|The scariest part of the Insane Haunted Barn of Terror was the actual trip getting to the barn. Victims would arrive at our church parking lot and pay their fees and then wait to be transported in the church vans back a long gravel road until they reached the haunted barn.
We had blackened the windows of the vans so people couldn't have a look outside to see where they were going. The drivers of the vans were decked out in scary costumes and were forbidden to speak to anyone. Once they got out of town and back on the gravel road they turned the lights off and rode with just their parking lights. It was pitch black.
Upon arriving at the barn victims were given the usual instructions about not hitting anyone and attempting to run away screaming somewhere in the woods. They were then taken through the Insane Haunted Barn of Terror where all sorts of bad and unusual things fell upon them.
I had fun running the chainsaw and making the little kids scream. Shoot, my mom even came through the barn and I scared her too. I'm not sure how much money we raised for the needy family. I guess the best part about the whole experience is the memory itself. Whenever I go back to my hometown for a reunion conversation always tends to lean towards the Insane Haunted Barn of Terror and how much fun we had.
If you need someone to run the chainsaw, just look me up.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
|One year a few weeks before Halloween my church youth group decided that we were going to put on a haunted house to try and raise money for a needy family. After several failed attempts at locating a structure where we could pursue our aforementioned tasks, it was decided that the only suitable place was inside a barn.
This wasn’t one of those small buildings like they have around where I live that they like to call a barn. This was a real barn with a corn crib, stables, hay mounds, a stripping room and a place big enough that you park your combine on the inside if you wanted too.
Every night after basketball practice, my friends, Barbie and Anita, and I would go over to the barn and help with the decorating. We would try to help anyway; actually, we didn’t really do a lot of anything. We couldn’t move. Our young muscles were so sore from going through basketball drills and conditioning that the rest of the group let us do as little as possible.
We had a section that you had to crawl through and a section with a chain saw running. We had slimy things that you had to walk through. You had to be careful there, after all, we were in a barn and you never knew what you might step in.
I played two parts in the barn. I ran the chain saw on one side and then I would run around to the other side and do my wicked witch scream. I scared lots of people but that wasn’t the scariest part…
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
|The recent downward turn on the old thermometer has changed one of my daily routines. I've mentioned before that I like to sit out on the porch with the cat and watch things happen. Well, it has been about 30 degrees the past few mornings so I decided to move my viewing to the indoors.
I have my recliner situated in just the right spot to see out the window that overlooks out onto the porch and then on out to my little garden with the dead flowers.
I was watching the Jerry Springer show on television and listening to Howard Stern on the satellite radio while I was checking voice mails on my cell and emails on my laptop when I saw something out of the corner of my eye.
I looked up in time to see a herd of deer go bouncing across the back yard of the vacant house next door. There must have been at least a dozen of them and I was glad that they made it across the busy road out front without getting whacked. I'm sure you've seen it; very messy.
This sighting was very rare; after all, I live very close to the center of town. However, I have had sightings of a single doe grazing in the back yard of the banker that lives on the other side of me.
I have also seen foxes, raccoons, lots of opossums, nasty squirrels and an occasional UARP which means unidentifiable animal running past while enjoying the peace and quietness of my favorite activity. Occasionally, I'll even get dive bombed by an angry blue jay.
But, a herd of deer, that's a new one for me. It's a true story, I seen it while sitting in my own recliner.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
|I always enjoyed going to haunted houses and Halloween carnivals. Shoot, I wouldn't mind going trick-or-treating if they wouldn't think I needed to be committed or something. This time of year brings back an especially fond memory of visiting my first haunted house when I was in about the seventh grade.
Of course, back in the day, the only way we were allowed to go anywhere like that was with the church youth group. I had just become old enough to go with my brother and sister to all of the fun activities and this visit to the Scare Mare in southern Ohio was my first chance to prove that I was all grown up.
Church was all about getting everyone involved, so, I invited all of my neighbors to go along. There were several kids that were my age and we were having a really good time. We were standing in line behind my sister and her friends, and, I'm sure she would say that we were pestering her to death.
I remember it being very cold and waiting for what seemed like hours before we were close to the door.
Somehow, my sister got separated from her group and was forced into going in her kid
sister's group. And we were glad she did.
