Dear Sister

Dear Sister, It's been over three weeks since my birthday and I still haven't recieved my present. Mom said she hasn't received hers either. We were just wondering if they got lost in the mail or something? Signed, Your loving mom and sister. Ma Fat Woman Mom

Plenty Of Time

I've had twenty-five years to plan and be ready for my 25th high school reunion. If you look over to the right side of the blog you can see that I placed a new counter. It tells me that I have a little over thirty days left. Did I plan accordingly? (no) Did I lose my stop smoking weight gain? (no) Have I become a published author yet? (sorta) Did I do everything I said I wanted to? (who can remember) Have I changed much? (Depends on how you define change; I'm in year 3 of the change) How many wrinkles do I have? (a few) Have you concocted a Michelle & Romy story about creating PostIts so you don't look like a failure? (working on it) Are you sure you are having a reunion? (I think so. I mention it on Facebook and people literally shrink away in horror and revulsion.) Will the old high school still be standing by the time you get there? (I sure hope so) Will the old clicks and groups still be intact? (I hope not. I didn't drive 500 miles to put up with junior high drama--get over it already.) How many people will show up? (Good question. We had 64 people in my class. Maybe 20) How many reunions have you been to? (Two. Tenth and twentieth. I was drunk and smoked at one and smoked at the other. Now, I don't do either.) One last question. (okay) Are you still excited about going?

Just Driving By

I've always been amazed at the different outfits people will wear. Back in the day, early to mid 80s, parachute pants, Members Only jackets and pinstripe pants were mainstays in mine and many of my friends' closets. Sweater vests, puffy and ruffled shirts and gold Disco belts were also required wardrobe items. Today, anything pretty much goes. Baggy pants, skinny jeans, chubby chicks with muffin tops, spaghetti strap tops with bra straps hanging out; it's a common site nowadays. Need to run to the store for bread and milk but you are in your pajamas? Not a problem, people do it everyday. One piece of clothing that I have never gotten excited about was miniskirts. I'm not sure why; but it might have to do with the fact that I have always been a member of thunder thigh high and I like to keep my butt covered up. The other day when I was driving home I passed by a house with a lady unloading a child from the back seat of a car. Her back was to the road and she was wearing a miniskirt. The planets must have been lined up perfectly because at the exact time I drove past, she bent over and the dress went up. Flashed. No underwear. All I saw was a crack before I had to swerve the Mustang back into my lane and pick my jaw up off the floor. I don't know if she thought because she was in her own driveway that she didn't happen to worry about what she was or wasn't wearing or what. I'm sure she hadn't intended on flashing the MA Fat Woman. Mom always said to make sure you had on clean underwear whenever you left the house in case you were in an accident. I guess with today's anything goes attitude, the advice should be changed to just make sure you have underwear on.

Bye, Bye Birthday Contest Winner

We have a winner! Five players correctly guessed the sayings inside the cards. They were Jenn, always in the back row, Winchester, Marla and Sharkbyte. Since it was a tie, I put the successful guessers' names in a hat and drew out SHARKBYTE!. Congratulations! Thanks to everyone that played and according to my word, the cars went out with this morning's trash. A. ...so I farted in this card! B. Hope your birthday is happy and filled with all the good things you deserve. C. Happy Birthday to someone who really stands out in a crowd! D. samtsirhC yrreM E. Whoop-de-freakin' doo. Sharkbyte gets this $5 dollar bill!. I had a really great birthday!

Piece Of Junk

I had called the repair guy about the lawnmower and told him I was going to be gone for most of the day and that the mower was around back of the house. He could just load it up and take it with him to see if he could work some 'repairman magic' (his words) on it. So yesterday, either I was a little late or he was extremely early because I was in the shower when I heard the mower start up. I tried to hurry and finish what I was doing but I had just applied Nair to my upper lip and legs and was just finishing up my weekly fifteen minute deep cleansing hair moisturiser treatment. I do like to pamper myself or at least keep my face clear of all facial hair that keeps springing up on a regular basis. Anyhow, by the time I got to the window to peek outside all I heard was, "That's a three hundred part and I might give her 25 bucks for it. It might be good for scrap. Damn wheels are locked up tight. We can't push that thing up the hill. Come on, let's go." And with that, they were gone. I had errands to do and it was early evening before I got back home. I called the repair guy and he said it needed a new transmission and the cost for the part and labor was about $350. If I didn't want to do that he would buy it from me for about 25 dollars and he could use it for parts. I told him I had to think about it. I want Brother to come and look at it again. I was able to get the blasted thing to go in reverse for about 10 feet before it locked up again so it makes me wonder if it really is the transmission. I called the junkyard and they said it was worth $8.50 per hundred pounds. That's about the same price the repair guy said he would give me for it. It must be a conspiracy or something. I really think that I bought a lemon. I brought it brand new from Lowe's and mowed one season before it stopped working the first time. It still had and still has nubby things on the tires. That's been three years ago, it was out of warranty and I'm thinking its time has come: Off to the junkyard, I say. Be gone! Farewell! Good riddance! Meanwhile, my lawn continues to grow at an astonishing rate...and did I mention that my pushmower has stopped working too? Last chance to get in on the Bye, Bye Birthday contest.

