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This has been an uneventful writing week for me.  Not much kicking around, not sure what to do about that and not sure if I’m even a writer soooo………when Fancy Nancy gave me this ticket the other day and said let’s go out, I did the happy dance.

This is the second time I’ve seen Anne Lamott and whether she’s talking about birthday cake or writing discipline, she’s a deep sigh of satisfaction.  I wanted to write down everything she said, but she’s such a great speaker that to do that while she’s talking would be counterproductive.  I did make note of this, however, “The amount you know any day is sufficient.”  How brilliant is that?

This book has been next to my bed for 10 years.  I’ll pick it up and start reading and it’s never failed to make me laugh and think and push me over hurdles.  When she signed it, I said something generic and dumb instead of saying, “Thank you you for writing this because every time I’ve picked it up, I got a shot of confidence and it’s as if you knew my heart better than me.”  If I said all that, though, I’d have started crying and then they’d have to call security cuz that starts getting creepy and stalkerish.

Guardian angels come in all sizes.  Mine’s a white chick with dreadlocks who knows a whole lot about substance abuse, has a wicked sense of humor and is so spiritual and honest when she writes that she makes me want to step it up a notch.

This week’s news reported a story that Mitt Romney has formed an exploratory committee to determine if he should run for president.  Previously, Newt Gingrich (I love America so damn much it causes me to keep cheating on my wives) made the same announcement.  Tim Pawlenty is traveling a lot and talking like he’s running for president, but I guess his committee hasn’t tied up the loose ends yet.

Big Daddy and I want a summer cottage.  Something small and rustic and close to a pond so he can fish and practice his speech for when he wins the Nobel Prize.  While he’s doing that, I’ll be putting the finishing touches on my book,  The Story Of A Marriage – How To Go To Hell And Back Without White Lights To Guide You that will likely win me a Pulitzer.  This plan has been in an exploratory committee for nearly thirty years and the conclusion is always the same.  No denero senor and senorita…maybe next year.  After all this time, you’d think somebody would be interested in this compelling story of ours, but no microphone or camera crew has showed up here at the plantation to get the scoop.   I guess BD and I aren’t all that newsworthy.

Pssssst, here’s a little secret…..neither are they.  Pass it on.

Day by day, spring makes its presence known and as if somebody flipped a switch, the ants wake up and start invading the house.  Kitchen counters, cabinets, the sink…they’re all coming by for a look see at the improvements we’ve made to the crib in the last year.   None, so get your hyper, little fannies out of my kitchen.  

I have trouble figuring out how to end their life.  I bought some ant traps and put them in various spots where they congregate, but no luck.  Deep in the walls of the house, there must have been a big longevity seminar this winter sponsored by the Ant Life Insurance Agents of America.  #1 tip was likely to avoid the ant traps so I sweep them into the dishwasher or wipe them up with a sponge or use the sprayer and send ’em for a ride down the sink (wheeeeeee).  If I’ve really had it with their invading behavior, I start smashing them with my hand.  The other day, I consulted Mallie Bee on how I should kill this newest batch and she was appalled.  “Mom!!!  They’re just little ants.” (This is on the down low but I think she might be on her way to becoming one of those PETA types).

When I was a little girl and staying at my grandma’s house, I saw a mouse run across the kitchen floor and Gram said to me, “Honey, fetch me the broom and show me where it went.”  I did as told and when it came out she whacked that thing but good and killed it on the first try.  She didn’t mess around or wait for my grandpa to get home to take care of rodents.

When my mom saw ant colonies outside, she’d put the kettle on and let it come to a boil as if she were going to have a nice cup of hot tea in the middle of the day.  Instead, she’d march outside and pour that boiling water right down the little hole they were crawling in and out of.  Best summer show in town.

Some girls grow up learning skills like sewing or quilting that have been taught from one generation to another.  My people pass down extermination techniques.  My daughter may be tenderhearted now, but wait until she’s got a place of her own and them varmints decide to inhabit.  In the meantime, watch and learn, baby, watch and learn.

Sale date for the Prairie Girls Market…..June 6th.

Pressure on the Prairie Girls to deliver the goods…..biggety.

I channeled Martha and spent the weekend doing some refurbishing and crafting. I was ready to crank out some signs so I penciled in the wording, painted it, let it dry, then antiqued it up.  And you know what happened when I did that last little thing?  I smeared those not quite dry letters to kingdom come then sat in the driveway and said shit about a thousand times to the hot, little mess in front of me.  Two signs that I painstakingly lettered now looked like a used butt wipe.

