How Do You Eat Raviloi?

I was over at Krogritz (Kroger) the other day wanting to stock up the pantry because it was getting pretty low. They always seem to have a special running where you can get 10 of something for ten bucks. Most times it's a really good deal. What especially caught my eye was a big bin of ravioli. Now, let's admit something here: I L-O-V-E ravioli. I don't care if it's the overstuffed kind, the cheese kind or the extra meaty kind; I'm usually getting three or four cans. I knew that if I was being watched people would think that I might be a few quarts low in the old thinking department while I was stuffing cans of ravioli into my shopping cart with a look of pure joy on my face. I got every can that I could find, and since I have a tendency to go overboard ended up with 32 cans of ravioli. Can you say score? I checked the expiration dates and not one was before 2012. I've got almost two years to work my way through my newly found treasures. Sometimes, I just don't want to cook and I can just open a can and dig in. It was a few days later when I decided to enjoy my first can of ravioli. After I nuked it in the microwave I settled down to enjoy my ravioli the way that I like to eat it. The process goes something like this: Spear individual ravioli with fork and thoroughly coat with sauce. Lick sauce off of ravioli. Spear. Repeat. Now that the ravioli is sauce free, the nibbling can begin. Make your way around the outer edge of the ravioli nibbling in small bites just up to the meat-filled center. Once this circle is completed place the ravioli back into the bowl and take the tine of the fork gently to one corner and remove the top layer of pasta to reveal the meaty center. Place removed piece to the side. Scrape off meaty filling, dip in sauce and enjoy. Lastly, place removed piece back on top of remaining pasta, dip and eat. Repeat until finished. Weird? Maybe! I'm sure you have a particular way you like to eat a certain food. Don't even get me started on how I eat Oreos!

Still Wearing The Same Suit

I'll be on vacation for the next week down along the Georgia Coast. I'm still wearing last year's swimsuit so I thought I would let you revisit this story. Enjoy! Beachgoers beware!! The middle-aged fat woman is coming soon to a beach near you with a brand new bathing suit. Cover your children's eyes. What was that flash of white?(my pearly white skin) I don't care what anyone says, this year I'm going to the beach for a whole week and I am going to enjoy every minute of it. So I bought myself a new swimsuit. I didn't try it on 'cause I know what size I am. Plus, I don't like to use dressing rooms.(I always think someone is watching through those mirrors) And if you're at one of those big stores where the dressing room is out in the middle with no ceiling, they can look right down and check out your stuff.(Makes me shiver and cringe) I hate to admit it but I spent over $18.00 on my new swimsuit. Seems like an awful lot of money for a little piece of string. I picked out a nice brown jungle pattern that matched the splotchiness in my complexion and was the color of my new sandals. Once I got home I thought I would try it on and see how it looks. I began to remove all of the tags including the price tag,(paid too much) the security tag,(it only cost 18 bucks) the designer label,(yeah, right) and lastly, that other thing called a panty shield. (Gross) Ok, I'm ready to take that first step. One leg goes in, then the other. I begin to pull the one-piece upwards toward my hips and am met with a slight resistance.(Not a problem, happens all the time) I tug harder and up it snaps(OW). I insert each arm into the proper slot and begin to pull, stretch, twist and contort myself into my new suit. I begin to adjust everything and put it where it normally sags, but darn it, if the shoulder straps don't keep slipping off my shoulders.(I hate that) My chest is heaving, sweat is dripping off my brow, I think I might have pulled a muscle in my back trying to get the stupid thing on. Now, comes the moment of truth. I turn around and look in the full-length mirror to check myself out. My head turns to the left, then the right, I turn around and look at the back....I shake my head and say to myself, "Aren't you glad you bought the matching coverup?"

Riding Shotgun

ALERT, Alert, lert. What did that sign say? That was what I was trying to figure out as another damn truck was clogging up the slow lane and blocking my view as I was travelling ultra supersonic in the passing lane. (I don't know if ultra supersonic is a word or not but I like the way it sounds.) Anyhow, I was returning to Georgia after visiting with a few of my old friends at my 25 year high school reunion. And if you know anything about this neck of the woods, there is really only one efficient way to get there: Interstate 75. I'm happy to report that Tennessee has reopened the rest areas that had been closed for years. (And I stopped at every one of them too. Too much Diet Coke and Cincy style chili require frequent stopping when travelling.) Anyhow, the interstate was being repaved through Kentucky and Tennessee and I was lucky enough to get stopped three times in a traffic backup. They had posted signs along the way advising that certain lanes would be closed ahead and you would need to merge. When the merging begins traffic usually comes to a crawl or even a standstill as some folks wait until the very last moment to merge and still expect to be let into the already merged traffic. And, of course, there are those idiots that do not want to merge and will ride in the emergency lane. (I'm sure you have seen these people.) After I had merged I found myself sandwiched between 18-wheelers as we inched the last two miles until we reached the construction zone. I noticed at least three vehicles pass in the emergency lane and just shook my head. All of a sudden, the trucker beside swerved to the right and started straddling his lane and the emergency lane. I looked in the rear view mirror and saw an idiot trying to pass in the emergency lane. Whatever way he tried to go, the truck would adjust so he couldn't get past. One time I thought he was going to go right up the middle between me and the truck. After several attempts he finally fell in line behind the big rig and stayed there long after we had passed through the work zone. I appreciated what that trucker had done; too many times people have tried to get there just a little bit faster and caused unneeded accidents. Maybe the next time that guy wants to break the law, he'll think twice.

