It Worked Once

Three years ago about this time of year I decided to quit smoking. I'm happy to say that it worked. BUT! As a result of not being able to suck on a cancer stick any longer I needed another outlet to help me calm my ass (sorry) down. That's where food came in. As the name of the blog implies, I am a Middle-Aged Fat Woman, and it's time to do something about it. I won't bore you with all of the blah, blah, blahs and how I plan on doing it and all but I will be a little grouchy and sharp of the tongue so don't take it personally. Officially, if you're keeping score at home, I've gained 81 lbs since I stopped smoking. I know, that's a whole person! Anyhow, I stopped smoking the day after Thanksgiving, and that worked out really well. So, I'll start sometime this weekend once we finish the leftovers. (Sister makes really good Mac & Cheese, Brother makes pumpkin bread, I make deviled eggs, and Mom makes everything else) Wish me luck! MA Fat Woman

Happy Thanksgiving

***Enjoy this classic Thanksgiving post*** It's a few hours before the meal and I'm already stuffed. No, I'm not the turkey. I almost had a major meltdown earlier over the deviled eggs. You wouldn't think that it would be that hard to boil eggs and then peel the shells but somewhere there was a major breakdown in this process. The shells would not come off the eggs and I had to take a butter knife and chip the shells off. This process resulted in four different opinions as to why the shells would not come off more easily. Mom says that the eggs were too fresh and that was the reason the shells were difficult to remove. Sister says the eggs needed to be at room temperature before they were boiled. Niece says the eggs probably came from the chickens outside and have been buried out behind the outhouse for the last few years. The MA Fat Woman didn't say anything but just kept swearing under her breath. Brother says the eggs weren't boiled long enough and the shells needed to be removed promptly after boiling. After this discussion which took almost an hour it was time to make the deviled egg mixture. Again, an hour to discuss how to make the mixture and four differing opinions. If we're having this much trouble with the eggs I can hardly wait until it's time to mash the potatoes. Happy Thanksgiving!

Cleo, Mister and Sissy...Part III

"...Hey, Sissy! Don't you think you better slow down." Cleo turned to me and said, "Sissy, has a real problem. That TV channel called and wanted to put her on the air. What's it called, Boarders, or Hoarders, something liked that. We told them 'bout all the stuff she has, but they said we'd be better off calling Goodwill or the Salvation Army. They have a lot of extra manpower this time of year due to the holidays and all. She's got a bad problem about keeping and holding onto stuff. Like that man of hers, beating up on her like that. You gonna come to the singin?" "I'm kind of tired. This yard sale stuff has worn me out," I replied. I was beginning to get concerned about how I was going to wiggle out of going to this singin'. These folks were a few cards shy of playing with a full deck and their elevators didn't quite make it to the top floor if you know what I mean. Bless their hearts, I know they was just being friendly, but all I wanted to do was go sit in my recliner. A few moments passed and they were all gathered around Sissy when they called me over. "What's the total?" Cleo asked. I had no idea what I had told Sissy so I just said ten bucks. She had a mountain of junk and it was stuff that I didn't have to look at any more. It took all three of them four trips to carry it to the car. "Now, the singin' starts at 7 PM, but I want you to come a little early; there's a man I want you to meet," said Cleo. "I hear he's loose and likes to swing from the bedposts." "CLEO! Shut up and get in the car. Leave that lady alone," shouted Mister. With that, Cleo and Sissy nodded at me and got in the car. Mister was lingering behind and started fishing for something in his overalls. "You ain't got a pencil, do you? I wanted to write that fella's number down for ya, in case you want to do some swinging from the bed posts, he he. I'll be seeing ya. When you gonna have another yard sale?"

Crack Is Whack, Whitney's Back

I just finished watching the American Music Awards and was particularly interested in seeing Whitney Houston. It was her first television performance in five years. If you've forgotten or never knew what happened to Whitney, it can be summed up briefly with just one word: Drugs. She and her husband, Bobby Brown, allegedly, had quite a fondness for Crack. In fact, in one of her interviews, she was quoted as saying, "Crack is whack", whatever that means. When she lived in Atlanta, the local radio stations would do reports on Whitney sightings around town. These reports weren't very flattering. Usually, it involved Whitney in her house slippers, seemingly high, and locked out of her gated community hissing and cursing at the amused onlookers. Happily, with tonight's performance, it seems like Whitney is back! I sat through three hours of performances and only one artist sent shivers down my spine and gave me goosebumps, and that was Whitney Houston. Congratulations Whitney! We're glad you sacked and whacked the Crack out of your life, and with this performance, you indeed, are back.

