Reflections On A Middle-Aged Fat Woman (8 page)

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!”

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...”

Telemarketer Blues — June 7, 2010

I didn't recognize the phone number on my Caller Id but it was from Orlando, Florida, 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 an older and more mature pitch...aka…senior citizen.) “Hallow?”

Voice: ”Okay, hello!” (Surprised that somebody actually answered the phone.) “This is Don Juan calling from 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 were 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: “Uh, bye.”

Click!

Benefits Of Traveling Alone — March 14, 2011

On my recent trip to Florida to fetch Mom I was delighted to find myself traveling alone. Just me, the Mustang and the open road....Ahhh—I can still feel the wind whipping around through the open windows of the car as I cruise along at a steady 80 mph.

Can you hear the stereo blasting out my favorite hits from the 80s? The Outfield, REO Speedwagon, Journey and Air Supply. (Yes, I totally love Air Supply.) I was jamming to Joan Jett, AC DC and Hall & Oates.

Did you see a MA Fat Woman in a sporty red car, "Just Dancing" her bootay off and singing along and as loud as she could to Lady Gaga? While at the same time doing the “Humpty, the Humpty Dance” while wearing apple bottomed jeans and boots with the fur....Yes, my friends, that was me!

At one point during my drive I was on such a roll of hearing back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back good songs that I could totally get in to that I was totally oblivious to a cop that had been following me for several miles. Luckily, during a commercial intervention, I was able to calm down long enough to see him and maintain a more dignified persona as he drove past and gave me a look.

Of course, never one to be unfriendly, I gave him a smile and a wave and cranked the radio back up—I had to—Journey’s, “Don’t Stop Believing” had just started.

I was able to stop and eat at the first place that I saw that looked appetizing. I filled up with gas. Plus, I had a potty break...all in one stop! That never happens when I'm riding with someone.

Nobody in my family likes to ride with the windows down. (Except, dad.) I had both windows lowered.

I was able to listen to whatever music I liked, as loud as I could stand it and sing along blissfully off-key without a care in the world.

...Another benefit of traveling alone.

Uh, oh! What's that smell?

Smeller is the feller...

...and whoever smelt it, dealt it!

Nobody to blame but yourself!

I No Hard Of Hearing — June 14, 2010

I had to pop into the Post Office the other day to mail off a few packages and got behind a Hispanic couple that 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 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 Eat Ravioli? — June 28, 2010

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 ten 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 thirty-two 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, 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!

What I Did For Brown — July 28, 2010

I'm not big on housecoats, especially this time of year when it is so hot. I don't have central air, I have three window units but only two can be turned on at any given time.

You can't have the microwave, hair dryer or coffee pot on while more than one unit is running either, because that will result in flipping the breaker, which is a bad thing.

The breaker box is in the basement which wouldn't be a bad thing if you didn't have to go outside, down the steps, move the pole that holds the two basement doors closed, grope your way through numerous cobwebs, try not to step on the big toad that lives there, work your way past the riding mower that won't budge and hold your breath because of the worm farm that Janie Bell kept down there back in the 50s.

(It's a really old house and Janie Bell was one of the characters that used to live here over fifty years ago.)

All of this results in taking certain liberties within my own home. Namely, I like to air dry myself when I get out of the shower. Since there is no air conditioning in the bathroom I usually go into the kitchen and stand in front of that unit—which is right beside the door—and which also has another window with a curtain but no shade.

The shade on the door is usually open; I like to look outside and watch the seens. Recently, I had an unexpected visitor, the UPS man. He and I have become friendly this past year. He had complimented me several times on my mini greenhouses that I raised over a hundred tomato plants from seed in since March of this year that I then took and sold at the flea market.

He usually backs the truck down the driveway because there isn't anywhere to turn around out back. I usually hear the truck because they are pretty loud. I don't know if it was the radio blasting, or the window unit roaring, or I just had my head up my ass because I heard a knock at the door and then everything seemed to go in slow motion.

I jumped, looked through the shade on the door, saw him, screamed and crossed my arms across my chest.

Brown's eyes shot straight up, he stumbled backward nearly losing his balance and dumped my packages on the chair outside. "Nothing to sign," he said. "Have a nice day."

I didn't move because I was too mortified to budge. I had just flashed the UPS guy. Goodness, with my luck, the Jehovah Witnesses will be pulling in next. After the shock wore off, the worry set in: What was his reaction? Will it make things weird between us? Maybe, I do need to wear a housecoat?

Later in the evening I was sitting out on the porch when I was surprised to see another UPS truck pull into the driveway. Yep, it was him and he had a package in his hand. Oh crap, what am I going to say to this guy?

Before I could say anything this is what he said: "In all of the excitement this morning, I forgot this one, and by the way, nice package."

Where Do Boogers Come From? — July 31, 2010

You know they say kids say the darnedest things and after what happened at the grocery store today I'm gonna have to agree with them.

I was at Krogritz for my weekly visit and ended up following a young mother and son through the store. He was a cutie and kept asking all sorts of questions: Why are carrots orange? Why do onions make you cry? Why can't I have a bag of Doritos? Why can't I have Lucky Charms? Where does a hotdog come from? What is a sanitary napkin? Why are you saying so many bad words when you see how much it costs? Can I get a few grapes to snack on? Can I ride in the buggy? When are we leaving?

And on. And on. And on.

I'll have to hand it to the young mother; she kept her cool and answered every question without looking up from her shopping list. Most of the answers were either "No" or "I'll tell you later" and the child seemed satisfied and moved on to the next question.

We had made our way through the store and were in the last aisle where the alcohol is displayed. Standing by the beer was a very large man in bib overalls that had been made into shorts, wearing black socks and orange Crocs. He wasn't wearing a shirt under the bibs and the sides were left unsnapped. He had a very big nose and his left index finger was shoved up in it so far that I'm sure it was touching his brain.

I know it isn't polite to stare but the sight of that man digging for gold stopped me in my tracks. The young boy was staring, too, and kept tugging on his mom's sleeve whispering, "Mommy? Mommy?" After what seemed like an eternity the mom looked up from her list and in the direction that her son was pointing. "Mommy, Mommy? Where do boogers come from?"