What sticks out more in my mind than anything was The Zebra Room. It was painted in black and white stripes and had a pulsating strobe light that made it nearly impossible to see. Nothing happened until this Merlin-looking character suddenly appeared from the wall and had blood drooling down the side of his face. He was headed straight for me; I screamed and jumped on my sister's back. Unfortunately, so did everyone else and my sister now had three or four screaming and crying adolescents on her back.
Thankfully, we moved onto the next areas and had people jumping out at us and folks pretending to chop up body parts. It was a little gory and gross. Our dispositions were improving some until it came to the slide. You couldn't go back and there wasn't any stairs; you had to slide down about thirty feet into total darkness. Every one of us balked at going down that slide.
My sister was tired of waiting and down she went into the blackness. I heard a muffled scream and a thump and that was it. People behind us were beginning to bunch up and we were getting a little upset. I went down the slide and was met with strong hands helping me up. Nobody was tying to scare you at that point; but, my friends didn't know that. All of them eventually slid down the slide and all behaved except the very last one. My young friend came down that slide kicking, screaming and slugging at anything he could reach.
He landed a punch on the guy that was helping him up and ran straight to my sister and hid under her coat. He was scared to death and was crying like a new born baby. Thankfully, the slide was at the end of the haunted tour and we were back outside in just a few moments.
My friend finally recovered enough to peek out from under my sister's coat and looked around at all of us somewhat embarrassed. Nobody said anything because we had all been scared at one point or another.
My sister got caught up with her friends who remarked about her going through The Scare Mare with a bunch of kids. They were all in the tenth grade and hadn't been scared at all. My sister looked over at her friends and said this: I was surprised, my sister and her friends weren't scared at all. We had a really good time.
Isn't that the truth? After all, that's what sisters do!
Posted by Gianetta at 10:07 PM
Monday, October 27, 2008
|Due to a scheduling conflict I missed a visit with my sister and my niece. I had already made plans to go away for the weekend with one of my friends and check out the fall festivals in the area. By the time I got to the cabin that we had rented for the weekend my nerves were a little shot. It seems that the owners of the cabin neglected to mention that a four-wheel drive was recommended to get to the top of the mountain where the rental was located. I'll have to say that I'm mighty proud of that mustang because she went places that no mustang should have to even think about going.
Anyhow, once we explored everything and got settled into to the cabin my friend looked over at me and said "I'm bored". I was too, so, we decided to venture back down the mountain and see if we couldn't find a haunted house or something.
We were driving around when we noticed a sign for a haunted corn maze. Cool! You can get lost and scared at the same time. We paid our entrance fee and strode over to get into line with the others waiting to go through the maze.
I think it must have been drop your eighth grader off at the haunted maze night or something. They were everywhere. They were giggling, texting, yelling, running, hollering, screaming, squirming, talking, and boasting about anything and everything.
The workers at the entrance would let a few people go about every two minutes into the haunted maze. You could hear a loud horn blast, people screaming in terror, a chainsaw running and the yelped cries of dozens of teenagers as they navigated the haunted corn maze.
The group of kids directly in front of us were extremely animated. They were excited and having a good time. My friend was a little nervous and apprehensive about what was going on but I remained calm. I worked in a haunted house once so I knew alot of the tricks.
It was finally our turn to go through the maze and after a walk down a dark road beside a creek we turned into the maze. We had to wade through the entrance because it was very muddy from the previous night's rain. In fact, we sunk so much that the mud went over the tops of our tennis shoes; not a good start.
As I stopped to examine the bottom of my shoes I heard a loud "Boo". My friend jumped about three feet in the air and landed somewhere on my back. Down we went, straight back into the mud. We were covered in mud. The goblin helped us up and told us to get moving; more ghoulish delights were waiting ahead.
We ventured ahead in our muddy wet jeans and mud caked tennis shoes and were having a really good time. We rounded a curve and were met by about four teenagers frozen in complete and utter fear. "Grownups", they yelled. "Can we go with you? I'm so scared I think I peed my pants," one said. "I don't think I can go any farther without an adult", another said.
For the next twenty minutes I was grabbed, stepped on, pulled at, surrounded by and totally engulfed by four terrified teenagers and one trembling adult. I was battered and bruised and was having the time of my life. I was covered in mud and had wet muddy socks.
We made our way back out to the waiting area where the remnants of a bonfire once raged. My friend and I decided that we would stop and get a hot dog before leaving and had just sat down when a large group of teenagers walked past describing how they had found a couple of adults to go through the maze with. They noticed us sitting there, gave us a wave and as they were walking away said this: I hope I'm that much fun when I get to be that old.