Words Of Wisdom

Love him or hate him , he sure hits the nail on the head with this! Bill Gates recently gave a speech at a High School about 11 things they did not and will not learn in school. He talks about how feel-good, politically correct teachings created a generation of kids with no concept of reality and how this concept set them up for failure in the real world. Rule 1 : Life is not fair - get used to it! Rule 2 : The world doesn't care about your self-esteem. The world will expect you to accomplish something BEFORE you feel good about yourself. Rule 3 : You will NOT make $60,000 a year right out of high school. You won't be a vice-president with a car phone until you earn both. Rule 4 : If you think your teacher is tough, wait till you get a boss Rule 5 : Flipping burgers is not beneath your dignity. Your Grandparents had a different word for burger flipping: they called it opportunity. Rule 6 : If you mess up, it's not your parents' fault , so don't whine about your mistakes, learn from them. Rule 7 : Before you were born, your parents weren't as boring as they are now. They got that way from paying your bills, cleaning your clothes and listening to you talk about how cool you thought you were. So before you save the rain forest from the parasites of your parent's generation, try delousing the closet in your own room. Rule 8 : Your school may have done away with winners and losers, but life HAS NOT. In some schools, they have abolished failing grades and they'll give you as MANY TIMES as you want to get the right answer. This doesn't bear the slightest resemblance to ANYTHING in real life. Rule 9 : Life is not divided into semesters. You don't get summers off and very few employers are interested in helping you FIND YOURSELF. Do that on your own time. Rule 10 : Television is NOT real life. In real life people actually have to leave the coffee shop and go to jobs. Rule 11 : Be nice to nerds. Chances are you'll end up working for one

GGGGOOOOOOAAAAAAALLLLLL

The famous statue affectionately known as Touchdown Jesus ended its vigil along Interstate 75 last night. It was struck by lightening and burned to the ground. Can you say Holy Crap? (Holy Crap) Good heavens, I was just past there last week when I was visiting with Sister in Dayton, Ohio. It is centrally located between Dayton and Cincinnati on the roughest piece of constructionized interstate around. I don't know if someone got a few extra stimulus dollars to spend or not but I swear they have been paving and repaving the same ten feet of interstate for ten years. Now, I don't know about you, but if I was driving, at night, in a thunderstorm, in a construction zone with barriers on either side and was driving past a 60 foot statue of Jesus, the last thing I would want to see is it go up in flames. I know I already said it, but Holy Crap! Is it a sign? I'm not sure if it's a sign or not but since the World Cup is going on (and you know how crazy the world is about soccer) I wonder if it wasn't the Angels way of getting in on the action. You know Gabriel or somebody up there had to be shouting "GGGGGGGGGGGGGGooooooaaaaaaaaaaLLLLLLLLLL" when that lightening bolt struck.

I No Hard Of Hearing...II

In case you missed it the first time around... 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 your saying? Language barriers can be funny and frustrating at the same time.

Blue

As you can see I've been tinkering with the blog recently. One of my cousins is going to help me with some of the more trickier elements that I have been wanting to incorporate into the blog. I've had this blue background up for several days and it's growing on me. I also like the fact that it looks like it is on a road going somewhere. (That's where I like to think I'm going anyway.) I'm also contemplating a small name change to the blog. It's been the same for the past two years and I don't know if I like it or not. I'm not sure if I am going through my third mid life crisis or not but something sure is awry... As always your thoughts and comments are appreciated. I'm really beginning to like the blue...

Working On The Upgrade

The blog might look different each time you visit. I'm finally getting around to implementing the changes I talked about. If you'd like to leave a comment or have a suggestion feel free to do so. I still like the black background... MA Fat Woman

The Future Of Track And Field?

