Monday, August 31, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
|Mom called the other day and asked if I wanted to go see the new movie about Julia Child titled Julie and Julia. I agreed to go since I didn't have anything better to do. We decided to go to the afternoon matinee and went to Applebees for lunch. It was really a hard decision about lunch because we usually like to go to Red Lobster when we're in the neighboring town.
Anyhow, lunch was mostly uneventful. We got the Horatio Cane of waitresses. She tried having a conversation with us and wouldn't even look our way. She kept looking out the window and down at the floor. If you're not sure about what I'm referring to check out CSI Miami and watch Horatio. He's always looking down and has his head tilted funny. Weird!
We purchased our tickets, bitched about the price of the popcorn and walked inside the movie theater. I thought it was strange when the lady selling the tickets said that we had got the last two tickets and the movie was now sold out. It was a Wednesday afternoon, school had already started back and I didn't think that this movie was supposed to be a blockbuster or anything. I soon got my answer when we arrived in Theater 2; the place was packed.
It was filled with row upon row of old people, namely senior citizens. I was the youngest person in there by about 30 years. Even Mom, who ain't a spring chicken any longer looked at me strangely. What the heck's going on she seemed to be thinking. Did they get Senior price? Did they get a group discount? How can I get in this group? I knew that these thoughts were probably running through Mom's head.
We found two seats up in the very last row and after tripping over 2 walking canes, a walker on wheels and a prosthetic leg we settled into our seats. The movie started and we were about 30 minutes into it when the tape broke. Mom elbowed me and decided that she wanted popcorn after all and now would be a good time to get it. I agreed and had started down the steps when I heard someone ask me if I was going to the concession stand. I stopped and looked towards the voice and was startled to see the smallest little old lady imaginable. I said I was and she asked if I would get her something too. Her legs don't move so good especially when she's been sitting awhile. I nodded in agreement, collected her money and started back down the steps.
Another voice chimed in. And then another. Finally, once I reached the bottom of the stairs, I just asked the entire audience who wanted popcorn. Almost every hand in the theater wobbled upright. I looked a little scared I think because the lady on the bottom row said, "Come on honey, I'll help you."
It seems in the rush to get the Soothing Waters Assisted Living Home residents inside the theater before the movie started someone had neglected to ask the Seniors if they wanted any refreshments. And that's how for the next 30 minutes, myself and my helper, Genevieve, made about 25 trips to the concession stand. The manager of the theater noticed what we were doing and didn't restart the movie until we had finished. Everyone had popcorn and everyone had a drink!
When I walked backed up the stairs totally exhausted to reclaim my seat Mom gave me a quizzical look. "Where's my popcorn?" she asked.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
|Yes, I'm back in black!
Thanks, everyone for offering opinions on the new colors. I tried to embrace the change...didn't work.
I'm going to go back to what I said originally about the basic black look. It's perfect...and it works for me. It may not win the prettiest, cutest, or snazziest looking blog contest.
And that's just fine! Because really, the old saying in this case rings true: You can't judge a book by its cover.
So, enjoy the "new" old look and let's quit wasting time on all this tomfoolery and get back to reflectin'.
MA Fat Woman
Posted by Gianetta at 1:54 PM
Sunday, August 23, 2009
|If you're a regular to this blog you might be a little startled by the new background. You could be wondering if you are even on the correct blog. What's up with the MA Fat Woman? What's she into now?
You see, I've changed my mind (isn't that just like a woman)about the oppressive black background, that I needed a change and I told myself to lighten up.
So, I did!
Out with the old, in with the new. I might be making some other changes too. Not right away, this new background is gonna take some gettin' used to.
If you're like me, a little change goes a long way. I've never quite figured out how I've become so set in my ways. One small change can open the door to a whole new way of reflecting on things.
Let me know what you think!
MA Fat Woman
Saturday, August 22, 2009
|****This was what I posted last year on my lucky day. It didn't turn out as lucky as I would have wanted. So, I'm giving it another whirl. Maybe, better luck this year...year 2!
