One Cluster After Another

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.

Extreme Freaks

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.

Can I Get A Witness

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.

Speak Your Mind

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.

Dogs and Cats Living Together

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).

Let’s Go Shopping

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.

Can Ya Hear Me Now?

The Beester lost her cell phone.  It’s been missing for a couple of weeks and in the Land of Tough Love, it was too bad, so sad kind of sympathy until a neighbor told me about someone who left his cell phone in a cab.  When he realized what he’d done, he called the cab company the next day and got the phone back.  What he also got was $400.00 in phone charges to a sex line that the cabbie was fond of (things must have slowed down a lot after that fare).  I had one of them there holy shit moments.

I hate cell phone companies and calling them makes my blood pressure go up and stomach knot but I needed to cancel service on this phone.  When I got around to it and gone thru all the prompts (press 7 if friends make fun of the “old” phone you bought six months ago, press 8 if your bill is longer than the # of pages you read in all of the last year, press 9 if you are going to put your fist thru the wall) I was pretty pissed and ready to do battle.  What I got was Tonya, who tsked, tsked my teenage daughter for losing the phone, told me it happens all the time, suggested we suspend service so that should it show up in the next thirty days we could call and activate it again and apologized for having computer problems.

Oh, I was going to rip somebody’s head off alright but instead I laughed with Tonya, said no worries about your computer problems, honey, said don’t teenagers and cell phones make you crazy, said hey, Tonya, do you and the fam have plans for Easter dinner this year cuz me and Big Daddy would love for you to come?  Oh, a jello mold and some deviled eggs, why that would be great.  Hmmm, mmmm….2:00.

Cell Phone Company Rep + Me = Two Shmoozers.  One of us is going to end up getting hurt and I’m pretty sure it’s not my new BFF, Tonya.

This Ain’t My First Rodeo

This week, a friend who was in a bind asked me if I could watch her two little kids all day while she worked.  I said yes even though being a nanny is for the young at heart and younger at body.  However, I have a dishwasher on the fritz and a whole lot of grays needing some color.  Necessity is the Mutha of Hasty Decisions.

The girls and I got along great until the last hour.  The older of the Missies wanted to open a box that UPS delivered but I said she had to wait until her mom came home.  She wanted me to call her mom at work so she could ask her and I said “no”.  A  fat, firm no.  That’s when the wheels fell off the Toddler Bus.  She begged, she threatened, she faux wailed and she faux tantrumed but I didn’t give in.  Maybe in my early days of parenting I might have, but I’ve gone thru three teenagers so not much rattles me.  Finally, she looked at me and said, “I hate babysitters named Kathy.”

I’m not sure how many Kathys have watched her over the years and what they’ve done to her, but for a second there it almost felt like her bold dislike of all babysitters bearing that name was specifically directed at me.

The Skirt

I’ve worked a retail job for many years.  If you talk to anyone who has done this sort of thing for awhile, they will tell you that although the pay, hours and all that standing is a lousy way to make a buck, they love the job.  I couldn’t explain to you why it has suited me for so long until I met Fannie.
Fannie came in the store and bought a skirt.  There are two kinds of women who shop for clothes.  There is the kind that don’t like their bodies, will tell you everything they hate about it and love company on the misery train.  The other kind have come to terms with their physical flaws, have their own style and move through the day with far more grace.  I can spot the latter a mile away and that’s who Fannie was. 
A few months after meeting her, Fannie came to the store again to get the skirt in a smaller size because she’d lost some weight.  I took down her info and told her I’d call her when the next order arrived but the skirt was sold before she could make it back.  On her second trip to the store and still no skirt, she put her head in her hands, started sobbing and told me her husband was dying of  cancer.  He loved that skirt on her and she wanted to be able to wear it to his funeral.  Since I had bought the skirt as well, I offered her mine.  If it fit, she was welcome to it and a few days later, I showed up at her door with the skirt in hand.
My plan was to ring the bell, wait five seconds and leave it on her porch because at that moment I began to think that this wasn’t such a good idea.  She answered before I could run off, let me in, held up the skirt and sighed saying it was perfect for “the upcoming events”.  She began to cry and so I said, “Things aren’t good are they?”   She hugged me saying, “Oh, honey, things are very good because out of nowhere somebody shows up at my door with a skirt just when I needed it most.”

Shortly after that visit, I read in the paper that her husband passed away.  I’m sure she looked lovely and that he was proud of this woman who loved him until he had to let go.  And what in the world was so special about this skirt?  The pattern on it was The Tree of Life and I learned a thing or two about that from a woman who wandered into the store on a day I happened to be working.