Posted by Gianetta at 11:23 PM
Saturday, October 25, 2008
|I really dislike this time of year. All of the leaves are almost off the trees and everything looks dried up and dead.
That’s how the skin on my leg looks anyway.
It’s usually about the last week of October when the first cold front of the season will push its way into the Deep South. (The front gave me a serious sinus headache) I have an electric heater that I plug in that will knock the chill off in my living room and I have been using that the last few days. I have a furnace that I try not to turn on until it is absolutely necessary. It is powered by propane and I have a 450 gallon tank. For those of you in the city that means that I don’t have gas lines running into my house from a local gas provider. If you want propane you order it in 100 gallon increments. At $2.75 a gallon it can be quite expensive. As my dad used to say, “Put on a sweater and don’t touch the thermostat.”
Anyhow, another strange thing happens this time of year. Whenever I turn on the furnace all of the moisture in my skin goes straight out the window. It gets very dry and flaky and becomes very painful. It itches too.
I decided that the next time that I went to the doctor I would ask about getting a prescription to help clear up this problem. I had an appointment to get my flu shot (which I recommend everyone gets) and asked the doc about my problem.
Her response: Put some cream on it and don’t touch the thermostat. If you get cold, put on a sweater or something. Get yourself a humidifier.
Friday, October 24, 2008
|I was very excited that I got to make a trip to the airport the other day. I don’t live near one of those smaller type airports that lets you park right beside the front door. You wave at the security guard standing outside because their child rides to soccer practice every Wednesday with your youngest child; you know each other. You walk into the terminal and it takes you fifteen minutes to reach the ticket counter because you’ve run into about half of the people that you graduated with. The security guard outside the metal detectors gives you a high five and asks how your folks are doing. I think you get the picture.
My airport is nothing like that. My airport is bigger than your town. There are six concourses and they are 300M apart according to the posted signs. If you are feeling energetic you might want to walk to your destination.
I had to go to the farthest concourse which according to the posted signs was over a mile away. If you add in the half mile walk from the economy parking garage and the walk through the terminal it all adds up to quite a distance.
I was taking the train.
Or, maybe not.
I was getting ready to board the train that had just dropped off a bunch of passengers when an announcement came over the loudspeaker that the train was having technical difficulties; it was going to take at least thirty minutes to fix the problem. Suddenly, there was a loud groan and several muffled curse words as the entire hoard of passengers made a left face and started walking towards the next concourse. It was like the parting of the Red Sea; individuals who were walking towards the baggage claim area were quickly swallowed up by this mass of humanity snaking its way through the underbelly of Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport.
I had somewhere to be, so, after a slight hesitation I started walking too. I fell into step along side an elderly woman who I thought I might be able to keep pace with. She looked over at me and asked where I was headed. I told her I was going to Concourse E and she said me too.
Every thing was going smoothly until I saw her glance down at her watch. I heard her mumbling to herself and then she looked over at me and this is what she said. “According to the sign it’s going to be over a mile by the time we get there. I walk a 12 minute mile every morning; this should be a piece of cake. Let’s go!!
Uhh, I think I need to use the ladies room, don’t wait on me; I’ll catch up to you.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
|I’m a little under the weather right now. There’s a high pressure situated over the Deep South and the local meteorologists say that it might be causing some of us to have sinus headaches.
I have never suffered from migraines and I really never knew that I had sinus problems either. Basically, I have had a headache in both temples for the past two days.
Tried Tylenol—didn’t work.
Tried Sudafed—didn’t work.
Tried sleeping, a lot—it worked while I was sleeping. Shoot, even the cat is keeping his distance right now.
I did manage to go outside and get the mail. I was intrigued to find letters from my 401K, not one but two.
The first letter was my account statement. I wasn’t really surprised to learn that I had lost over 3000 bucks in the last quarter. After all, that’s all they have been talking about on the news lately.
The next letter simply stated that I shouldn’t panic and try to move my money elsewhere; the economy was beginning to stabilize. On the last page of the letter was an updated account statement. It seems that I have already lost 1800 bucks in the first three weeks of October.
Good thing I already had a headache.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
|I was out doing errands the other day and needed to go to a drug store to pick up a few essentials. I walked by the Halloween section and decided to peruse the candy. I like to have a piece of chocolate every now and then. Anyway, in the section were two teenage girls deep in conversation about the prospect of getting matching nose rings.