Cleo, Mister and Sissy...Part II

...Mister turned around slowly and headed back toward the car presumably to get his spit cup grumbling under his breath the whole way. "Lordy, that man is got the manners of a orange katan, what's it called, you know, one of them monkeys," Cleo said. "Orangutan," I volunteered. "Yea, that's it! Clyde. Right turn Clyde. Wasn't that Mr. Clint Eastwood's monkey that starred in all of those any which man I can movies." "Um, I don't think it was his monkey. And the movies were called Any Which Way But Loose, I think," I said. "Well, I don't know 'bout you, but I'll take my man loose, monkey like swinging from the bed posts or any which way I can, he he. Mister don't swing like he used too!" "Cleo, stop talking! That lady don't need to be hearing things like that. You said you was gonna watch yourself," said Mister. Meanwhile, Sissy was looking over the goods left out on the tables and holding up one item after the other asking how much I wanted for it. I'd name a price and she'd nod her head in agreement and put it aside. Cleo and Mister were fussing at each other and occasionally looking over at Sissy and the pile growing steadily beside her. I stopped putting away stuff, because the way things were looking, Sissy was gonna buy everything I had left. "What are you doing tonight?" Cleo asked. "You wanna come go with us to the singing? It's out there on the four lane and you turn right on Upper Dowdy Doo Lane and turn right at the big red bird house. You can't miss it." "Well, it's probably going to be after dark before I get finished putting all of this stuff up," I replied. "Why, pshaw!" Cleo said. "We'd be glad to help you put it away. 'Side's, when Sissy gets through shopping, there ain't going to be much left..."

Are You Paying Attention?

Someone or something has been trying to get my attention. Today, when I was in Walmart I was checking out the coffee makers and when I was finished I had to walk past the toaster ovens. No big deal, right? What if I told you that as I walked past a bell went off. It went DING! I went WTH? I stopped, and looked around, there wasn't anyone around and it certainly wasn't cooking me a snack. Over the weekend when I was putting away the yard sale leftovers I heard music start playing from one of the dolls I was selling. I wasn't anywhere near it and I didn't even know it was musical. Last week I was sitting in my recliner when there was a loud thump or creak in the ceiling above my light and then the light blinked on and off. And don't get me started on what happens at about 1:28 AM every night. Almost, without fail, give or take five minutes, there will be a very loud creak at the bottom of my steps. It sounds like a heavy footstep. I just call it Alice, which by the way, was the name of the woman that lived in the house about sixty years ago. (I just found that out a few months ago) The noises on the steps have been happening for years. Probably all just coincidence. If not, whomever, or whatever, you've got my attention. Check back for Part II of Cleo, Mister and Sissy in the next few days.

Cleo, Mister and Sissy...Part I

It was late Saturday afternoon and I was beginning to pack up the remnants from my weekend yard sale when an old beat up station wagon pulled slowly down the driveway. I glanced in their direction and was met with three hands stuck out the window all waving in unison at me. "Hey! Are you closed? Do we have time to pick through your leftovers? I told Mister here that we needed to get our butts, pardon my French, in gear or we was gonna miss all the sales and be late for the Singing," the elderly woman said. "Nope, you're not too late. Have a look around, you might find something that you can't live without and it'll be less for me to pack up," I answered. The car stopped and out climbed the old woman who was wearing orange lounging pants, a deep purple moo moo and black Chuck Taylor running shoes. Her wig sat perched slightly askew on her head and her straw hat sat off center the other way giving her a slightly lopsided look. She approached me immediately, extended her hand and said, "I'm Cleo, that's Mister, who I been shacked up with since '76, when my husband up and died on me. Ain't got no strings on him, he's free to come and go as he pleases, s'long as he pleases me. He He!" I shook her hand and she continued. "That lady there is his daughter, Sissy. She stays with us sometimes, usually when her old man goes on a drunk and starts beating up on her. I, swan, for the likes of me can't fathom the way some women put up with them goings on. I told Mister here if he ever laid a hand on me I'd cut it off as fast as I could pull my knife out. You're old man ever do that to you? Get yourself a knife, that'll keep him in line. Look at me, going off at the mouth like that. Let me get here and see what you got for sale. I'm proud to say I don't ever buy nothin' new, I get all my stuff at yard sales. Hey Mister, you got any more of that snuff with you? Let me get some, this little lady might want some. You like my outfit? I got it last week over at the community thrift store." Mister, wearing bib overalls, a Grateful Dead t-shirt and a John Deere cap, walked over to us and offered the aforementioned can of snuff. I declined politely and so did Cleo. Mister shrugged his shoulders, drew his head back, and spat out a big ole drop of brown gooey tobacco juice that left a trail from is chin halfway down to his boots. "Wipe yourself Mister! This lady don't want to see your spit. Go get your cup..."