Today, August 22, is the luckiest day of the year for me. If something exciting is supposed to happen, it usually happens on this day. I can't remember the specific events (okay, maybe I can, but a girl has to have some secrets) but I do know that it was on this date. I do remember that I got my wisdom teeth pulled on this date in 1989. I know that wasn't lucky but I did get to eat mashed potatoes for every meal for a few days. And luckily, my favorite food is mashed potatoes.
I think I am going to try my lucky numbers on the lottery this evening. The problem is that I have to pick five numbers and I only have two: Eight for August and twenty-two for the twenty-second. That means that I will only get two out of five numbers and you don't win anything with just two correct. But, since it is my lucky day, I might get the other three numbers as well. I'm a winner and I didn't even know it. Now, what am I going to do with all that cash?
Friday, August 21, 2009
|...but, I don't know you.
It seems like everybody and their brother is now utilizing the new social networking sites such as MySpace and Facebook. I am on both of those sites and so is Brother; however, we are not friends.
And that's okay.
I have yet to jump into the world of Twitter. I'm not sure if fans of the MA Fat Woman really want to know when I walk into a men's room by mistake or get chased down my driveway by my crazy neighbor as it actually happens. That would take the fun and enjoyment away that I experience when I sit down and rehash the whole story as I pound away on my Commodore 360.
Since I have an addictive personality I'm sure that if I joined Twitter I would become obbessed. After all, who doesn't want to know when Ashton Kutcher or Big Daddy Shaq goes to take a dump. I know I do and I'm not joking. When I was a child and I would watch television I always wondered if Hollywood people went to the bathroom. Thanks to Twitter I now know the answer to that question! One less thing to worry about.
As for people from the past coming back into your life I'm not quite sure how I feel about that. I have approved and been approved by people that I knew when I was younger. I've read reports on Facebook etiquette that it's okay not to approve an Ex or someone that was detrimental to you in the past. Once a psycho, always a wacko, stay away from me is not a bad policy to live by.
As for those friends that somehow just drifted away over the years I can honestly say that I knew you...but, I don't know you now. It's great to hear from you and I'm glad you're still alive and kicking. I'll say hi and it would be nice if you said hi back. I don't want to know your waist size, your butt size or how many beers you can drink on a Friday night. Yes, we've both changed a lot since back then, no, I don't get home much, and I may or may not be going to the reunion.
Remember when we used to do this and you used to be skinny. Yes, I remember those days, and hopefully, one day, I will be again. I'll say it again. I knew you...
...but, I don't know you now.
Nor, do I want too!
Let's just leave things in the past, shall we?
Can we still be friends?
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
We drove about a mile up the road before hair guy pulled off to the side of the road. There, he put his foot on the brake and revved up the engine with the car in drive. Errrrrrrrrrkkkkkkkkkk! That's the sound my new tires made as he listened to the noises that the engine was making. "There ain't nothin' wrong with your transmission; it's the engine. Hear that? That sputtering? It's missing. When's the last time you had a tuneup?" he asked.
"I've never had a tuneup," I replied.
"All you need is some new spark plugs and wires, I'll clean out the fuel filter. It still could be the coil package (What's that?). I got this computer (he does) that will run all of the diagnostics and help narrow it down. It's gonna be a couple hours though, we got a lot of irons in the fire right now. You can wait in the office, but watch those stools, they lean a little...big girl like you might not be to comfortable."
Relieved once again that it wasn't the transmission I let the comment about the "big girl" slide. I didn't want to piss this man off. I needed him to fix my car.
Over the next few hours I watched and listened to the happenings in this place that was totally foreign to me. There were several men hanging around getting their vehicles worked on and they liked to talk. In fact, hair guy liked to talk too! I don't know how they got any work done, but between muffled guffaws and spits of chewing tobacco those vehicles being repaired were flying out of the place.
Hair guy had walked into the office one time and told me how things were going. Noticing all of the pictures and trophies of the old cars I asked him if he had ever been up to the Cruise in that Mom and I had went to a few weeks ago. Of course, I told him all the details and especially that these cars cruise up and down the road, not just set in a parking lot with the hoods up. "I might have to check it out," he said. "Write down the information for me."