Now, these girls weren't virgins in the the realm of piercings and tattoos. They both already had more things pierced than I ever dreamed imaginable. In the MA Fat Woman's family you had to be 16 before you could get your ears pierced. I remember going to school the first day after getting mine done and the popular kids were making a really big deal about it almost to the point of making fun of me. My standard answer became, "Yes, I got my ears pierced, twice."
"Twice?" they would question.
"Yep, once on each side." That would usually shut them up for a while. But, nose rings are not going in my nose. I have too many problems keeping stuff out of my nose I could only imagine having something permanently affixed there.
At that point in the discussion a young man walked over to the section to check out the costumes. Let me say that this fellow didn't need a costume; he was pierced, tattooed, decked out in black with his face painted white, black fingernails and a mohawk that stood about two feet high. He was stylin'.
The girls were a little in awe of this fellow; he was someone that they wanted to emulate. One of the girls reached up timidly to tap him on the shoulder and asked him about getting his nose pierced.
"No way," he said. He had too many problems keeping stuff out of his nose. Besides, his mom said that he wasn't allowed to anyway.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
|I’ve been spending a lot of the time at the hospital lately visiting with a sick relative. It sure does wear you out; not only is the patient irritable most days but the family gets that way too. Just when you think the doctors, nurses, housekeepers, and business office people have decided to stop coming into the room for a few moments someone else will drop in to ask a question or take your temperature.
It wears me out so I know it wears out my family member.
My relative looked at me the other day and said he had just about had it with everybody bothering him all the time. He wanted to know how he was supposed to get any better when he couldn’t get any rest.
I really didn’t know what to say because his condition has warranted very close observation.
I went back to the hospital a few days later and was met with a happy and somewhat well rested looking fellow motioning excitedly to me when I walked in the door.
“Come in and close the door, I’ve got something to show you,” he said.
“Well, what is it?” I asked.
“Just wait and watch,” he said again.
We were engrossed in a very exciting program on Animal Planet when I heard the door open. My relative reached under the side of the bed and pulled out a nearly inflated whoopee cushion. He held it between his big meaty hands and gave it a nice long squeeze. Out came the most horrendous sounding noise that I have ever heard.
From the door I heard someone say, “Whoops, I’ll come back later.”
We looked at each other and giggled like school kids. Before I could ask where he got it, he said one of his buddies had dropped by with one of his kids and the child had left it behind. For the next three hours every time the door would open the whoopee cushion would come out and the visitor would turn on a dime and walk back out.
We were having fun and we both managed to take a short nap. Of course, the door opened once again and out came the noisemaker but before he could squeeze it a head peeked around the corner.
“Aha, I know that you have been flatulent all day but I had hoped the staff would have cleared that up by now,” said the visitor. “I see it wasn’t gas after all.”
I was mortified and my relative just shrugged it off. “It keeps people away,” he said.
“I can understand that, my son. But, the Lord is with you all the time. No flatulence, real or not was going to keep me from stopping to see how you were,” said the Chaplain.
With that my relative rolled slightly to the left and let the biggest fart imaginable. No whoopee cushion here, it was the real thing.
The three of us looked at each other and started laughing until we were blue in the face. I was laughing so hard I had tears running down my face. We had just started to calm down when the door opened again and my relative tooted once more. That person said I’ll be back later turned around and went back out.
The patient looked up at the Chaplain and said this, “Forgive me Father, that one just slipped out.”
Thursday, October 16, 2008
|Everyone has been talking about the economy lately. The stock market is like a rollercoaster going up and down so much that it makes you want to throw up. I’m sure you have seen pictures of the stockbrokers on Wall Street holding their heads in their hands or trying to pull their own hair out. It’s not just the folks invested in the stock market; people are getting laid off from their jobs. It’s bad everywhere.
Recently, a new restaurant was opening on the south side of Atlanta and it invited folks to fill out an application for employment.
Happens every day, right!
Almost five hundred people showed up and they were only hiring thirty new employees. People with Master’s Degrees, Bank Tellers, Administrative Assistants and even a former worker in the Sex Industry all applied for one of these positions. You know things are bad when someone who used to call herself a “hostess” actually wants to become a legitimate hostess in the local restaurant.
I can see the newly hired hostess at her job and things are going great until a former john shows up with his wife. The husband is all nervous and acting weird and decides to give the now legitimate hostess a wink on the sly.