As a former high school athlete, I can appreciate the effort that millions of kids throughout the country put forth every day. I'm sure many of them dream of becoming a professional athlete, but to many, it's only a dream. We've been fortunate in the MA Fat Woman's family to be around a young man that has dreams of the Olympics and beyond. Antonio Blanks is his name, or Tonio for short and his sport is Track and Field. Tonio is an up and comer in the Track world and has been setting records since he was a freshman at Dunbar High School in Dayton, Ohio. He recently completed his junior year and went to the State Championships in four events. He won the 300M hurdles and is now state champ. Isn't that amazing? I threw the shot and discus back in the day and missed going to the District finals by two inches in the shotput. Even if I would have made it to the District, I would still had to have gone to the Regionals and won there, before I made it to the State Championships. Tonio is a personable young man that loves to laugh, eats Mambos candy and munches on fresh fruit by the gallon. Needless to say, he is tall and lean. His coaches have asked him several times to anchor various relays and to watch his kick on the back stretch is just breathtaking. If ever there was a 'natural', Tonio seems to have it. (Whatever it is?) Tonio already has his eye on the future: He wants to be an engineer and build things. He' s an A student and has the grades to get a full academic ride wherever he wants to go. (Oh, yeah, don't forget the full athletic scholarship too!) Antonio Blanks, remember the name and remember you heard it here first! Watch out Rio de Janeiro, host of the 2016 Olympics, the MA Fat Woman and her family are heading your way!

Telemarketer Blues

I didn't recognize the phone number on my Caller Id but it was from Orlando, Fl, so I decided to answer it. I do have family down there, it might be one of them. It shouldn't be from a telemarketer because I am on the Do Not Call List. But every once in a while, one will sneak through. When I answered the phone and there was a pause on the other end I knew it was a telemarketer; the following is our conversation: Me: Hello? ...silence. Helloooo? Voice: Uh, hello? Is someone there? Me: Hallow? (changing my voice to a more older and mature pitch...aka senior citizen) Hallow? Voice: Okay, hello! (surprised that somebody actually answered the phone) This is Don Juan calling from MRE Orlando Vacations. How are you today? Me: Fine. Voice: Okay, great! I'm calling to invite you to a three day vacation here at Walt Disney Orlando. Do you remember when you purchased a vacation a few years back? Me: Nawp, can't say that I do. Voice: Okay, you purchased it and was unable to go? Me: Nawp, can't remember that neither. Voice: Okay, someone you know went somewhere and wrote your name down? Me: Nawp, don't know nobody ever been to Orlando. Voice: Okay, is this G Farmer? Me: Nawp. Voice: Okay, that isn't right either. Have you ever lived at blah, blah, blah (my current address)? Me: Nawp. Voice: Damn, the whole thing is messed up. Somebody has given me all the wrong information. Me: Well, bless your heart. Don't you hate it when that happens? Voice(chuckling): Yes, I do. You wouldn't be interested in a Florida Disney vacation, would you? Me: Nawp, can't say that I would. Well, Don Juan, what are you, some sort of Romeo? I gotta go, my teeth are boiling. Bye Bye! Voice: uhhh, bye. Click!

Noises

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.

Concert Seats

I'm going to see Eric Clapton in concert tomorrow night. I should be whohooing, singing zippity do da day, and hey, Layla, you got me on my knees, Layla, all crazy and excited about it. I'm not. You know why? The seats. No, I'm not talking about where the seats are located, I'm talking about the actual width of the seat. For some reason, the more I eat, the wider my ass gets and the seating on airplanes, in movie theatres, and at ball parks keeps getting smaller and smaller. Why is that? I mean, really, who wants to sit beside the fat person on an airplane, a bus, or at a ball game. I know the fat person doesn't want to sit beside someone else that is fat. We also don't want to sit beside the idiot that talks on their cell phone, puts too many onions on their dog, laughs at the wrong time or can't handle their liquor. According to research, most seat widths today are based on the same guidelines that have been in place since 1950. That's right, 1950! In a world where everything is now one size fits all, and homogenized into neat, tidy packages, the joy of seeing your idol takes a backseat to the realization that you're going to have to slather your thighs in Parkay (butter) so you can slide into your seat. Not to mention the bruises that you get from trying to stuff a 2010 butt into a 1950s seat. Actual size So, what are you going to do about it? You could write your Congressman. (I know, why bother) You could write a letter to the editor. (Oh, that's right, newspapers don't exist anymore) You could lose some weight. (Been working on that your whole life) You could stay at home and mope all night. (Are you kidding? Those tickets were expensive) Well, big butt or not, I'm going, thunder thighs and all. Just remember this, there may be tears in heaven, but there are also tears in my eyes every time I try to fit into one of those antiquated wooden seats. It ain't easy being a middle-aged fat woman...