A while later he came back in and told me that I was ready to go. My engine had in fact been missing. (Mom was right) He had installed new plugs and wires, cleaned the fuel throttle and replaced the air filter. He told me at first that it was going to be $275 but since I had tipped him off about the Cruise in up in Kentucky he would only charge me $250. (Worked for me.)
As I was getting ready to leave we started chit chatting about old cars. "What kind of car do you have?" I asked.
"I gotta '57 Chevy," he said. "You wanna see it?"
"Follow me," he said. We walked back through the service area and through a door that I hadn't previously seen. In the room was car parts of all kinds and in the back corner, under a tarp, sat the Chevy. As he reached to pull off the cover he paused slightly, "I know what you're gonna say. What color is that? I don't want to offend you or anything but its got an unusual name."
Somehow, I already knew what the color of that car was going to be. Yep, it was titty pink!
Saturday, August 15, 2009
|I called Mom on the way to let her know what was going on. "Didn't sound like the transmission to me," she said. It's missing, you ever had that thing tuned up?"
"It's not a thing, Mom. It's a Mustang!" I said.
"Whatever, I know what a car sounds like when it's missing. You better hope it's missing and not the transmission. That'll set you back at least 4 grand. Where you gonna get that kind of money? If you still worked at the Post Office, you might've had the money. I know you wanted to pursue your dream of being a writer and wanted something a little more interesting than selling stamps, but, I bet you didn't think that you was gonna need a new transmission. Well, I gotta go to Bingo. Call me if you need me to come get you while they work on your car." Click!
I pulled into the parking lot of the Ford transmission guy's shop and walked into a place that was straight out of a movie. No doubt about it, this place was a garage. The office, if you could call it that, had a torn, black leather couch and two bar stools that leaned slightly to the left. On the walls, was picture after picture of souped up cars and a cabinet filled with trophies and ribbons from various car shows.
As I peered into the service area, I could see various cars in differing stages of being worked on. I saw the usual Mac tool toolboxes, air hoses, and grease rags strewn about the place and a couple of girlie calendars placed in strategic locations, supposedly only visible to the mechanics.
As I was standing there, a man, small in stature, but big in hair (he looked like he was from an 80s hair band) (watch out, Def Leppard) walked up to me and said, "Can I hep ya with somethin'?"
"I hear you're the guy to see about a Ford Mustang transmission," I replied.
"What's the problem?"
I told him what was going on and how I had made my way to see him and finally he said, "Well, what we waitin' for? Let's take her for a spin and see what she'll do." And for the second time that day, my car laid rubber down as she was taken out for another spin...
Thursday, August 13, 2009
|I guess I made it about 5 miles before the Mustang started to shimmy and shake once again. Maybe, it needed to run for a bit so the fluid could work it's way down into the engine. That seemed like a really good idea so I kept going. I went another ten miles or so before I realized that it wasn't getting any better and I better head back to the service station.
I pulled back into the service station and both Slim and Curly started shaking their heads. "It's doing the same thing," I said before they could ask.
"Mmmm, I don't think there's anything else we can do for you here," Slim said. The next part of the conversation dealt with every mechanic within a 50 mile radius of our small town. You don't want to go to so and so because of this, that, and the other or you could go to them but they'll charge you an arm and a leg. We all agreed that it would be better to take it to a small shop versus one of those big name places or to even the Ford Dealership because they charge way too much money.
They finally recommended a guy in the next town about 20 miles a way but I thought I would try a guy that Mom had used to fix her air conditioner for half the price of everyone else. I drove over to this fella's place and he listened intently as I told him what that problem was and what had been done so far.
"I'm gonna be honest with you," he said. "I'm not the man for the job. There's a guy in the next town who you need to go see. He's not only a Ford man, he's a Ford Mustang transmission man...
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
|I got up early the next morning and headed on over to the service station. Slim, the tall, skinny guy sauntered over to me and asked what the problem was? I told him what it was doing and he asked to take it for a ride. I didn't mind and watched in slight disbelief as he got a wheel tearing out of the station parking lot. (I had just got new tires.)
