There are a variety of places and events to which I should never be invited or asked to attend.  My sisters intuitively know that camping and hiking are out of the question.  They know that “outdoor activity” means “open air” mall to me.  I assume that my spouse of 23+ years knows these things about me as well, but maybe not.  This morning, I swear to god, he said, “Let’s go to the gun show downtown.”  So I extended my right hand and said, “Hello, my name is Ava.  What’s yours?”

Gun show?  I can’t even behave in a restaurant let alone a show where weapons are the main attraction.  How would I ever control myself?  What would I do with my sarcasm?  You can’t just leave that in the car – now can you?  It’s been my experience that a lot of gun enthusiast don’t have a big sense of humour or come to it, any sense of humour at all.

“Why?” I say.  Picture your spouse with a blank look on his face -yes, that’s the one.  “To look at guns,” he says.  “Why?” I say.  This conversation isn’t going well.

Forty minutes later and a car ride.

The parking lot attendent says, “That will be $8.00 please.”  I say, “$8.00 for what?”  She says, “To park.”  I say, “Here?”  Her red face says her patience has worn thin.  I think, she’d better hope I don’t buy a gun today.  It cost less to park at DisneyLand, the happiest place on earth, and you want to park there.

Ed says, “Are you going to behave yourself or what?”

Are you freakin’ kidding me?  Shouldn’t THAT question have been asked before we left the house?  Before the forty minute car ride?  How about before the $8.00?

“Maybe I should wait in the car,” I mumble.

Here’s what I found at the gun show: jewelry, clothes (not camo, real clothes), cats (the ASPCA was invited), purses that conceal guns (I did look those over, they were purses after all), oh yea, there were guns, guns with pink trim, guns that James Bond uses, guns – I swear – “Light enough for your grandmother.”

I only aggravated about a half a dozen people with my gun questions or comments before Ed decided he’d had enough pitying glances and was ready to leave.

On the way to the car, he said, “Did you have to ask the 300lb ex-navy seal why guns don’t come with interchangeable grips to match your outfits?”

Before I could answer, he said, “Why?  Why would you tell the guy selling the semi-automatic weapons that his three chihuahuas were sissy dogs?  Didn’t you notice they were wearing little spiked collars?”

“And, we weren’t there to adopt a kitten.  What made you think we were?”

Really?  Because I have no idea why we were there.  I have no idea why I was taken to a gun show on a perfectly fine Saturday morning –  but, I’ll bet I won’t be asked to go to a gun show again anytime soon.  Probably never.

On the way out, the parking attendant gave Ed his $8.00 back.  I think that the tears streaming down his face might have had something to do with that.

I’m driving to work this morning, minding my own business, when a traffic light had the nerve to turn red and cause me to stop.  I was the first car in line because the driver in front of me decided to run the yellow/red light.  I would never run a red light the way Amylynn does. 

I don’t really listen to country music but I found Johnny Cash on one of the stations and it was “Ring of Fire”.  I love  “Ring of Fire”.  So I turned it up.

Johnny Cash

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a man on a bike enter the crosswalk.  He weighs about 200+ lbs.  As he rides in front of me, I see that the bike is really quite small for him and it’s PINK and PURPLE.  I’m guessing it’s not his bike.  It has streamers in the handle bars.  I’m guessing it’s really not his bike.  I’m guessing it’s his five year old daughter’s bike.

Oddly, he appeared to be peddling in time with Johnny.

“I went down, down, down and the flames went higher.”  Peddle. Peddle

“And it burns, burns, burns, the ring of fire.”  Peddle, peddle.  Peddle.

I don’t know why but a big guy on a pink and purple bike furiously peddling away to Johnny Cash made me laugh hysterically – you can laugh to, just picture it . . .

Pink & Purple Bike w/ Streamers

As you all know, Amylynn and I work at a bank.  A very large bank.  Some folks say it’s the largest bank in the world.  That it might very well be, but we don’t believe it because they won’t buy as plastic forks.  Surely, the largest bank in the world would buy their employees plastic forks, right?

Anyway – my husband texted me this morning to see if I’d heard the HUGE news about “Bank of No Forks” gaining an extremely influential and very revered investor.  His phone cut out but I swear he said “Jimmy Buffett”.  Then the call dropped.

When I got to work I told everyone the news.  “Bank of No Forks” has been propped up by Jimmy Buffett!  Jimmy Buffett?  There seemed to be confusion.  One friend wondered where he got all of the money from.  I thought his music and his restaurants must be doing very, very well.  We all agreed that must be the case.  I do have one of his albums and I’ve eaten in his restaurants several times – I had no complaints.  Another friend thought we’d surely get forks now – after all Jimmy has to have an in with the take-out food utensil folks – right? 

