You know that stupid sliding numbers puzzle that drove you nuts until you just threw it at the wall?

That 4-by-4 grid, with 15 numbered slidey thingies, you had to random scramble the numbers, then rearrange them into order by sliding them around fruitlessly until you have it all right or until you have it all right except the 9 is where the 7 should be. That's when you throw it in a fit of adolescent rage, right?

Fun fact: the first one of these diabolical puzzles was invented by an upstate New York postmaster named Noyes Chapman, who came up with the idea during the 1870s. Friggin' postal workers amirite?! "Going postal" as a phrase was invented shortly thereafter.

So anyway, that's what my driveway is like right now while trying to move thirty years worth of junk. Good news, I got my 4x4 back so, as one does, immediately after getting a replacement warranty transmission and transfer case, I drug an inordinately heavy trailer with the old dock on it 220 miles up 2 thousand feet and drug it back empty. This morning I had to play the puzzle game just so I could rescue my tractor with the winch on the rumble buggy.

First, I had to turn the extended cab 4x4 and 16-foot trailer around and park the trailer in the top lot in the only remaining space (between the JAG and the BENZ). Then disconnect the trailer and back the truck down halfway. Then I moved Dusty, our 16-foot box truck up by the big palm tree. Then I needed to move the side-by-side, "rumble buggy," to the back yard to rescue the tractor from under the tree that fell on it. It was out of gas. I go up to the 4x4, get the can of gas, fill it up and nose down through the carport to the big tree. I realize I should be facing the other way and, with no room, I drive back up the bumpy ramp, through the carport, up the driveway and turn around then back down the carport and I park the thing there. I go up and pull Wakitu's extended cab pickup truck into her spot and all I have left to do is to move the 4x4 down and I can install the winch on it so we can move the jacuzzi. Then I can rescue the tractor.

We keep our keys in half a big old shell casing that we call "the bell." It rings when you throw them in there, and, of course, my keys are not there. They are not in my truck or on the seat. They are not in her truck or on the seat. They are not in the rumble buggy or on the bed or in Dusty or the back of Dusty or the bathroom or the the counter by the coffee cup. I CAN'T FIND MY KEYS!! and though it is hilarious when it happens to you it is NOT funny when it happens to me!

If you don't know me, I have a song that took off on the internet for a while. The video has over 82,000 views as of this writing. I'll link it below. The stats prove it and you can believe it or not but folks all over the world search all the major search engines for "I can't find my keys," "where are my keys" and any other combination you can think of. I hope my song makes them smile. Ancient Urban Legends speak of it: if you play my video three times while looking for them, they will be in the last place you look.

So, anyway, I'm out there pulling my hair out and decide I must have dropped them by the tractor in the tree debris and as I walk down past the rumble buggy there they are on the fender right where I had left them while filling the tank.

So now I'm laughing and run in to get my phone to take a picture and I tell Wakitu the story and now she's laughing and neither of us can breathe and as a kicker, while she is on the floor, tears streaming down her face, struggling for air, I had to admit to her... After I had taken the picture I came running in and realized I STILL DON'T HAVE MY KEYS!!

Wouldn't you know it, I had come in without them and they are still on the fender of the rumble buggy, down by the tree.

yup, she ded. RIP