I repainted and started over.  This time I decided to let it dry overnite (duh) and moved on to something else.  That something else ended up getting aggressively flung into the trash.  I headed directly to the fridge to crack open a beer.

If I keep this up, I’ll never get my own show and therefore, no chance for you the viewer to watch a pissed off, cussing, drunk try to reproduce something she saw in a magazine.   Now what?  Well, I’m not gonna brag here (or maybe I am) but I have perfected throwing my crap projects into the garbage can from the free throw line and the crowd always goes craaaaaazy when I do that.  Oh yeah, I’ve got me some very marketable skills.  I’m a contenda.

This week TLC debuted a new show called, “Extreme Couponing.”  Two of the women that were profiled in the first episode were interviewed on the Today Show.  Follow along, kids, cuz my watching the interview saves us all from having to tune into this.  It can take up to six hours to make a list with matching coupons.  Dozens of papers are purchased on Sunday to get the coupons.  The whole family is responsible for clipping coupons.  They save more than 90% on their food bill. 

Here’s where the train jumped the track (as if the above weren’t goofy enough).  They call grocery stores regularly to find out their coupon policy and then work around it to beat the system.  They have over 6000 canned goods in their home.  Shelving was constructed in the basement just to hold the stockpiled food and the parents bedroom is stocked with canned fruits and vegetables.  Hey, baby, looking at all them peaches is getting me horny.  They monitor expiration dates and donate canned goods to a food pantry if they can’t use them before they expire.  6000 cans of food and the nearly expired stuff goes to the less fortunate.  Under the kids’ beds were stored rolls of toilet paper.  11,000 rolls of toilet paper.

Reality t.v. never fails to find a circus to film.  “People might think it’s odd that we go to such lengths to save money, but we wouldn’t have it any other way.”  When you have enough toilet paper to wipe the butts of a small country, that’s not odd.  That’s Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

This morning our paper had a story about poverty in our area.  A little boy was seen at his preschool headfirst in a garbage can trying to get half-eaten peaches to take home to eat later because his unemployed parents couldn’t afford any more food than what they could get from the local food pantry.  In desperate times, there are plenty of heroes trying to pull people out of some very dark places and they are all around us.  They’ll never get a reality show (maybe because it’s too real) but here’s hoping that the Barnum and Bailey family’s five minutes of fame lasts only two.

Some people run from responsibility, some from an ex and some from the law.  I run from Jehovah’s  Witnesses.  I’m not proud of it but I do it.

When the kids were little, I learned that once a Witness got you to open the door, they took it as an invitation to occupy you for an hour.  Behind me, all hell would be breaking loose and the little darlings would use their get out of jail free card to throw toys in the toilet and flush them for fun while the uninvited guests at the door asked where you thought you were going after you died.  Anywhere but here.  Are you afraid of dying?  No, I’m afraid how much the plumber’s going to charge me to fish the toys out of the john.   What does Jesus’ death mean for you?  That I, too, will have everlasting life and if that means being a mother of toddlers again, I choose hell.

I taught my kids to lie.  I’d see the car pull into the neighborhood, close the blinds, get the kids to hide and tell them to be as quiet as a church mouse but not the Kingdom Hall kind.  The bell would ring and they would giggle and I’d shush them because we’re not home, remember?   When the coast was clear, I’d give them ice cream at 10:00 in the morning as a party favor for playing along in Let’s Make A Deceiver.

Last summer, I was outside stripping a piece of furniture and from behind me came a couple of Jehovah’s Witnesses.  I never noticed them so when they asked if they could talk to me a minute, I about jumped out of my skin.  After they scared me, they said they weren’t going to stay as I looked very busy.  Yes I am.  I appreciated the brevity and offered them water on a very hot day.  They declined and thanked me and do you know what I got for my kindness?  I got them to come back THREE more times because they thought I was interested in their message.  Jesus.

Today I happened to look out the window and saw them in the neighborhood.  Again???  How many times are you going to canvas the same block?  I can tell ya, everybody on this street loves a good party and couldn’t last a day in a religion that frowns upon those.  They were headed my way so you know what I did?  On a quarter tank of gas that’s supposed to last until the end of the week, I jumped in the car and drove around until I was sure the coast was clear.  $4.00 a gallon and I’m driving nowhere cuz I can’t look them in the eye and tell them I’m not interested.  Well, I can but if you’re standing and breathing they take that as a yes.