All of this happiness was not to be however.  Once we booted up the computers, our home page announced the swell news but the investor was not our beloved, beforked Jimmy Buffett but some unknown man named Warren Buffett.

“Well, who the hell is he ?” we all wondered aloud AND does he have access  to plastic forks???

My blog post about breakfast donuts caused several people to ask me two questions. 

#1 – What are the three food groups?

Really?  I can’t believe I actually know folks who did not attend kindergarten.  The food pyramid is taught to all  children their first year of school, isn’t it?  Anyway – for those of you who missed that day in class, the three food groups are Dessert, Chocolate, and Bread.  Here is a copy of the food pyramid that I pulled off of the Internet in like five seconds flat.  Here’s a tip: if you are ever in a hurry to get all of your necessary foods into one meal, have a chocolate croissant.  Dessert, chocolate, bread – it’s that simple.  With just one food item you have the whole day covered!

#2 – Did the girl who lives with you eat the donut you smuggled into her lunch?

Nope, she did not.  She gave it to a boy she is friends with.  He gave half to another  boy.  Both of them sat next to her for several days until they realized that the only sad snacks likely to come out of her lunch box are carrots and celery.  I tried to explain to her that normal children like donuts but she refused to listen.  She mumbled something about the food pyramid.  I think she said the food pyramid she saw in kindergarten had vegetables on it – how odd.  She needs to change her bad food habits or I fear no man will marry her.

The girl who lives at my house offered me the following advice today:

“You shouldn’t eat donuts for breakfast on Monday morning.”

She said this while she was eating non-sugared whole grain cereal with blueberries and non-fat milk.  I took a moment to review my “mommy response repertoire” to see what I had to say to this uncalled for, unasked for and ugly statement. 

This is the child who willingly eats vegetables.  She demands them.  She knows their names.  “When are we going to have vegetables?  How about broccoli?”  Broccoli?  I guess that’s a vegetable.  How crazy is that!  I’d swear she wasn’t mine except that she never left my sight once I painfully gave birth to her and took her home from the hospital.  But I digress. . .

Anyway, I dug down deep inside myself – to the core of my mommyness and said, wait for it . . .  “Really?”  What else can one say when one is possibly about to be denied one of the three food groups?

She took a deep breath and let out a very long sad sigh.  “Yes. Really.” 

Clearly, she was not going to let me finish my donut breakfast in peace.  “Ummmmmm, why?”

This is the child who does not suffer fools gladly.  She gathered up her empty cereal bowl and spoon and took them to the sink.  She went over to the refrigerator and took out her lunch and placed it in her lunch box.  She then gathered up her water bottle (We live in the desert and you can’t leave home without water, except I do all the time, which annoys the girl because then I drink hers, but anyway, I digress, again.) filled it with ice and water and put it in her book bag.

Having not received a respone to “Ummmmmm, why?” I started to panic a little.  I always panic when she stops talking.  Her not talking is never a good sign.  It means trouble is about to come, real trouble, trouble for me.  When I panic, I start to babble.  What to say? What to say?” OMG – talk before she does Ava!  What were we talking about? What was the issue?  No donuts on Monday – that’s it!  Monday, I’ll talk about Monday!  I won’t talk about the donut.  I’m starting to sweat . . . say anything before she does. 

“Why not Monday?”  Is there a national law I don’t know about?”  I blurted out. 

She looked me right in the eyes, sighed again and spoke very slowly, “You should not eat donuts at all for breakfast – on any day.  Mondays are especially bad because after your system crashes from just eating sugar, it could set the tone for the entire day and aren’t Monday’s bad enough already?”  She held my gaze for a second longer to be sure I understood and turned to go upstairs to finish getting ready for school. 

“Well, ummmmmmmm, hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, can I eat them on Saturday?”  I said this really low so she wouldn’t hear me after she left the kitchen.  I crammed the rest of my delicious chocolate covered donut in my mouth.  I raced to the box of donuts, shoved one in a zip lock baggy and secreted it away in the girl’s lunch box.  Ha!

Of the three Quill Sisters, I am, admittedly, the most self centered.  Except for the month of August.  That month belongs to Amylynn because of her birthday.  Amylynn does not celebrate her birthDAY, she celebrates her birthMONTH – and we let her.  Kelli is the the easiest sister to deal with because she goes out of her way to mind her own business.  Unless, someone needs to have their business minded, then, Kelli is definitely NOT the sister you want to rile up.  Trust me on this. 

