Gluttons For Punishment

You know how they say too much of a good thing can kill you, they’re right. We couldn’t leave things well enough alone. Since Mom and I had so much fun at our last yard sale we decided to do it again. I know what you’re thinking—MA Fat Woman, you must be crazy. I think I am a little. We weren’t nearly as successful as we were the last time. We did all right on Saturday, so we thought let’s have it on Sunday. We had four people show up. You heard me, four. That wasn’t even worth getting out of bed or even worth putting on a bra. I should have gone to church. I really think the only reason we even decided to continue our yard sale on Sunday was because we didn’t want to clean up all of our leftover junk. We had been up since the break of dawn; I think we were even up before the roosters began to crow. We had organized, placed stickers on this and that, we went through a case of Diet Soda to keep our engines running. We were revved up. Finally, about 6:00 PM, I told mom that it was time to take down the signs so we could relax for a few hours. As we sat relaxing in our matching recliners she was reading my local paper. All of a sudden, she shouts at me that there was an auction going on uptown. Wouldn’t it be a good idea if we went and bought some items and then turned around and sold them at the yard sale tomorrow? It sounded like a good idea at the time. We bought enough junk to fill up the Mustang and I even had to find another table to set things out on. Never in my life would I have ever imagined that only four people would show up to my yard sale. Here’s the kicker: I now have more junk than when I first started and nowhere to store any of it. As we were putting stuff away I opined to Mom about my current storage problems. “Well, you know, we could have another sale next weekend,” she said. “It would be a good way of getting rid of some more junk, plus, I think they are having another auction. You wanna go?”

Giving The Finger

I’ve mentioned before that I was born and raised on a small farm in southern Ohio. I’d like to think that we were considered friendly. After all, it seemed that everywhere that we went someone was always waving at me. There are different kinds of waves for different situations. I bet you didn’t know that? The first kind of wave is when every part of your upper body is in motion. Your hands are waving and your chicken wings are flapping in the breeze. This wave is used mostly to greet a very close family member or maybe a long lost friend. The next wave is basically one-handed. It might be used when you are leaving a gathering of sorts and you stick your hand out the window. Or, it could be used for someone that waves at you and you’re not really sure who they are; you give them the hand out the window anyway just to be friendly. The wave that I normally give is kind of like giving someone the finger. I like to drive with both hands on the steering wheel in the ten and two position. When someone approaches coming the other way I throw up one finger without removing my hand from the steering wheel. This particular wave is the wave that the farmers used to give everybody when I was growing up. They didn’t put much effort into it; just a little acknowledgement to let you know that they had seen you. I haven’t had much luck with my wave lately. People are too busy in their cars to notice when someone is waving at them. They are talking on the phone, picking their nose, having a snack, and really just zoning out. I’m really surprised when I get a finger in return. I conducted an unofficial survey where I decided to wave at every car I passed on a recent trip to the store. I passed approximately 33 cars and got four waves, of which one was the finger, just the wrong one. I’m holding out that folks will start giving the finger again. Amuse yourself the next time you are driving and wave at every car you pass. Give them the finger and see how many you get in return.

Out Of Gas

I’m not sure how many of you out there are dealing with this situation, but it’s beginning to get on my nerves. I live in the state of Georgia, and, it seems that we have run out of gas. In a time when we are supposed to be conserving fuel Atlantans are driving all over town looking for gas. I’m not exaggerating. Atlanta is famous for its congestion, traffic jams, and miles and miles of interstates. There isn’t a subway system and the rail system hardly goes outside the 285 Perimeter. If you want to get anywhere, you drive your vehicle, and for that, you need gas. If you are lucky enough to find a station that has gasoline, you better be prepared to pay up. Georgia has the third highest price gas behind Alaska and Hawaii. I’m not sure why because I thought we were part of the lower 48. The prices we are paying are what they normally pay in California. There’s even been a rumor started around town that they were thinking about canceling the Alabama-Georgia football game. Now, as a member of the SEC, even mentioning something like this constitutes an act of unAmericanism. I know there is bad blood between these two teams, but Geesh, canceling a football game, I hope not. You know, I had tickets to go see the game and I called my friend that lives in Athens and asked if I could spend the night. We were originally going to meet at the game but he had one small problem. He said I could spend the night if I came and picked him up; he was out of gas. I think I’ll stay home and watch the game on television.

