Batter Up!

The girl was cute, though dirty and bedraggled. She was watching me, fascinated, as I took pictures of the pee wee ball players running around the diamond, dust clouding up in the hot afternoon sun.

"May I take a picture of you?" I asked her. She glanced over at the older woman, her grandmother I assumed.

"Let her take your picture for the newspaper!" said the lady.

So I did. She smiled shyly and I snapped one picture. Her dress was so colorful and her wire-framed glasses had slid down the bridge of her nose. She looked up at me, smacking loudly on a mouthful of gum. I joked with her for a moment and moved on to finish up my work.

Moments later I was verbally accosted by the girl's mother for taking her picture. My good mood was immediately flattened like a bug on the windshield of a passing car. A trashy, dirty, dented-in, used-up, car. With part of the grill missing. And well over 200,000 miles on it.

"Kids enjoy having their pictures made. They love it. It doesn't mean I will put it in the paper. It's good for their self-esteem and obviously your daughter needs that," I said. I shouldn't have said it, but I did.

There's no telling what was going on with her. I don't know the whole story, and I always wonder when someone is so adamant about staying out of the paper. Explain why or don't, but there's no need for the anger.

It's always better to be nice with your request, assuming you know how to be civilized.

Not My Mama!

Some of you may know that, since moving home last year, I am able to spend almost every Friday morning with my Mom. Also, as you may know, our relationship is a mixed bag sometimes. To put it nicely. But for the most part, Fridays are "our" days together and they usually go pretty smoothly.

My mom is a 75 year old firecracker of an opinionated woman, she is of Cherokee descent (which has nothing to do with anything other than providing a description), and she seems to get smaller and smaller every day (height-wise). She doesn't back down from anything, and my brother and I  (Yes! Tinfoil Magnolia has a brother. Betcha' didn't know that, did you?) joke with her all the time about being so bossy. (Refer to Paragraph 1 re: mixed bag) So, anyway, she doesn't have a lot of hobbies and she doesn't do things like "normal" moms. Play bridge, go to girls' lunch, ladies bible class, or any of those things. I don't think she really even has any ladies who she would consider "girlfriends" which probably explains why she doesn't get the importance mine have in my life. She always made my dad and our family her first priority and really did everything with us. But let me tell you. That. Woman. Loves. Yard Sales. She loves going to them. She loves having them. She loves bargaining with people. She calls it her therapy.

So, the scene is this. My mom is about 5'2" if even that at this point. (seriously, she's shrinking, I swear) She drives a Dodge Ram extended cab pickup truck that I can barely get up in. One of those big-a, redneck, 4 door, loud muffler, huge-*ss pickup trucks. I mean, it is nice, nicer than my living room probably. And relatively new. And comfortable. She loves it, but she looks ridiculous driving it. Seriously. And since her cataract surgery she has taken to wearing those giant sunglasses, you know like the old folks in Florida wear? Yeah. Those. So one Friday back in June we were driving though a nearby town we like to frequent, around 7:30 am looking for yard sales. In the vehicle my husband has dubbed "the Hot Rod Dodge". You get the picture. So we're driving through a neighborhood and there is a stop sign at which she pauses and then continues to make a right turn. And then....are you ready? We see him. A bicycle cop.

A COP. ON A BIKE. PULLS OVER my 75 year old mother in the Hot Rod Dodge. HILARIOUS! Seriously? It was all I could do not to hop out of the truck and take a picture of this scene. His head barely came up to the window sill on that big, giant truck. It was so funny and I was trying so hard not to laugh. Immediately I had to text Hubby, who related it to his office mates, and from what I understand they were all in stitches. So this is the first time. In my adult life. I have ever seen my mom nervous and intimidated by someone. She was shaking! And calling him "sir". It was priceless. So the long and short of it is that he ran her plates, checked her license, and fussed at her but in the end gave her a warning and let us get back to our bargaining.

Flash forward to two weeks ago. I planned a day off with Hubby on a Friday and had to skip the day out with Mom. I didn't hear from her all weekend, and Monday I get a phone call.
Mom: "Well, I am not going yard sale-ing by myself again."
Me: "Why?"
Mom: **sigh**"Well, I got a ticket..."
Me: "MOTHER! A ticket?! What, did the bicycle cop get you?" (laughing)
Mom: "NO!"
Me: "Well, what happened then. Were you speeding?"
Mom: "No..."
(At this point I am beginning to understand how aggravated she always got with me when I was a teenager. And realizing she took notes.)
Me: **SIGH** "What happened?"
Mom: (quietly) "I ran a stop sign."
Me: (just being evil) "I am sorry? What was that? You did what?"
Mom: "I ran a stop sign. I didn't even see the cop, I don't know where he was sitting!"
Me: "Was it one of your famous rolling stops again?"
Mom: "Nope, I just didn't stop at all. Nothing was coming and I forgot."