Is That For Sale?

So, I was crazy enough to have another yard sale before winter set in, by myself. I asked mom if she wanted to come help but she thought I was nuts for trying to have a sale this late in the year and she wasn't participating. (I guess it didn't matter that I was selling some of her stuff) Anyhow, midway between my umpteenth visit to the basement, attic, and storage building, my back gave out. I backed into the metal part on my utility trailer and gave myself a six inch long bruise and then I sprained my ankle when I doubled over in pain from bumping the trailer. Needless to say, it was after 10:30 AM this morning before I had put my signs up by the road, and by yard sale standards, that was extremely late if I hoped to make any money. Since I live at the bottom of a hill I get a lot of folks that slow down and then realize that I am at the bottom of a hill and keep on going. Fine! If you're too lazy to get out and look then you probably want to complain about the prices of everything and want me to sell you a twenty-five dollar item for twenty-five cents. Keep going, I don't want your business anyway. The third guy that pulled up wanted to buy my utility trailer. The fourth guy that pulled up wanted to know if I had any mowers I wanted to get rid of. Now, that's a loaded question. I've discussed before about my piece of crap mower and what you don't know is that the danged thing broke down again earlier this year. I took the guy to the basement and showed him the mower and he started asking if my tools, my fishing poles, and my Christmas decorations were for sale. He made me a tad nervous so I hightailed it back up front. Weirdo. Later, someone wanted to buy my leaf rake. Another wanted to by a bistro table (which I don't have) and someone else wanted to buy a microwave. Mom called early afternoon and asked how things were going. I was bellyaching about my bruised butt (which was the part that ran into the trailer), my ankle that I had wrapped in an ace bandage that was horribly swollen and how everyone wanted to buy everything that wasn't for sale. Mom's response: "I didn't know you was selling your trailer. How much you want for it?"

You Made Mom Cry

Recently, I asked readers of MA Fat Woman if they might be interested in acquiring one of mom's finely crafted hand/dish towels than can be hung from a drawer handle or the stove, anywhere actually. I asked readers to leave a comment and I would give them the information. Now, I don't get a whole lot of comments. I'm not sure why; it could be that I'm not a big responder like some folks do. Or, the story was so funny or moving that it left you speechless. (I like that one) I'm not one that has to have the last word, so mainly, I just let the story speak for itself. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE comments, and that's why I was surprised that the dish towels didn't receive any comments, not one. Goodness! You would have thought I was knocking on doors for donations or ringing the bell for the Salvation Army the way everyone avoided that post. Of course, mom saw the lack of comments in a totally different light than I did. I could hears tears in her voice as she began the rant with, "I thought you said people read that blog of yours. I worked really hard on crocheting those towels. You'd think that someone, anyone, would at least say they were pretty." If you have the time, check out Mom's towels and tell her how pretty they are. Trust me, it'll make life easier for everyone.

The Second Best One Liner...Ever

If you missed the best one liner ever you can check it out here. Sister: "How's the weight loss going?" MA Fat Woman: "Gaining every day...Thanks for asking"

If You're Interested...Wishful Wednesday

Mom's been doing some crocheting and she wishes she can sell a few of these beautiful hand towels. Yes, they are handmade. And yes, she made them. If you're interested just leave me a comment.

An Open Letter

Dear Mom, Please get your flu shots!! Signed, Your daughter MA Fat Woman

New Used Car Tactics

I was visiting with Friend the other day when she told me about an unusual phone call she got. We both thought it was pretty funny and decided to share it with you. I'm going to tell the story from Friend's perspective. Phone ringing... Hello? Caller: Is this Mary? Yes, it is. Caller: Well, this is Sam from your local Ford dealer and I was inquiring about your 2002 Ford Explorer. What about it? Caller: Do you still have it? Yes, I do. Caller: Well, we'd like to buy it. Who would? Caller: Your local Ford dealer... Why? Caller: Well, we are looking for quality pre-owned vehicles to fill our inventory. What are you going to give me for it? Caller: Well, you would have to bring it in and we would do a thorough check of everything to make sure it runs okay... What do you mean do a thorough check of everything? You should know every sound that it makes since you had it for two months and had to put four transmissions in it and a power train to boot. It cost me over four thousand bucks and hours and hours of my time and now you're telling me that ... Caller: Ma'am? Don't cut me off! What kind of racket are you people running anyway? Used car salesmen calling folks at home wanting to buy their cars. It's all just a scam, isn't it? Get someone in there, harass and haggle them to death on the pretext of wanting to buy their cars and then try and sell them a new car. I don't think so Mister! And, by the way, I'm on the Do Not Call List! Caller: Ma'am, if you would like to set up an... Click!