I picked up Mallie Bee from school and took her to Starbucks.  She must have wondered when the hell I decided to spring for over-priced drinks since I go on and on about how you can get a cup of coffee from the deli at the grocery store for less than a dollar.  Well, honey, I changed my ways about 20 minutes ago when the  Witnesses started flushing me out of my own house like a beagle in a fox hunt.  Half an hour later, I’m back at home looking at the info they left at my door and contemplating how Jesus takes away all the sins of the world, especially the repeated ones.

I was at work one day and a woman came in her with her little girl.  I was helping the mom and the little girl kept interrupting saying, “Hey, lady”, over and over.  Her mother told her to shush but finally gave in and said, “Now, what in the world do you have to say that is so important?  The little girl looked at me and said, “Hey, lady, why’s you’re hair so crazy?” 

That afternoon I went and visited the shop next door and told them the story.  One of the employees asked me if she was dark-haired and about four years old.  Yep, she was.  While they were in that store, the little girl yelled, “Hey, Mom, my butt itches real bad.”

Maturity……the moment when the thought bubble hovering over your head ceases to yap despite the overwhelming desire to inform the world of an itchy butt.

We got a kitten.  A real cutie named Beemer after a sweet little ride we had back in the day.  Har, har, har.  If we really named him after one of our early cars, he’d be called Oldsmobile Firenza (with faux paneling on the side).  When he came to his new residence, we took him straight to the basement so that Henry the Aging Dog wouldn’t find him and kill him.

This worked out pretty well until Beemer followed Mallie Bee up the stairs one night and said what the what people?  He found out he likey sunlight and the Man Cave wasn’t fit for a lion wannabee such as himself.  Once he entered the public domain, Henry was slow to realize that there was a friggin cat in the house.  He’s a little hard of hearing, can’t see so well and packing a few pounds so he’d feel something near him (like a cat) and by the time he’d get his lard ass up and moving the cat would run off.  He’d go back to sleep only to have it happen over and over until he figured out it wasn’t some kind of bad dream but a cat living in the compound.  Poor, poor baby.

This is Beemer.  He weighs about 2.5#

This is Henry.  He weighs about 90#.   This is where he sleeps most of the time (away from the friggin cat).

Nobody puts baby in a corner (unless you’re the new sheriff in town).

Big Daddy rides his bike every Saturday morning regardless of the weather.  His riding partner was out of town this weekend and on a lovely spring day that was perfect for bike riding, he was stuck with me.  He tried to act like it wasn’t painful but I recognized his sadness and decided to make our morning fun.

Once a year, the burbs around here have large item pickup.  Homeowners can put anything on the curb and the city will pick it up at no cost.  I’m after the old stuff – trunks, gardening tools, dressers, chairs.   With my big sale coming up in June, I needed some goods to repurpose that were free in nature.  I shop well alone but sometimes you need two people to heft the large items into the car.  Enter Bee as in the Dee.

I think it’s safe to say that digging thru other people’s garbage is not for everyone.  BD was reluctant to participate and wanted to wear a ski mask so nobody would recognize him.  Hey, we’re not robbing their house, we’re robbing their garbage.  A ski mask could be problematic with homeowners and God knows here in Kansas people defend their property (even when they don’t want it) if you know what I mean.

He started to make small talk since it was technically a date, but when I’m in the garbage zone I don’t like to be chatting.  “Oh”, he said, “sorry to disturb you.”  No worries, just pretend I’m you watching River Monsters.  Then this, “Just so you know, I’m not enjoying this.”  What did he say?   Since when did he start thinking that marriage was supposed to be enjoyable?  Hey, I’ve got an idea, let’s stop talking to each other.  Lookie, here, I’m having more fun already. 

Thirty minutes into the excursion and mighty slim pickings, BD starts bouncing his leg.  Oh no he didn’t.  Yeah, he was having a Flomax moment.  He was plenty sorry about that what with all the coffee and such and said he’d try to hold it for awhile.  Hold it like I do except when I cough, sneeze, push, pull, lift, bend over or laugh.   So with one stinkin’ ladder to my name, we turned around and headed home.

The next day I found out that the town divided pickups over three weekends according to neighborhood.  Thank ya, Jeezus.  As I write, the remaining citizens of Overland Park are perusing their basements and garages and while they may think of it as spring cleaning, I call it Christmas in April.  Giddyup and drink all the coffee you want, BD.  Plan B is to buy the economy size of Depends cuz you and me have two more dates scheduled and we’re not leaving until the wagon is full.  I can almost pee my pants in excitement.