Oh. good. lort! Ya'll... the Po-Po got my mama!!!

I will fast forward, to save you from a good 20 minutes worth of dialogue during which she describes every last scene in which she blows on through, how mean the state trooper was, where exactly he pulled her over and how he wrote the ticket. Then she says. "Well, he said I can go to traffic school. The tickets were over $350."
Me: (shouting) "THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS?????? For a STOP SIGN are you KIDDING ME???? Wait....tickets. With an "s"? Whadjya do, slap him, Zsa Zsa?"
Mom: "Well, there was the one for running the stop sign.....and one for not having my insurance card with me. We get those every six months, I don't know how they expect you to keep up with it, honestly!"
Me: (holding the phone away from my face and looking skyward with mouth gaping open) "Yeah, that's a lot to keep up with, allright. Twice a year and all."
Mom: "Well, they said I could call the court and provide proof of insurance and they would take that one off."
Me: "Mmmmm.....hmmmm....I would imagine so." (wondering how much that would knock off and thinking how I need a manicure and I am so done with this phone call)
Mom: "But Marsha?"
Me: "Yes, Speedy?"
Mom: "I don't want to drive down there again, will you drive us this Friday?"

My life, honestly...

Karma's My Bitch

So, after writing my final complaint filled blog yesterday Hubby and I headed out for our Sunday activity. I was a bit grumpy and didn't really want to go. I think I had put myself in a bad mood from doing all that complaining, or maybe it was just the thought of going out with a new crowd, most of whom I didn't know. Although most who know me well might call me a social butterfly I still have issues with meeting new people. I feel like a 5 year old wanting to hide behind my mother's skirt until I am comfortable enough to come out and talk. And I really haven't been feeling especially social lately anyway, I just go through phases.  Anyway, I was grumpy.

We had to stop at the store to buy chips and salsa, our meager contribution for the day (in addition to bratwurst-Hubs' idea, not mine). Aaaand there she is. Old lady karma kickin' back at me for bitchin' and moanin' about all the people who chap my you know what. There was 1 (one) person in the checkout line ahead of us. She had 4 (four) items. And she paid (wait for it...) you got it. With a check. That she wrote. After digging in her purse for 2 minutes looking for the checkbook like she didn't know she needed it. I just looked at Hubby, rolled my eyes and said "You KNOW what this is, right? That bitch karma is kicking my butt." He looked at me not comprehending. "My blog? This morning. I wrote about THIS VERY THING!!" I whisper-yelled at him, dropping my head down to rest on his shoulder to keep my forehead from exploding. Finally she brings out the checkbook and painstakingly writes it out. Then, miracle of miracles we have a new cashier who has never had to run a check through (or maybe not so new and just no one ever WRITES A CHECK ANYMORE!!!) So the grand total setback is about 10 minutes for this checkout excursion.

I am going to stop here for an editor's note. Or writer's note. Or whatever.  I am not complaining here. My friend Lori gave me the advice that this is merely telling a story. I am not complaining, nosirree, not whatsoever. Just relating the facts, ma'am.

So now I am REALLY not in the mood for what the day had in store. Seriously, if this can hit me at 5 minutes out of the house, I made a list of 10 things to complain about and yikes! Who knows what else will go on. Like the great Tommy Womack said all those years ago "karma's real, it's no bullsh*t!" I believe it, just like Earl.

So on we go, meeting up with my sister- and brother-in-law and taking the most winding circuitous route to get to this persons house that was WAAAY out in the middle of BF Nowhere. And I don't know anyone but us 4 when we get there. And I am wearing a bathing suit under a cover up and it is 100 degrees outside. This means I have to strip down in front of people I don't even know and sit around with my flabby, just lost weight looking body. Grrrr.

Now, here's where I put the moves on old lady karma. This is when I put her in a half Nelson and wrestle her to the ground. This is where I say "nope, you are not going to ruin my day, I am going to have a good day. No complaints August. Everything today is going to be wonderful." 


The end result is that I had an exceedingly good afternoon. The folks who were regulars welcomed us into their group with kind words and open arms. We all shared a delicious meal, and Hubs initiated us into the group by doing a kick-*ss job as grillmaster . The best part for me was that this was the most diverse and wonderful group I have been around...well, since we left our friends in Nashville 5 years ago. There were men and women, married and single, gay and straight, believers, undecideds, dems and republicans. If only we'd had an African American trans-gendered illusionist I think we'd have been the complete package.  I was truly in heaven...in my element...and in rural Kentucky. Shame on me for being so surprised.