Bye, Bye Birthday Contest Update

I'm just taking a break from fighting with my lawnmower, and needless to say, I'm not winning. If I can't fix it or if Brother can't fix it them I'm taking it to the junkyard for scrap. I could probably get $50 for it and put that toward the John Deere I've been ogling over for about six months. Anyhow, if you haven't already done so I encourage you to get your guesses in for the Bye, Bye Birthday contest. I'll be picking the winner this week. (If you hear loud screaming and yelling, don't worry, it's just me fighting with the mower.)

Seens At The Flea Market

I've started selling my yard sale stuff at the flea market lately. I seem to enjoy it better than having a sale at my house. I guess it's easier in some way. I've met all sorts of interesting folks and I told you about some of them in Sharing a Tailgate a while back. Flea marketing is a lot of fun, and some days, you can make some cold hard cash. It depends on what you got to sell and if somebody wants it. Trust me, people will buy anything. If you've been visiting for a while you know that I like to tell you about the seens that I have seen from various places. Yes, I spell it that way on purpose. No, I ain't ignorant. I just like to and it's my blog so I'll do what I want to. (I'm not sure if C Smith 202, Mrs. Russell and Mrs. Rosselot are reading, but you never know. Those were my high school and college grammar teachers and they really did learn me good.) So, back to the flea market. It was during a slow period and this fella, late 5Os, unshaven, pop bottle glasses with a John Deere cap perched on his head wandered by the table and gave me a nod. "How ya doin'?" I asked. "Fine," he muttered. He was looking over my table and I noticed that he was mumbling to himself. The only thing that I could really understand was the word shit. "What'd ya say?" "I said nobody gives a shit anyway, so why tell'em how you feel." I thought that was so funny that I started laughing and found myself agreeing with him. I told him I was a good listener and would be happy to listen to how he really felt. He was silent for a moment, touched the brim of his cap and said this to me. "Ma'am I really was feeling poorly, but you perked me up. Thanks for asking about me, whether you meant it or not, I sure do appreciate it." I guess the moral of this story is be careful what you ask. One day they might really tell you how they feel and you might just make somebody's day.

Bye, Bye Birthday Contest

If you've been around for a while then you know that in the MA Fat Woman's family we like to celebrate birthdays. In fact, we celebrate for a month. Two weeks before the actual day and then two weeks after. I'm not sure why we do that; it's always been that way. Also, I've always had a problem figuring out what to do with birthday cards after the fact. I don't want to throw anything away. I'm afraid I might hurt somebody's feelings if they found out that I had disposed of their carefully thought out selection to remind me that I am truly over the hill. As my bones have begun to ache and it's now impossible for me to blow out all of the candles on the cake, I've realized that it is time to let the cards go. Free them. Let them fly. Burn them. (Just kidding) But, I needed a way to remember them and then it hit me. Why not share them with you and have a contest as well? Brilliant, I say, just brilliant! Okay, here are the rules: Match the saying that was on the inside of the card with the picture on the front. I have labeled each card as A,B,C,D or E and the saying as 1,2,3,4 or 5. Leave your answers in the comments section. If more than one person guesses correctly, I'll throw those names into a hat and draw out the winning name. That winner will receive the $5 dollar bill listed below. If you have any questions, please don't ask because I don't want this to become difficult. This a good way to say goodbye to my birthday and help me remember some of my birthday cards forever. (No more boxes and boxes of old cards.) Sayings inside the cards: 1. Whoop-de-freakin-doo. 2. ...so I farted in this card! 3. !Samtsirhc yrrem 4. Happy Birthday to someone that really stands out in a crowd. 5. Hope your birthday is filled with all the good things you deserve. Cards: A. B. C. D. E. The winner gets this $5 dollar bill!. Thanks for playing and making this the best birthday...ever. I'll pick the winner next Friday!

I No Hard Of Hearing

I had to pop into the post office the other day to mail off a few packages and got behind a Hispanic couple that had wanted to rent a post office box. This is the following conversation that took place: Clerk: Hi, may I help you? Hispanic male: Ola'! We want rent box? Clerk: I'm sorry. You want to send a box? Hisp male: Si. We want to box. Clerk in a slightly louder voice: I'm sorry. Where do you want to send the box? Do you have the box packaged already? With that, the slightly confused couple looked at each other, grinned widely and the female said, "Box." The clerk, obviously already having a bad day said in a still LOUDER voice: Where do you want to send the box? Couple: Si. (smiling and nodding their heads) Clerk absolutely screaming at this point: WHERE DO YOU WANT TO SEND THE BOX? DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? WHERE IS THE BOX GOING? Hisp male: Ooooh. Here. (And with that he handed over the P.O. box rental application.) The clerk now understood that he didn't want to send a box, he wanted to rent a box and walked away in a snit to get the process started. The couple began having a conversation in Spanish and I didn't understand any of what they were saying until the man turned around and caught my eye. He looked at me thoughtfully for a second and said, "Why was that lady yelling at me? I no hard of hearing? I just want box." I just shrugged my shoulders because I have been guilty of that, too. Has that ever happened to you? Have you tried to communicate with someone that speaks another language and found yourself almost yelling at them because they just don't get what you're saying? Language barriers can be funny and frustrating at the same time.

