|not my photo. But see, they can be all tame, and don't look|
rabid, and so, my precious, truffles you will find.
My family prides itself in "jimmy-rigging" things, think Gypsy-style fixes for things. My mom's 64 Chevy Nova wasn't starting or something, so my dad stole some parts out of the aquarium, added some duct tape and voila! The car worked. Recently, while on a road trip, we had to stop for gas. At dark. With a sleeping baby. This meant opening the door, setting off the dome lights in the car, and waking the baby. Nuh-uh. Fat change in hell. I knew we would stop for gas about an hour before we did, so I had an hour to prepare. I was not going to tolerate 5 more hours of screaming, inconsolable child, so what could I do? Aha! Lightbulb moment! Eureka! I dug through my purse and found the perfect thing to just block out the light from the dome light.
So an hour later, we stop for gas and my hubby opens the passenger back door to check up on us and is all, "what the F*ck? Why is there a maxi pad on the ceiling of my luxury automobile? Eww! A maxi pad! In a luxury car!" I had to calm him, I mean, geez, it wasn't used. And it blocked the light. I told him just that, and to just be proud my invention worked, our child was asleep, wasn't he? Hubby just shook his head and got in the call all silent-like. I noticed the next day, the maxi pad was mysteriously missing.
Aaaaand...moonshine. My area of the world was where all the Hollywood elite - or pre-Vegas mafia- who wanted to get toasted during prohibition, hung out. They had many secret speak easy places (complete with easy girls) and some moonshine distilleries. Yep. We had prospectors, moonshiners, we threatened to disband from the union and join the confederacy once... Anyways, so the moonshine distilleries could never seem to be found, and it is rumored there are still stills hidden in the forest. Again, a lucrative career, selling hundred year old moonshine to drink, if not deadly, or use to strip paint effectively. Also, my mom laments something (that I kind of am intrigued and saddened by, too). She has misplaced her bathtub beer recipe. Apparently, if it is the early 70s, you're a hippie, and own a bunch of hops and spare appliances in the yard, you make beer. Yes, I'm intrigued...half disgusted by bathtub beer, but half..intrigued.