Riding With My Blinker On

I think it's been well established that I'm a little offbeat, maybe slightly off tune, and maybe, just a little bit weird. I definitely walk to the beat of a different drum. That's okay, my mom has always said that I'm unique and that's why she named me what she did. Anyhow, I like to think that I am cognizant of most things and that I pay attention to the things around me. I was on my way home from another trip to nowhere in particular and had made a left hand turn like I always do. It's not a sharp enough turn to make the blinker automatically shut itself off; you have to do it by hand. I've done this hundreds of times with no problem. I traveled the three miles to my house and reached down to turn my blinker on to make a left hand turn. I turned into the driveway and heard this coming from the truck behind me: You just drove three miles with your blinker on; I thought you were an old man or something. Pay attention, why don't you. Oh my goodness! I have always tried to alert someone when they drive with a blinker on for no reason. Actually, I have left my blinker on just to see if anyone would try and alert me to the same fact. I wonder why the guy in the truck didn't try to alert me somehow--I guess I need to pay better attention.

My Left Nostril

I was on my way to the store yesterday and pulled into the parking spot near the cart return like I always do. I decided to check my appearance in the fold down mirror that most cars have nowadays and was startled to see something looking back at me. Something had made me pull into that particular spot where the sun shining in the car was just right. It was shimmering at me. It was just the perfect length to make me go WTH. What was it? Nose hair—that’s right, nose hair. In my left nostril was a bunch of nose hairs that had gotten out of hand—make that, out of my nose. Well, they had to go, and fast. Of course, I didn’t have my little manicure scissors with me, so, I would have to make do with what I had. After checking the surrounding vehicles to make sure no one was watching, I stuck my finger up my nose, tried to grab a hair and gave it a yank. The first thing I did was check my hand to see if I had gotten any of the hairs. I had but when I checked the mirror again there were still more gray hairs smiling back at me. Probe, grasp and pull. Dig, grab and tug. Insert finger one last time and go for the gold. Ouch, out it came, the lone survivor, the last silvery-coated nose hair that was causing me to perform minor surgery in the hot confines of my little red sports car. I checked the pull down mirror one last time to make sure that there wasn’t any little hairs hiding somewhere and happened to glance in the rearview mirror were I caught the glance of a little boy being pulled by the hand towards his car. “Mommy, Mommy”, he cried. “That lady is picking her nose. You told me that grownups didn’t pick their nose.” This isn’t one of those stories that people would normally tell; however, after three days, my left nostril is still sore to the touch. Not that I am touching it or anything.

Yard Sale Etiquette

It’s been well established that I like to go yard sales. Over the last few days I have even had my own yard sale—made a little money and met some really nice people. However, for those of you that have failed to learn the unspoken rules of yardsaling or have forgotten what they are let me refresh your memory. Do not show up at a yard sale before dawn; I can guarantee that the folks having the sale do not want you looking through their boxes of stuff that are sitting on the porch before they’ve had their morning coffee. Do not show up before they have posted their signs advertising said yard sale. If something is priced at $20.00, don’t ask if they’ll take a dollar for it. Do not pay for a $4.00 item with a hundred dollar bill. Don’t pay with a check. Don’t be judgmental when folks are trying to make a few bucks on the Sabbath. Don’t ridicule what others are trying to sell. If you are having a yard sale don’t follow the shoppers around checking to see if they’re trying to steal something. Don’t raise the price of an item if someone really wants it. Lastly, whether you’re having a yard sale or going to a yard sale, remember to have some fun. If you follow these simple rules of yard sale etiquette, your own yard sale adventure should be filled with lots of fun and excitement. And frazzled nerves. And aching backs. And a bunch of leftover junk that you don’t know what to do with. And a yard with tire marks all over it. And a bunch of neighbors who are mad that you didn’t invite them to join in. And after adding all up all of your expenses for time, energy, and things you sold for a loss, you made exactly $32.55 in three days. Would you do it all over again? Absolutely!

Having A Yard Sale...Part II

It sure had turned out to be a beautiful day. I worked all day setting things up for the big yard sale. I figured out halfway through the afternoon that if I strap items onto my hand cart they move a whole lot easier. (Duh) Anyhow, I flirted with the weather all week. Those dang meteorologists sure are fickle. They haven’t been able to make a decision on weather it was going to rain or not—it’s enough to drive the MA Fat Woman insane. I know I was hoping for rain because I was trying to get out of having the yard sale. To tell you the truth, I was just being lazy. I thought having the sale on a Friday would bring more people in—I was wrong. I think I was averaging one customer every thirty minutes. I did have one elderly gentleman who spent 45 minutes. We were having such a nice conversation that I invited him to sit a spell and view the seens from the porch. I was having a glass of sweet tea and he remarked that the tea sure did look good. So, being the neighborly thing to do, I got him a glass as well. I like to negotiate the prices at a yard sale. I mark my items a little higher so people will negotiate with me. Some folks will look at the price and drop it like a hot potato if it isn’t marked 25 cents or lower. That’s fine with me; I didn’t want your business anyway. I am happy to report that I only had one item of clothing and one piece of plastic furniture for sale. If I were out going to yard sales, mine would be the perfect place to stop, I got lots of junk.