She sidles up to him and says, “Sorry, I don’t do that anymore,” and walks away. Let’s see the man try to explain that one.
You know it’s a sign o’ the times when even ladies of the evening can’t keep their day job.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
|I have been trying to save money just like a lot of people around the country. I clip coupons and I try not to eat out too often. I had to take the cat to the vet this morning which he wasn’t very pleased about and decided that I would go to McDonalds and get something for breakfast.
Simple enough plan, right!
After the visit to the vet we were on our way over to Mickey D’s. I got in line at the drive thru window and waited my turn. It is a new drive thru where they have two lanes open; I don’t really like them because someone is always trying to cut in front of me. Or, you get a person who is unsure whether it’s their turn or not and then you have a standoff and then you both go at the same time. Then you hit the brakes and look at each other and stop and go and stop and go and then somebody will wave the other through and so on and so forth. Sometimes, your nerves are shot before you even get to the window.
The car ahead of me had asked for about ten extra items at the window such as ketchup, extra napkins, butter, jelly and stock options and after having successfully navigating the drive thru lane it was finally my turn at the window. I had ordered a bacon and egg biscuit combo with a Diet Coke to drink.
I was hungry and thirsty.
I reached out the window to receive my order and watched in absolute wonder as the lid (which wasn’t secured properly) on the top of my drink came off and the lady at the window dropped my drink and it fell precisely into my lap. I looked at her and she looked at me; we both turned and looked at the cat that was now standing up right in the passenger seat with every hair on his back all puffed up.
Her eyes were wide and her lower lip began to tremble. I think I heard an “I’m sorry” somewhere. “It’s my first day,” she said, “and I’m very nervous.”
I didn’t really say anything as she handed me another drink and I pulled away from the window. How could I be mad? The same exact thing had happened to me when I was in college and was beginning a new job as a waitress. I spilled a drink all over a man’s lap on my very first day too!
But, here’s the kicker. I waited tables for over five years and I never did spill anything else; hopefully, the same will happen for her too.
Monday, October 13, 2008
|I mentioned awhile back about my late night trip to an Atlanta hospital to be with a sick family member. It took several hours of being transferred from one department to another department and filling out a lot of paperwork before things began to calm down a bit. It was 2:45 in the morning and we were very tired.
You really don’t have a lot of options at that time in the morning. We were in the party section of Atlanta and most of the hotels were probably already filled up with drunks, one-night stands or Georgia Tech fans.
Even if we would’ve found a hotel we would have had to check out by 11:00 AM. This in itself isn’t a bad thing but when you check in at 4:00 AM, it seems like a waste of money.
Unfortunately, my family knows its way around hospitals. There are certain waiting rooms that have reclining chairs and somewhat comfortable couches. You can also get blankets and pillows which can make your visit a little more comfortable. But, there’s a catch. These prime positions in the waiting rooms fill up very fast. You need to have claimed your spot by 6:00 PM at the latest or you can expect to spend the night in a chair with hard wooden sides or a loveseat that has one too many soft drink stains.
This was the predicament that my mom and I found ourselves in; try and find a hotel for six hours or sleep in the waiting room on the leftover torture chairs. We didn’t like either option so we decided to sleep in the car.
It wasn’t very comfortable; in fact, it was terrible. I have a Mustang and the seats don’t recline very far back. I sat in the driver’s seat and I don’t have a removable steering wheel. I couldn’t cross my legs or even stretch them out. I couldn’t turn to one side because the steering wheel was always in the way.
I don’t know how mom did it but the next thing I knew she was snoring over there in the passenger seat. She slept for about three hours.
I dozed from 2:47 until 3:18. The parking area was a very noisy place and was very well lit. I had my sunglasses on trying to keep out the lights. I had cracked the windows to let the air flow through but it eventually got hot. I had drunk to many soft drinks, and, of course, I need to use the facilities.
I held it as long as I could I didn’t want to wake up mom by getting out of the car. I think it was about 6:00 o’clock when mom opened her eyes and saw me grimacing. I had to go I told her and I hadn’t wanted to wake her up.
Wake her up she said, she hadn’t been asleep at all; she was just resting her eyes.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
|I was on my way home from the hospital visiting a sick relative the other day when I saw something that caught my eye.