Different Political Views

The following conversation took place a few days ago when Brother, Mom and Me met for dinner to celebrate her birthday. I won't tell you which one of us is which party, I'll let the conversation speak for itself. Ind: Ha! I was busting your buddies' chops the other day about the Health Care vote. They were like all gloom and doom and that America was going to hell. Reb: They're probably right. Obama and that Pelosi chick are gonna be the death of all of us freedom loving Americans. Dem: I would have thought, heaven forbid, that you of all people would want reform. You got about every preexisting condition there is and even some that haven't been invented yet. Ind: That's true. Reb: Well, somebody needs to stand up and make these people start paying for some of these government programs. It's going to cost 44 quadrillion dollars, that's almost a googol, before we're debt free. Ind: Google? Google is named after a number? Dem: I don't know, but A googol is a number with a 100 zeros behind it. Ind: Oh. It's not going to cost that much. Well, if you're so worried about the cost, what about the cost of the wars that we are fighting on two fronts? Isn't that costing a billion dollars a month? How are we paying for that? Dem: Yeah, how are we paying for that? Rep: I don't know but I think Halliburton has got something to do with it. Ind: You're probably right. Dem: I know that's true. It's probably not going to affect me too much. Rep: That's what you think. You're going to be getting a $250 check for your Medicare supplemental insurance. Dem: Oh, goody! Ind: Nice. Rep: I wouldn't get too excited about it. They're doing away with the plan or something. Dem: Oh, crap! I hope they don't go messing with my prescription drugs. I'm still trying to figure out the last program that Bush put into place. I wasn't a big fan of his but I remember he got us two refund checks of $600. That's what I call stimulus money. Rep: Yeah, one of those checks would be nice right now. But, this reform is Socialism, pure and simple. Ind: I could do with one of those checks too. What's wrong with Socialism? Rep: Well, how about a tax rate of 50% for starters? Dem: Wow, that much? Rep: YES, that much! Enjoy this classic post: Ind: I don't know. I don't think that would affect us too much. Dem & Rep: Why? Ind: Well, they gave all of the stimulus money to the fat cats in business and we're all unemployed anyway. What's 50% of nothing? Dem & Rep: True. Ind: And furthermore, it doesn't matter what the cost is, because, according to the Mayans, the world is ending in 2012, anyway. Rep: You're wacko. Dem: I think your brother is right. You spend way too much time on that computer...

Blogaversary...Year II

It's hard to believe that's it been two years since I started Reflections on a Middle-Aged Fat Woman. Over the past two years Reflections has grown from a one paragraph post about my visit to the doctor into stories of my farm life as a girl, tales of hospital visits, unfortunate mishaps at the drive through and the silly things that can happen in everyday life. One of my readers has told me that the main reason they like coming to visit the MA Fat Woman is they never quite know what to expect, and usually, get a laugh in return. Personally, I think that is the highest compliment that can be paid to a writer, and for that, I'm grateful. Thanks for stopping by and keep coming back. As you've probably figured out by now, you never know what I'm gonna be talking about. MA Fat Woman

Road Trip

I've gotten the Mustang completely stuffed full of junk that I probably won't need; but I have it, just in case. It took me the whole day because I kept putting it off. Once I put my mind to it, it only took 15 minutes to get it all done. It figures! Anyhow, as I have mentioned before, Mom is already north of the sweet tea line and has started back south again. We decided to have an adventure and are going to meet somewhere in Kentucky and stop and look at the bluegrass. It's a beautiful sight to behold, the horse farms nestled amongst the Kentucky bluegrass fields. I'm taking my camera so maybe I'll take some pics to share with you. I'll be gone for a week or so and tomorrow is my Blogaversary. I've picked out a few of my favorite tales from the past to keep you entertained while I'm gone. Enjoy those classic posts and I'll be back soon!

Packing

I don't think there is anything worse than packing for a trip; maybe, unpacking, but that's about it. You'd think that I would be all excited and everything but I always pack way too much. Do I really need a winter parka for a week long visit to the Gulf Coast in mid July? ...maybe. I gotta have something to cover up my virgin white skin and white patches. White patches, you ask? Yep, I've got the Michael Jackson disease that somehow removes the pigment from your skin and leaves a white patch, otherwise known as vitiligo. And you thought he just bleached his skin...shame on you. Anyhow, it's an autoimmune condition common in people with diabetes. Basically, the more I tan elsewhere, the whiter the white patches become. Anyhow, I'm packing for my trip back north of the sweet tea line to see the kids that I graduated with; it's our 25 year reunion. Making matters worse is that I have asked several of my friends what they are wearing to help me decide and to consolidate my packing. The answer to that question is that they didn't know. Nice. That means that I have to pack everything (that still fits) hanging in my closet. I mean, it's not like I can just run out to the mall and pick something up. (The nearest mall is almost 50 miles away...BF Egypt, if you get my drift.) Well, that's it for now. I've procrastinated long enough, and I still don't have anything packed. Can you say road trip?