that said PFRSKIN.  Took me a minute because the word “Skin” totally engrossed me.  Then I realized:  Foreskin.  Eeeewwww.  Just Eeewwwww.  How did that get past DMV and why was an old lady driving the car??

I was in Wal-Mart the other day and went by the garden center.  Now here is my thought:  We are currently living in a way over priced rental which we will leave as soon as our one year lease is up.  So maybe I should go ahead and buy all those dandy potato, onion, squash, pumpkin and rhubarb starter plants and plant them all over in the backyard.  Hopefully they grow like crazy after we leave – you know sort of like a good-bye gift to the rental.

Another bit of backyard trivia.  If I do not pick up pet poop from the backyard regularly, I end up with four grocery bags full of crap. (Literally)  But my biggest issue is whether to put it in the recycle bin or regular trash bin for disposal.

I think it is becoming obsessive with me.  I was at the laundry mat this past weekend (BTW, hair dye WILL DEFINITELY NOT come out of bathroom rugs so don’t even bother; just throw the damn thing out) and was compelled to offer dryer sheets to everyone who didn’t have any.  Not only did I give the rest of the box to the mom with three kids, I left a pile next to the dryers and told everyone else to help themselves.

Forgot where I parked my car in a 4 level car garage. Had to use my clicker lock key thingy about a million times as I attempted to locate it.  I swear my car was moving all over the place on purpose as I walked around trying to follow the stupid beeping noise. Only old people forget where they parked their damn car.

Cop Story #1

 We recently purchased a truck. Yep, so now we get to drive ‘round town in an ‘ole truck (feel free to say that using a very southern accent). We weren’t looking very hard for a truck, but there were just too many times when we could really use one and by luck we happened to come across a truck that was a good deal.

So we met the seller of said truck at our bank, signed all the necessary papers and voila! Official truck owners! Afterwards, the seller went to the truck in the parking lot of the bank and removed his license plate tag.

“What happens if you get pulled over driving the truck without a tag?” I asked my husband.

“I seriously doubt that would happen since I am just going from here right to the DMV but I have all the paperwork that shows we just bought the truck so I can’t imagine it would be a problem,” he answered.

Most famous last words, right?

Sure enough – driving along our rural roads of Ohio where they are way over staffed with local police officers driving brand new cars who have nothing better to do – he got pulled over for driving a vehicle without a license.

My husband immediately began explaining to the officer that he had just purchased the truck, was on his way to DMV and “would you like to see the loan paperwork?”

Nothing. I mean, according to my husband, you could just hear the pretty little birds chirping in the background and imagine the officer scratching his head.

“You know you need a license plate to operate a vehicle on Ohio roads and you should have gotten that taken care of before you bought the vehicle, sir.” (I am adding the sir just because he was so stupid it feels right. You know, a stupid but respectful officer)

My husband calmly explained to the officer: “Well, I couldn’t exactly get a tag because I didn’t officially own the truck, right? And the seller wasn’t going to let me keep HIS tag because isn’t that against the law so you understand I have no choice but drive it without a tag and I was going straight from the bank to the DMV to get it and here is all the documentation that I just purchased the truck not 15 minutes ago for proof…”

“Well, I have never heard of that story before,” the cop answered. “All I can tell you is that you need a tag to lawfully operate a vehicle. It doesn’t matter that you just bought it.”

Now, at this point my husband had the mantra of: “Do not hit the officer and get arrested, my wife will kill me; do not hit the officer and get arrested, my wife will kill me” going on in his head.

So he decided to do a Denzel Washington and explain it to the officer like he was kindergartner:

“Well, if I HAD to do that, I would have to get a tow truck and then pay to have the truck towed to the DMV to get the tags. Now, that doesn’t make much sense, right? I mean, the truck is driveable” (Pause here for response from officer. Hearing none …)

“Umm, maybe there is someone higher up that you can call?” My husband politely asked, still thinking “Do not hit the officer, do not hit the officer, DO NOT hit the officer…”

Now, this got the ole officer a bit riled up – probably based on the fact that he obviously didn’t have a good answer. (I’m just guessing here).

“You do know I could arrest you right now and impound this truck, right?” the officer replied.

So my husband wisely said nothing and just looked at the guy. Officer Dick finally hitched up his pants, told my husband that he had better go DIRECTLY to the DMV and he would definitely give him a ticket if he caught him driving the truck without a tag.

And I was so proud of my husband; he didn’t hit the officer.