The Inmates Run the Asylum

Yeah, we're having some late October severe weather coming through, mostly in the form of straightline winds. It's being called #ChiClone on Twitter because a)Chicago looks to be getting the worst of it at this point and b)Chicago is center of the universe when it comes to IL, so even if it wasn't even windy up there, it'd still be called that.

While Chicago panics, those of us downstate, particularly of the redneck ilk, aren't too concerned as we're looking forward to the new stuff that will blow into our yards. It's like a Mother Nature controlled swapmeet. We got a Pepsi sign and a giant baseball once. It's good times.

We didn't put away our outside chairs or tables. Or really put away anything, really. I did tell Dad to put away his ladder because it was leaning up against the house and should it blow over, it'd blow over right on my car.

So, what does he do? Take it down and lay it across our outside chairs and table.

Consider our hateches battened, I suppose.

Just never mind the other ladder, stepladder, and paint still out in the backyard. Clearly, Dad is hoping to get rid of those things. I hope the people in the next county appreciate them.

I've been invited to go to a BBQ that being held at a trailer and the main course is going to be squirrel.

Sounds like a Jeff Foxworthy joke waiting to happen, doesn't it?

That's my world.

Actually, three this morning was the meantime of shit going down.

First of all, the redneck colony across the street got a trampoline. Good call. I love me some bouncy-bouncy.

However, they decided to put it to use at 1AM, complete with spotlight, waterhose, and squealing. This did not amuse me. Apparently, these lobotomized howler monkeys didn't realize that sound travels and some people sleep with their windows open.

They'd get quiet, I start to doze off envisioning one of the offspring of cousins slipping, falling off the damn thing, and taking a trip to the hospital and they'd start up with the noise again.

At about two, when I had reached my limit and was deciding whether or not to call the cops or just go over there with a knife and turn the whole damn thing into a waste of money, the jumping jackasses called it a night.

I managed to drift off.

Only to awaken a little after four to Dad's cellphone ringing in the next room. I couldn't have been sleeping too deeply if I heard that (even if it is the most annoying ringtone known to man, I rarely hear it when I'm sleeping good). The only thought I could spare was wondering why work was calling him when he was going to be in at six anyway.

Only later did I find out that it was actually my cousin Nancy calling to say that my Aunt Jo took my Papa to the hospital. He's having trouble with his heart due in part to the fact that he's run out of one of his meds and didn't want anyone wasting gas on a trip to the pharmacy if they weren't going that way to begin with. Instead, we all get to waste gas visiting him in the hospital.

He is doing much better, though, but the doctors want to keep him for four or five days for observation. Papa insists that he will be leaving tomorrow afternoon because Jake's got a ballgame and he has to go. Dad says as long as he's in no danger of keeling over, the old man can do as he pleases.

He will still be reading him the riot act about his meds, though.

I told Dad it would be in his best interest not to be this difficult in his old age.