Pickled Pigs Feet and a Bearded Biker Man

There is something about living away from your parents, moving out, that makes you apreciate them so much more. All the sweet things that they always did for you when you where a kid never really ment so much as the things they do now that you're an adult.

I love my New Home (NH). It's a good distance away from my Old Home (OH), but still close enough that if Mom and Pappy need help with something I can just make a run down and spend some time with them. Apparently they decided that they needed help.

Siñor Molesto came back to get his microwave, which thusingly left us microwave-less. After some minor research Smilie found one at the D.I. for a whopping $10. That's where I was, deciding between the Big Juan or the small one when Mom called. (I've now become the handy man around the house because Pappy isn't totally capable of doing what needs to be done and I'm the only guy that isn't married and therefore already has a house of his own to take care of.)

Deciding on the Big Juan I hefted it down to the cashier and out to my car. At first glance Yarr wasn't so sure that it would fit in the alotted spot but it slid in with about a 1/8" gap. Of coarse with it being from the D.I. we sorely discovered that it is more of a "special needs" microwave. So far we can only get Big Juan to go about 1 minute with out starting to sizzle and die. (Makes popping popcorn a real pain.) However, he was only $10 so I'm really not going to complain. Besides, I'm not the one that really uses it to cook anything ;) With Big Juan behind me and some gas fumes in my car I set off for the OH. (The fuel light came on around Ogden.)

For some reason when ever I help Mom and Pappy they make a new seggestion for employment. "Have you ever thought of being a plumber? . . . How about an electrician?" and for Saturday it was "You know painters make good money." Now, I won't deny that I actually enjoy doing all those things. However, if I want to keep enjoying them, enough that I'll actually be willing to do them around my own house when I get one, I can never do them as part of my career.

So, until I do actually get my own place . . . which I'm sure will not be for a long time. I'll be aiding Mom and Pappy with their little "projects" . . . can't wait till next Saturday to do it all again.

Oh, and while everyone is on the topic of traffic violations. The citation that I recieved a while back was paid for and cleared, as far as I knew--till Pappy gave me a call and informed me that they intended to revoke my license. He copied of the receipt of my payment and mailed it off to all the proper authorities but hasn't heard back from them yet. His parting advice as I was getting ready to drive away, "If they slap some handcuffs on you when you get pulled over, you'll know why." . . . ah the love of a parent.