How Do You Express Joy?

People express their happiness in different ways. I was flipping channels the other day and ended up in the religious section. My cable company provides me with over 15 religious stations and each presents services that everyone seems to enjoy. It got me thinking about the different ways people express their joy. On one channel I watched a lady raise her hand repeatedly and say, "You tell 'em, Reverend. They need to hear the message." The next channel had a lady stomping her foot and yelling "Amen, brother!" Another fellow was answering the preacher every time he asked the congregation a question and saying, "I am Father." One station had everybody running up and down the aisles and speaking in a language that I didn't understand. They showed one little old lady sitting in her seat, eyes closed and nodding her head in unison with everything the preacher said. Another station had the pianist playing behind the reverend and pounding on the keys whenever he got excited. Watching all of these stations got me to thinking about how really different people are and how they express their joy. Some are afraid to make any noise and sit quietly while others just run the aisles and let it all hang out. It's the same in real life, I think, too. Some are content to sit and watch the world go by and others grab it by the horn and hang on for dear life. So, I ask, how do you express your joy? Me, I think I do a little of everything.

Working Out With Ross Perot

I joined a gym recently to see if there were any other fat people there. So far, I've met an eclectic bunch of folks including a local television personality, (Aren't you on the news?) an Arab looking fellow that let two people in during off hours, (made me very nervous) and a group of Seniors from the Red Hat Society. (They always work out in purple outfits and red hats. There's also a couple of beefed-up Hans and Franzs that spot each other and I keep waiting for them to bust out with, "We vant to Pump you up!" You've also got your assortment of younger kids, athletes, tattooed and pierced twenty somethings and two middle-aged fat people. (One of which is me, I haven't met the other one yet.) Another crowd that hangs out at the gym are those that are in really good shape. You know what I'm talking about--butts so high and tight that I can set my Diet Coke on one while I try and squeeze out three crunches. I haven't actually talked to any of those people yet, they sorta ignore me. (Oooohh, it's the fat girl. Better stay away from her, she's got the cooties.) Anyhow, one afternoon I was taking a walk on the treadmill while my heel spurs were screaming at me when this fella walked in the door. He had on light blue, no name jeans, a light blue denim work shirt and white velcro strapped tennis shoes that had certainly seen better days. He was small in stature, white haired, had big ears and had an extremely high pitched voice that made you wince every time he spoke. He looked and sounded just like Ross Perot. This guy gave me a nod, hopped up on the treadmill beside me and took off. No warming up for him--he had that machine a going and had his heart rate up in no time. The curious thing about him was the way he ran. It wasn't really a run, almost a shuffle, or a canter if you know anything about horses. I had to stop watching him shuffle along because I started unconsciously imitating him and tripped and almost fell off the treadmill. He grinned at me when this happened and told me to be more careful. I had finished my time on the treadmill and had wandered over to the weight machines while the lookalike had finished his run. He was dripping in sweat and was about to leave the gym when one of the people that works there says, "Why don't you get a workout outfit, a pair of shorts or something?" Now, I wasn't sure what to expect from this guy, a retort or something, but certainly not this. He cocked his head to one side, gave that fellow a quizzical look, pointed his finger at him and said, "Now, see here, here's the deal..." and turned around and walked out.

SNOT

Since my birthday fell on Easter Sunday this year I had Easter dinner and my birthday dinner at the same meal. Needless to say, I over indulged and found myself laid out flat on my mother's couch trying to keep my eyes from glazing over as I fought the effects of the tryptophan from the holiday bird. I must have been fighting a losing battle because suddenly I was jolted wide awake when Mom yelled, "SNOT." "Huh?" "SNOT!" Mom said with even more enthusiasm. "What? Snot? Why do you keep yelling snot?" "I'm doing the crossword puzzle from the paper," she said. "I've never had snot as an answer before. Thirty-four across. What is a four-letter word for nasal mucous?" "Snot," I replied. "Well, you'd think that they could have come up with something else besides snot, don't you think?" she said. "I don't know, I don't think loogie would have fit." And with that, we busted out in laughter and spent the rest of the afternoon coming up with gross words that could be used in the crosswords. Now, where did I put that number for the guy that writes the NY Times crossword? I wonder if he takes suggestions?

It's My Birthday...Year II

It sure is going to take a lot of hot air to blow out all these candles. Having problems deciding on what to get me for my birthday? Just leave me a comment and that will be just fine. (Except, of course, my family members and inner circle of friends. I'm sure you have spent weeks looking for just the perfect gift, and it's in the mail, right?) MA Fat Woman