Friday, May 25, 2012

Real Housewife Of Jefferson County

Where is my cook? Where is my maid? Where is my gardener? Where is my laundress? Where is my psychologist? Where is my drug dealer? Where is my chauffer? Where is my personal trainer? Where is my cabana boy and my swimming pool guy?

Where in hell are my cabana and my swimming pool? 

Jesus, people. I just want my fair share of the wealth. I just want my fair share of the good life as illustrated on the TeeVee. I am a real housewife! I am not a Real Housewife. I guess there's a fucking difference because I sure don't have a room-sized closet full of prom dresses that show my giantshinybubbleboobed cleavage that I sit around and drink cocktails in.

What? Giantshinybubbleboobed isn't a word?
Well, it is at blessourhearts.

How in hell do those skinny, bony women hold those big old boobies up? I guess that's what Pilates is all about.

Okay. It's Friday. Before Memorial Day which for those of you who hold actual jobs and are actual members of society, means that you have a three-day weekend. For me, an actual housewife/hermit, it means very little. The chickens do not care one bit and will not be rearranging their schedules to include a memorial of any kind.

Speaking of chickens, those banties are wild. They are taking to roosting ON TOP OF THE HEN HOUSE! I mean, the big hen house. Like, ten feet up in the air. We go out to put everyone to bed and the banties are up there, peering down at us with sleepy eyes. Last night I just left them. Obviously, they are bred to roost in trees or something. Okay. Whatever.

Flopsy is taking her babies further and further afield. Yesterday she brought them up to the back steps for me and Owen to give treats to. We did. We fed them bread. They liked it. They clucked and rattled and chuckled and snatched. Flopsy tid-bitted the bread to them. She took it out of Owen's hands and then dropped it for the chicks. We also saw Elvis mount Flopsy yesterday. Well, roosters don't so much mount as they do just jump on them, which he did. To Flopsy. Right in front of her babies. They didn't seem to care.
"Oh for Christ sake, Elvis," I said.
He didn't seem to care either. The act took all of twelve seconds, if that, but he seemed pretty proud about it and then resumed eating corn scratch.

I wasn't wearing a prom dress and neither was Flopsy.

So Mr. Moon and I are heading over to the Florida Folk Festival today. Jessie is already over there, camping with her fellow Cicada Ladies. They are selling beer coozies that say Cicada Ladies on them and taking pre-orders for their CD's and performing. We plan to catch their 3:00 pm set. We'll also be able to see demonstrations of how to throw cast nets and take care of Florida Cracker Cows or something. I don't know. Frankly, I don't really care. It's going to be hot and there will be Porta Potties and fried food delight and I already have chiggers, thank you very much. Also, tick bites. I have GOT to quit peeing in the woods. I'd rather pee in the woods and risk Lyme Disease though, than use a Porta Potty.
Plus, I fucking LIVE in a 24-hour-a-day, 7-days-a-week demonstration of Florida Folk shit.
And I should probably wear a bra.

I'm just a grouch today. I think a real good afternoon for me would be to go to a country club and have a cobb salad and lay around a pool and have a cute guy bring me endless vodka tonics. There would be no Florida Cracker Cows in sight. Or cast nets. Or old-timey fiddlers. Or cloggers. Just the gentle lapping of chlorinated water and a beautifully appointed rest room for when I needed to pee.

But then again, there would be no Cicada Ladies either.
So there you go.
Plus, I don't belong to a country club. Plus, I might need to buy some Cicada Lady beer coozies.

I can't believe I have a daughter who's a musician. But I do. And she is. The other night before I went to bed Jessie was playing guitar sitting on the stairs in the hallway. One of the main reasons I wanted this house was because of that hallway. I knew that the acoustics in there would be perfect.

And they pretty much are.
Where did that girl get those fingers? Not from me. Not from her daddy.
Some old-timey musician, I guess. I probably carry him or her around with me in my genes and I don't even know it. So I'll just carry that old-timey musician genes with me to the Folk Festival and show him or her that I have done my part in keeping those genes alive.
I'll probably cry.

Then I'll come home and turn on the AC and pee on my potty which is inside of the house and hopefully, no ticks or chiggers will be involved and no damn cakes of that weird pink smelly shit they have in Porta Potties. And go put my chickens to bed. And then lay down and rest my cleavage.

Those are my big plans for the Memorial Day Weekend here in North Florida where we have our own sort of Good Life and it doesn't involve cabana boys or prom dresses. Which is just fine but frankly and in all honesty, I would not mind a maid.