I stood and waited for a few tense moments until he came roaring back into the station. "Sounds like the transmission," he said. (Uh, oh) "I'm just learning about Fords, I'm not a Ford man yet. Let me get Curly over here to take a look at her. He worked over at the Ford place until he got fired. Hey Curly! Come on over here and take a look at this."
Slim proceeded to inform Curly of everything that I had told him and what he had just experienced while driving my car. Curly turned his head to the side, stroked his beard and said, "Yep, sounds like the transmission to me. When was the last time you checked the transmission fluid?" he asked.
"Never," I said. "I thought you guys do that when you change the oil; you know, topping off the fluids and such." He ignored my statement and told Slim to check the level of the transmission fluid. Slim pulled out the stick and pushed it back in then withdrew it one more time. I became a little concerned as Slim had to squint closer and closer to the dipstick, shook his head and showed it to Curly who also had to squint to see if there was any moisture on the stick.
"Looks like you ain't got no fluid in there at all," Curly said. "That's your problem right there." Slim put in a quart of transmission fluid, slammed the hood down and tore out of the parking lot one more time. He pulled back into the station and with a nod of his head told me I was ready to go.
We walked into the office to settle up the bill and he said it would be 4 bucks just for the transmission fluid. Shoot, I was so ecstatic that it wasn't the transmission that I gave him a twenty and told him to keep the change. His face lit up and with a big grin told me to have a good one. I climbed back into the Mustang and started heading west; I had an undercover assignment about 30 miles away...
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Friday, August 7, 2009
|I like to think that I know a little something about cars.
…I like to think that anyway.
Mom and I were out loaferin’ (riding around) in the Mustang the other night when my engine started shuddering as I was going up a hill.
Is there anything worse than car trouble?
“Sounds like it’s missing,” Mom said. It did sound like that, but it only seemed to shimmy and shake when it was going into or coming out of overdrive.
“I hope it’s not the transmission,” I replied. My friend had just had her transmission replaced at a cost of 4500 bucks and there was no way in the world that I wanted to spend that kind of money. And these days, who has that kind of money anyway. I hate car problems.
I know I already said this, but is there anything worse than car trouble?
I dropped Mom off and headed back home hoping that the Mustang would make it home. “Want me to follow you home?” she asked.
“Nah, I’ll be okay. She’s never left me stranded yet.” I was going to go to the local service station early in the morning; it’s where I usually get my oil changed. They don’t do extensive repairs but are pretty good at trouble shooting and would be able to point me in the right direction if major repairs are needed…
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
I've had my new porch for about six months and haven't seen the first blasted thing. It now faces the road and all I see are cars and trucks speeding past. It's amazing at how much noise some vehicles can make, especially motorcycles.
I've been thinking about moving my outdoor furniture back around to the way things used to be. Back to where I can enjoy the seens from my original porch.
If you want to know the truth, I've been looking at a whole new different seen and hope to be there by the end of the year.
That's our little secret, don't tell the landlord because he might want to come mess with the only seen I have left.
...my seens from the recliner.
Monday, August 3, 2009
|I don't get that many phone calls. It could be because that I'm on the Do Not Call List or that when asked to give my phone number on a registration form or something I generally give the wrong number. My number isn't unlisted...I'm too cheap to pay the extra fee.
I have a cell phone (who doesn't) but I don't really like to talk on it. I'm always paranoid of going over my minutes. I got a friend who talks on the phone so much that she sometimes goes over her monthly plan which has unlimited minutes. I know!
It seems that whenever I do get a call I'm always in the shower. When I was younger and more svelte if I heard the phone ringing while in the shower I would slip, drip and slide all the way to the phone to get there in time to hear a dial tone.
These days...not so much!
If I think I hear the phone I'll turn the shower off, turn my head and listen intently. Was that the phone? I always think I hear a ringing of some kind, or worse, I think it might be somebody knocking at the door. In my younger days I might've slipped, dripped and slid to get to the door wearing only what the good Lord gave me. These days....not so much...well, maybe? It could be the UPS guy! Yummy!
What things do you think you hear in the shower?
Tune in next time for Seens From the New Porch!