I was driving north on Interstate 75 out of Atlanta in eights lanes of stop-n-go traffic just minding my own business and avoiding getting run over by a tractor trailer. In between two semis I happened to glimpse a pickup truck with some kind of cage in the back.
It wasn't a dog kennel; it seemed to be very large and looked rather old, I wasn't quite sure what it was.
I became a rubber-necker. I was craning my head this way and I was trying to speed up but I had this 1982 Chevette in front of me that was barely making five mph.
This went on for several miles and traffic finally broke free. The truck was on my right side and I was about to pass it; I wanted to see what was in the cage.
What was it? It was big and looked like it had grayish brown hair. I just saw the side of it. Too big for a dog and too small for a cow. I was stumped.
Suddenly, I had to apply the brakes again and the truck passed me. I was getting ready to look in the cage again when I noticed a neon sign in the back window.
What did it say?
Deer on Board!
You remember those signs from the early 90s that read Baby on Board doncha'. I guess the drivers of the truck were tired of all the oddball looks they had been getting for driving around with an unusual looking animal in the back.
Deer on Board...problem solved.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
|I was getting ready to take a shower the other day (Yes, the MA Fat Woman likes to bathe) and I observed something that got me to thinking about something.
I get in the tub first and then I turn on the water and set it to the proper temperature. I get in a position where my backside is almost facing the faucet and reach down to pull up the thingy to turn on the shower. I do this as quickly as I can and then jump to the farthest point away from the showerhead and wait for the water to get hot.
There’s always an ice cold blast of water for about three seconds before it gets hot. I cringe and shrink as much as I can but it always makes me shiver.
I’m not sure why I do it this way.
My mom and I had a conversation about this and she turns on the shower before she gets in; she isn’t sure why she does it that way.
I’m sure there is a government agency somewhere that has or is planning to do a research study and waste millions of dollars on this subject.
So, save the government a little money and the next time you get ready to take a shower, stop and ask yourself this question: Do you turn the shower on before or after you get in the tub? And why do you do it that way.
Leave me a comment and tell me why!
Friday, October 10, 2008
|I mentioned in the past about my cat that likes to join me out on the porch to view the different seens. He has a black and white coat and always looks like he’s wearing a tuxedo. All dressed up and nowhere to go.
He showed up outside my house about fourteen years ago and was begging to come inside.
I decided to take him in and for fourteen years he has wanted to go back out.
We’ll sit a spell out on the porch and every once in a while we’ll take a walk down to the old chicken house to see what’s prowling around.
He leads a very complicated life.
He eats the same exact brand of cat food and has for the past fourteen years.
He doesn’t like change but he does like to pee in the woods.
I prefer cats over dogs, that’s just who I am.
I had a dog that was an inside dog once; that dog could drop bombs or biscuits at the drop of a hat. Phewww!! That dog could clear a room with a simple poot.
Luckily, I have never had that problem with my cat.
When we’re not out on the porch I am kicked back in the recliner tapping away on the laptop which is on the left side of my lap and the cat is on the other side.
I got a lapful.
For the past few months I had been noticing that something just didn’t smell right. I thought I must have really bad breath. Mom was over visiting one evening and I breathed on her to see if it was me or not. It wasn’t. Every time I smelled that awful smell the cat was sitting on my lap.
It had to be him because I wasn’t going to admit to anything. You know the sayings: Smellers-the fellers, whoever smelt it, dealt it.
It took my cat fourteen years to discover his pootability. Maybe, I’ll let him back outside.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
|I was driving around town tending to a few errands the other day when I drove past the local elementary school. There wasn’t anything unusual about that, but what caught my attention was the sign reminding all of the students and all of the passersby that Picture Retake Day was coming up in a few days.
This simple statement reminded me of a story from my childhood and absolutely tickled me silly.
Picture Retake Day!
The year was 1974 and I was in the second grade. I remember that year exceptionally well because something major happened to me.
After getting tested at school it was determined that I needed to get glasses. This event happens to thousands of people every day and isn’t normally a big deal. But, when you’re only seven years old getting glasses is really a big deal. All of your fellow classmates know all of the cruel nicknames such as four eyes, pop bottle head, and, my favorite, fish eyes.
Children can be so receptive and cruel at that age.
The glasses that I chose were gold wire rimmed frames with egg-shaped lenses. Hey, it was 1974.
I hated them almost immediately. After the novelty of them wore off, I found that they gave me a terrible headache. I took them to school but they were seldom worn.
