I mentioned a few posts back that Mama was making her way through the worldwide web with a new Facebook account. Since then, she has been barred for THIRTY days from sending friend requests, because she’s been sending tons to people who have never heard of her.
She also hasn’t quite figured out the difference between being friends with someone on the Book of Face and “liking” their business page. So if she has liked, lets say, Oprah, and the person who runs Oprah’s Facebook page posts that Oprah will be appearing in DC to launch a new line of Very Important Things, and everyone should come on out and see her, Mama thinks it is a personal invitation from Oprah herself.
So for several weeks now I have been hearing Mama mention that she has been invited to this concert or that event, and I figured that something was amiss. So I logged into her Facebook account (I feel no guilt about this, as she has me log on from time to time herself to figure out what happened to this or that.) and sure enough, she has “liked” the page of a hometown musician named “Mini Thin”. (by her own confession, she thought she was liking an old diet pill…because, well, when has she ever seen a pill she didn’t like?) Now, Mini Thin, as do most musicians and artists I know, always invites the entirety of people who have “liked” him to his various concerts and appearances. So Mama gets an invitation to a Mini Thin “event” on a frequent basis, and takes them as personal invitations from the artist himself.
I tried to explain to her that, while she should certainly go see any of these concerts if she wanted, Mini Thin sent this invitation out to all of the hundreds, or maybe thousands, of people who had liked his page, so she was under no obligation to go.
“Oh but I called and talked to him on the phone.”
“He invited me a concert up there at the Turnpike Tavern they’s gonna have on May 11th, and I wanted to see more about it. He wants me to come dressed as Miss Kitty!”
Let me go off on a tangent here.
Right after Mama divorced her second husband, just before she plunged into the abyss of bat shit craziness and lost her looks, she took a gig doing singing telegrams for a local company that did events. I think she actually did them twice, which means its a record length of employment for her. I don’t know the details, but somehow Mama ended up with a Miss Kitty (of Gunsmoke) costume after her short lived stint as a singing performer was up. (I’m betting she just never returned the damned thing.) Anyway, Mama has been known, from time to time, to dress up in this Miss Kitty costume for her various gentlemen friends. She always threatens to wear it to different birthday parties and functions, but as far as I know, that has not happened. It’s unlikely that she could even get into the Miss Kitty get up, as she weighs a good 50 pounds more than she did when she was originally fitted for the costume. This costume has been weighing heavily on her mind lately. A half dozen times over the past month, Mama has set her facebook status as “Miss Kitty”. (She’s also messaged a local physician and offered her services as the Gunsmoke legend for his upcoming bachelor party.)
So, one can imagine the story Mini Thin had to tell his friends when a pilled up middle aged lady called him up and offered to dress up as a Wild West hooker for his next performance.
As I was trying to wrap my head around this phone call, Mama suggested I look her friend Mini Thin up on Facebook. I already had, of course, and from what I can gather he is a white rapper who is best known for a rap about Coal Mining. (if any of his fans see this and I have totally butchered his bio, please be kind! I confess here and now that I have not attempted to learn about his career.) He’s a nice looking, well built guy with a bunch of tattoos, and in almost all of his pictures, he is wearing a tank top, a backwards ball cap, and loose fitting pants.
“He looks a lot like you.” Mama said. How on Earth she gets that is beyond me. Outside of both of us having dark hair, we could not look LESS alike. I would not even go to bed in a tank top.