With the roof having caved in, the endless line of strangers in my house has begun again. Yesterday, the insurance adjuster came. He told me where to get my stuff fixed (from dry cleaning to woodworking), how the water meter works, the real reason the Beatles broke up, and why I won’t be getting carpeting to match the rest of the carpeting because there is a “door jam” issue. He also told me WHO should fix these things (besides the Beatles break-up). All friends of his. What were the odds?
He told me I couldn’t get new things in most cases. I guess because he doesn’t know people in retail. Maybe he wasn’t trying to intimidate me (by shaking his head and sneering no to anything I suggested before I had even completed my sentence) into using friends of his to do all the work, but it seemed that way when he had a dry cleaner drive from 75 miles away to pick up our curtains.
Time now for the Real Country Music lyric of the day. (Real Music lyrics heard on the air of the station of my employment)
I love sleeping in on Saturdays
And I love college football games
I love not acting my age
And good barbecue
Yea I'm a fan of Faulkner books
And anything my mama cooks
Small mouthed bass have got me hooked on Sunday afternoons
Yes I love good cold beer
And mustard on my fries
I love a good loud honky tonky rock song Friday nights
And hell yes I love my truck but I want you to know
Honey I love your love the most
Man I love how Redman tastes
Damn I love my Nascar race
Any song sung by George Strait is country at it's best
Yea I love scuffed up cowboy boots
And broken torn up jeans
My 4-wheel drive and 8 point bucks
And rocky road ice cream
And hell yes I love my dog
And Jack D in my Coke
But honey I love your love
I love your love the most
Anyway, it really was a treat to have Robert Vela/Albert Einstein/Don Corleone pay me a visit.
He said he’d let me know about my lunch plans later. Turns out he doesn’t like fried okra.