I came home last night with total peace in my heart at the love that so obviously exists between these friends who come together every week for fun and conversation and good food. I went to bed feeling so grateful to have met them and knowing I will be welcomed back. Not just because of my smokin' hot lip-synch performance of "Do You Really Want to Hurt Me" (with tequila bottle playing the part of the microphone). Not just because I tripped while attempting to make a dramatic entrance and almost fell on the deck, thus providing everyone with a laugh. Not because I can reach the volume knob on the speakers. But because I just will. Oh, and all day? I had so many conversations with the folks who were there. And not once was I asked where do I work or what do I do. Not once was I asked where I go to church. Not once was I told to watch my language. No one judged. And not once did I feel that I didn't belong, despite being the "new kid". Why can't it be this easy in the real world?

So maybe there is something to be said for this no complaints thing. Thinking more positively seems to make me more positive. No Complaints August. It's a good thing.

My Big Fat Redneck Weekend

This past week was the County Fair here in our small town. Pretty much it is JUST as I remember it being when I was in high school, except for the fact that it costs a lot more to get in nowadays. (Still a relative bargain at $10 though)

Hubby wanted to go to the tractor pull on Friday night, but I opted out of that one. As he is so kind to point out he is a farm boy and I grew up in the city. I mean, the first part of my life we lived in the country and had horses, dogs, cats, a few chickens etc. but pretty much since I was 12 I have been a "townie". So, I let him attend without me. Besides, aren't tractor pulls kind of a guy thing?

However, on Saturday? Demolition Derby time! I am so all over that. I guess it is the alter-ego of my normally peace loving self, but I just love me some violent sports and activities. Football (hit 'im hit 'im hit'im!!!!), ice hockey (only good when a fight breaks out), roller derby (best on flat track and sitting in the "danger zone" where you might get hit by a girl sliding across the floor), love them all. But demolition derby? Well. I have loved that ever since Fonzie and Pinky Tuscadero took to the field way back in the 70's.

Oh, thank goodness she was OK in the end. What was she thinking not wearing a helmet? I so wanted a little pink halter top and white short-shorts like she wore. But I digress. *I HEART YOU, PINKY!*

So, it's probably just the redneck in me, but I had to go to the demolition derby. And boy was it redneck, let me tell you. However, for me just sitting and people watching was well worth the $10 admission fee. The derby itself was just a sideshow bonus. There were people wearing outfits the likes of which I had never seen. Women sans bra who should never go without. Men who hadn't showered in...the last decade. And more tattoos than at a biker convention. Not that there's anything wrong with that! 

Prime example of what not to wear seen here!

Now, I am trying to be healthy so I decided I would eat before I left the house, leaving hubs to wander the myriad of fair food and return with 2 giant corn dogs. I nibbled on an apple and drank water while those around me brought back funnel cakes, shaved ice, chili cheese fries (actually the only thing that tempted me) and cotton candy. We just had the best time sitting in the stands and being entertained by hoi polloi walking below us. Because, apparently, when you get all "dressed up" and come out to the fair, you want as many people to see you as possible. That is why when you put on a tight, skimpy tank dress, and you're about 8 months pregnant, you want to walk back and forth in front of the stands about 12 times an hour for three or four hours. When you weigh 250 and decide to wear a tube top and cutoff Daisy Dukes you want to stand at the fence in front of the crowd and smoke your cigarettes and let your kids run wild where everyone can see. When you're a white boy rapper wannabee you wear your shorts down around your butt and a muscle shirt with your cap bill to the side and strut through with your sad little posse as much as possible to ensure maximum exposure.

The best part came when the local Police showed up, obviously scanning the crowd for someone. I smacked hubby on the arm saying "watch this, some shit is about to go down". Sure enough, they soon pulled a girl from the crowd and she put on a show! She was about 90 pounds with long stringy hair and was fighting with all her might to keep from having those handcuffs put on her. She grabbed one of the officers by the forearm and just about threw him on the ground. Then, it was on! The other officer took her from the other side and all hell broke loose. It was awesome! She was kicking and fighting for all she was worth. I thought at the time that she was just a young girl, but when the police finally got her under control and they walked her out I could see that she was much older than her size and clothing might imply.

the offender dragged away still fighting.

The funniest thing is that this whole event barely caused a ripple in the crowd. I guess I was the only one amused, having never had a family member dragged away by the cops in a crowd full of people. Moments later the police were back to handcuff and take away a man this time, who put up no fight at all. Very anti-climactic.

The derby was awesome, and the car I picked as my favorite (an old boxy 70's era station wagon type thing) actually ended up being the winner. And the best part? The driver's name was Cleveland. How awesome is that? I love it.

After the car derby, there was, yes, a LAWNMOWER Demolition derby. Now play-it-safe Marsha was really worried about how the drivers would remain unharmed on lawnmowers, but actually no one got hurt, although 2 of the lawnmowers did tip over on the drivers. 

The best part of this was the comment that came from the redneck guy behind us when the lawnmowers pulled out onto the field. In a slow drawl he said "awww, ya'll this is redneck as shiiut." I had to laugh.

I think we'll go to another lawnmower derby in a couple of weeks.