  1. I am so friggin in love with your house Ms Moon. It calls my name. I wish that whenever we move to the States, I will be able to find a house with so much soul like yours. And that is said only seeing the hallway.
    Have a great time at the fair, and enjoy those Cicada ladies... Now I need to go and clean out my utility room, no maids here either. Darn it!

  2. It's coincidental you should mention giantshinybubbleboobed cleavage because this very morning it being casual Friday and all I wore a white t-shirt kind of old and well it fits well you know and on account of I got up at 4 instead of 5 because I have to leave early and all, and I thought I was doing good until I got to werk and looked at myself in the mirror the full length mirror in the lady's can. My shirt fits fine but my bra cups somehow have empty spaces in them. Like unfilled darts. Like my breasts just up and disappeared and so I had to kind of fold the cups over a little bit it was either that or fill them with toilet tissue which I stopped doing at Holy Names.

    Also. This is very odd very very odd but last night my son and I went for a drive to the creek where my salmon run and we see they've put in a Porta Potty there and my very words to him my EXACT WORDS TO HIM were I'd rather pee in the woods and risk Lyme Disease though, than use a Porta Potty.

    Spooky, huh?


  3. Photocat- Well, living in an old house is awesome but it also has its problems. But I do highly recommend it.

    Madame King- Something weird is happening here. I just went over and read a blog of my friend Juancho's and he not only discussed the folk festival which isn't THAT odd but he mentioned COBB SALAD!
    What in hell is going on here? Worlds are colliding and the boundaries between time and space are dissolving.
    Plus, we think alike. Some of us.
    Watch out. More than breasts may start disappearing.

  4. Your days sound so much like mine except I live in Montana where we don't have chiggers but we do have ticks. And I hate those pink cakes of nasty smelling "stuff". Maybe they are supposed to mask the smell of all those of have gone before you, HA! Enjoy the music today, eat fried food and smile your lips off, Hugs, Vicki

  5. Oh you do make me laugh, and you are so right about those other HOUsewives... we can get them over here on our tv, probably several series back, but they seem so empty and spaced out and sad and brittle and talk like they are all still at school, and those poor children they have, are bringing themselves up.. its all so vacuous, and certainly not the real world where you and I live.. keep on going with your wonderful blogging , and have a super time tonight listening to the girls singing.. it does make your heart sing too doesnt it!! j

  6. One of the many reasons I like you Ms. Moon is that you hate wearing a bra as much as I do. First flippin' thing I attend to when I get home.

    Ms. Radish King - your disappearing breast story was a highlight of my morning. thanks!

  7. Oh, your staircase and hallway! Oh! Will you do a slide show of your house one day? Please?

    Have fun listening to the old time.

  8. Holy shit with the Cobb Salads and Lyme Disease?!

  9. I think it's great that you can just drive over to the festival and get to come home the same night. If I could do that I'd sure be there listening to the Cicadas this afternoon! Is this their first time playing a festival? May I purchase a coosie and a CD?

    Have a great time and stay away from those porta potties.

  10. I love your staircase and hallway and piano. A beautiful picture.

  11. i am laughing. i hope you and your cleavage enjoy the festival.

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  13. I just love this post and I love love love your staircase. I think I get all the sweeping now. i hope you have a fabulous time. When you posted a picture of Jesse and Gibson the other day, I thought it was you on first and second glance. I'm sure she'll be great!

  14. I am so with you on the peeing in the woods vs. a porta potty. So with you.

    You are hilarious, by the way.

  15. Vicki- That is exactly what those pink things are. To mellow the odor. As if...

    Janzi- They ARE brittle. That's it exactly. Like, they only things to them are brittle bones and bags of silicone. And their thoughts are brittle and their laughter is brittle. I am so glad not to have to be brittle.

    Jill- Bras are the invention of a woman-hating demon.

    Elizabeth- Gawd. I feel like you've seen my whole house at some point or another. I'll think about that idea.

    Juancho- WTF???!!!! You got married yesterday! Congratulations and a lifetime of love!

    lulumarie- Yeah, it's only a little over an hour to get there. We drove back on 90 rather than the interstate so it took a little longer but it was very pleasant. I'll put up an ordering link for the Ladies.

    bugerlove- I have a beautiful old house. I know I do. I am lucky.

    Angella- It was mostly okay. My cleavage stayed out of sight. Actually, I don't have cleavage. That requires far more breast than I actually have.

    Anonymous Jo- Although Jessie actually looks nothing like me, she somehow does. It's weird.

    Nicol- If I get Lyme disease I'll be singing a different tune.

  16. Beautiful hallway. I really love old houses. Yours is so special.


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