You can find Part 1 here.
Sunday was another long hot day full of moving, but at least we had some real help that day. My sister’s friend BB showed up with his truck and he and EB managed to get both beds and some other furniture moved. Hallelujah! We finally had real beds. We did agree that they should be placed in the middle of our rooms to keep the roaches from jumping onto us from the walls at night though. Unfortunately BB had to leave by noon so we were only able to get one load. Later EB and I went and got roach bait, Raid, and some other kind of injection tube stuff that is supposed to kill them and put it all over the house.
Later that afternoon my sister’s old man showed up with one of his trucks and a small trailer to help get another load. I had hoped that he would be able to help us long enough to get all the furniture and the washer and dryer, but his son called and then he said he had to go to dinner with his kids. So once again we were left without a truck to get the rest of the furniture.
I almost forgot. I was driving my sister’s car while following her and her old man back to the house. EB and Little Bubba were with me. A quarter of a mile from the house I noticed the car sort of wobbling and then, yep, you guessed it, we had a tire blowout. Thankfully we made it to the house. Her right front tired had gone completely flat and we were riding on the rim. At that point I didn’t even freak out, as I normally would have, and just said “F*&k it, things can’t get much worse.”
I have to give EB credit because without his super ADHD energizer bunny powers we wouldn’t have gotten nearly as much done and he also helped keep Little Bubba entertained while we were driving back and forth. My sister and I both love men who offer to help without being asked. My sister may have had her doubts about EB before that weekend, but she loves him now.
It was getting late and EB had an hour drive home and had to be at work early Monday morning so he decided to go ahead and head home after driving us back to the trailer to get my car. Again, thank God for EB. He may have his problems, but it’s really nothing that can’t be fixed. J
During all of this moving and stress my sister found a 1992 Ford F250 truck for sale/trade. The girl who had the truck lives about an hour north of us. My sister thought that it would be a good idea to trade my car for the truck. After two days of packing, moving, and eradicating roaches, sis told the girl that we would come up to see the truck Sunday evening and bring my car. So with title in hand she, Little Bubba and I drove an hour to the middle of nowhere to look at the truck and hopefully make a trade. I had my doubts because my car has had a good bit of work done to it and it runs great for an older car. I just wasn’t sure that the truck would be worth trading my car for it.
We arrived in the great town of Nowhere, population “300 happy folks and a few grumpy ones” around 4:45 pm. The girl with the truck drove up behind us and when she got out of her huge newer model Ford F250 truck it was like watching an episode of HeeHaw. She was wearing daisy dukes, a tank top and rubber barn boots. Standing every bit of 4’9” and weighing in at a whopping 100 pounds sopping wet, she was one tough little cowgirl. She even had the personality to match. She told us that she had been out building a fence when we called.
Daisy Duke and my sister went over to start the truck, but before they could DD had to put a battery in it. The old one was dead. DD hopped up on the truck and popped the sort of new battery in and then tried to crank it. Nothing. (I’m starting to think that batteries have something against my sister and I.) DD called her sister Big Booty and they hooked her truck up with the jumper cables. After forty-five minutes of trying to get it started they finally cleaned off the connectors and it started. The old Ford F250 had cherry bombs on the muffler and it was so freaking loud that it actually scared Little Bubba and made him cry. My sister was trying to buy a damn monster truck. The worst part was that my sister loved it. Even though the truck was rusty, had no air conditioning, was louder than a tornado siren, and was a manual (she doesn’t even know how to drive one) she still loved the damn thing.
I decided I’d let them go for a test drive without me. It was about 100˚ and on top of sweating my ass off I was having a nicotine fit. So down the dirt road my sister, Little Bubba and Daisy Duke went. Daisy Duke was driving of course because sis wouldn’t have made it out of the driveway. They got about a mile and then ran out of gas. DD’s sister, Big Booty, went and took them some gas. They went and fed horses, sis tried to drive it a little, and an hour later they came back. While they were gone I had a conversation with the Preacher about what was going on and I decided it wasn’t a good idea for me to trade my car for that truck. If sis wanted to trade something for it she could just trade her car. She wasn’t too happy about my change of heart at first, but then she said she wanted her old man to come and take a look at it first anyway.
Another day down and many more trips of moving stuff to go.
To be continued…