It came time for me to have my picture taken at school that year and I remember walking up on the stage where the photographer was situated. I was holding my glasses in my hand unsure where to put them while I had my picture taken. The photographer told me to put them on; after all, they belonged on my face he said.
Six weeks later when the pictures came back I got the shock of my life. My pictures were terrible, absolutely awful—I looked just like all of those things that my friends had teased me about.
I wouldn’t trade photos with any of my friends.
My mom didn’t think that it was a bad picture. Of course, she wouldn’t because she’s my mom you know. I begged and pleaded with her to let me get my picture retaken on Picture Retake Day. She reluctantly agreed and I began to plan out what I was going to wear and certainly remember to leave those blasted spectacles at home.
Picture Retake Day was scheduled for the middle of January. Now, living in southern Ohio in the middle of January can present several problems, namely, snow. Wouldn’t you know it, a major snowstorm dumped over a foot of snow on the farm and we were out of school for three days.
The Picture Retake Day couldn’t be rescheduled because the photographer was booked for the rest of the school year.
I was left with the worst school picture ever, and possibly the worst picture that I have ever posed for, sober anyway.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
|One happened to me the other day has probably happened to almost everyone who might find themselves reading this story. However, there are exceptions to every rule. The exceptions are those of you that are afraid to use public restrooms, water closets, loos, or whatever else they might be called around the world. Luckily, I don’t have this problem.
I had been visiting a sick friend at the hospital and was on my way out of the building when I decided to pay a visit to the ladies room.
I spied those helpful signs pointing me to the correct door and I walked right in.
Oh my Goodness!
Oh my Goodness!
I had walked into the most disgusting, awful smelling, eye watering stench that I had ever smelled. It made my knees weak.
I had broken my cardinal rule: I never use a bathroom that has only one stall. The stench can get stuck in there for days.
I don’t know who the culprit was; I guess I shouldn’t say that, because it is a bathroom after all. All I know is I hate to do that to other people that’s why I carry one of those miniature Lysol sprays around with me. It’s common courtesy—strike a match---spray some perfume—do anything. Just don’t leave it hanging there for someone, namely me, to walk into.
Monday, October 6, 2008
|It seems that my mother and me have been spending an awful lot of time together lately which is a good thing I guess. After our two consecutive weekend attempts of yard selling together we thought we would each do our own thing this weekend.
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
I haven't been around much lately because I've been tending to a sick family member. Things were going as smoothly as could be expected when hospital staff decided that a transfer to a bigger hospital was needed, in Atlanta, which is 75 miles away, on a Friday night.
I used to go out in Atlanta years ago before I became the MA Fat Woman. I used to be known as the twenty-something chunky gal heretofore known as Thunder Thighs. I used to love going to night clubs and all of that jazz then I realized it was a waste of money. I could buy a six pack, turn up my radio real loud, smoke a pack of cigarettes in 3 hours and get the same effect at home without worrying how I was going to get home from the club.
That being said, I don't come to Atlanta very often. It's usually just passing through on my way to Florida. It's not a bad place, the traffic is horrendous and there is always a traffic jam somewhere, day or night. I usually get in the far left lane and go as fast as possible to get the hell out of there.
Anyhow, after several hours of negotiating construction sites, Friday night party goers and reversible traffic lanes, we finally made it to the hospital at 1:00 AM. My mom was riding in the ambulance and I was following in the little red Mustang.
You know, I almost outran that ambulance. I kept having to put on my brakes, and waiting on them to catch up. I think they saw me pass them one time because all of a sudden, they took off like a shot and I had to floor it to keep up. I was following the ambulance with my hazard lights flashing, we passed 3 cops and not one of them looked our way and we were going 85 in a 55.
I guess I have found another way to get through Atlanta traffic--find an ambulance and follow it.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
|Somedays, you just need to hear something funny. I hope this makes you laugh.
A blonde woman was speeding down the road in her little red sports car and was pulled over by a policewoman, who was also blonde. The blonde officer asked to
see the blonde driver's license. She dug through her purse and was getting
progressively more agitated. "What does it look like?" she finally asked.
"It's square and it has your picture on it," replied the policewoman.
The driver finally found a square mirror, looked at it and handed it to the policewoman. "Here it is," she said.
The blonde officer looked at the mirror, then handed it back saying, "Okay, you can go. I didn't realize you were a cop."