Anyway, this post is about me.  No, really, it is. I might have gone off on a wild tangent, but I’m back now. 

All of you know that Amylynn and I work together.  We spend 8 to 9 hours a day entertaining each other.  If we didn’t, I’m certain that neither of us would ever show up to work again.  Today, Amylynn had to leave work mid-morning because Sassy wasn’t feeling well.  I cried as I watched her leave me – a l l  a l o n e, alone!  At work!  Without her – the horror, the suffering!  How was I to endure?  What about lunch?  Who would drive me?  The inhumanity of it all nearly crushed my spirit to a level I’ve never experienced before.

Okay, that might be a tad dramatic but it was a bad moment for me. 

At about 12:30 I decided it was lunch time.  This presented a dilemma – should I drive somewhere or walk to the subway shop near our office?  We live in the desert and it’s about 150 degrees today so I thought it prudent to drive somewhere.  Prudent in that it was too hot to walk, not prudent because I’m a bad driver.  If I have to make a left without a traffic light – well, it’s never good.  The last time I drove Amylynn and made a left, she cried.  Real tears.  I thought it was from laughing but she insists it was from pure terror.  She hardly ever let’s me drive – so, that plan worked.

Anyway, I went to one of those yogurt stores where you get your own yogurt from a selection of about 300 different flavors and then you get to put your own toppings on.  As far as I’m concerned, the yogurt is only there so you don’t look stupid eating just toppings.  The yogurt/toppings are 39 cents an ounce.  Mine was 15.9 ounces.  Apparently, that’s a lot because the cashier asked me if I was dining alone.  I assured her that I was sharing.  “Half is for my sister,” I said, tearing up.  She looked confused because I was by myself.  

After paying, I went outside to sit in the 250 degree heat.  I cried into my yogurt and called it “Amylynn” so that people would feel sorry for me instead of being disgusted by my eating enough frozen yogurt for a family of four.  A lady with extremely red (read: extremely fake red) hair wanted to know what the problem was.  I explained that my sister had left me to eat lunch alone – alone!   I cried harder and she almost fell down tripping over her own feet trying to get away from me.   “You don’t understand!” I shouted.  “I do understand,” she said.  “You’re nuts!”

True enough.  And self centered.

Amylynn and I cannot leave that picture of the man with the cat on his head alone.  It just makes us laugh over and over again.  The gentleman in the photograph is actually Andrew Mason of Groupon.  We sent the following email to him for further information:

Dear Andrew,
We have questions about the photo of the cat on your head in the August issue of Vanity Fair. We so love that photo that we put it on our blog (thequillsisters.com). Questions: Is that your cat? Did you pick the cat out because he looks like you or has your same facial expressions? If he’s not yours – can we have him? (We’re “cat people” and will take very good care of him.) And by the way, what happened to the pony? Can we get a picture of Spice? Thank you for your time and patience – we’re certain you’re really very busy. Sincerely, Blah, Blah, Blah

Just so you readers know – the article references a pony named Spice that was going to be a gift to the mayor of NYC – Michael Bloomberg.  Per the article, the pony was never actually given to him.  I should have asked for the pony as well!  If Andrew contacts us – I will see if the pony needs a home! 

It is quite sad how easily entertained we are . . .

Amylynn is telling the truth about me leaving her at the office.  I admit it, I did leave her there.  I did turn out all of the lights, send the security guard home and lock the doors.  However, it was an accident.  An ACCIDENT I tell you!  It could have happened to anyone.  I didn’t see her and I couldn’t hear her, and really, if you can’t hear Amylynn, chances are good she’s not there.  It happened because I’m old and forgetful and – I didn’t realize that Amylynn would call me on my cell phone and YELL at me. 

To make it up to her – I took her out to lunch.  I told her to pick where we’d eat.  I thought she would pick a restaurant.  But NO – as my punishment, she took me to a bar.  It was called the “Red Granny Panty Salon”.  I did not make that up.  I was concerned that there might be pole dancing but, thankfully, no old grannies work the poles there. 

However, to my surprise, almost the entire menu consisted of fried food.  There are some nutritionist who say that fried food is bad for you.  Amylynn and I do not agree with this theory.  We ordered fried zucchini sticks, fried mushrooms, fried steak and french fries, which are fried.  We dunked everything in ranch dressing.  Being sisters – we double dipped.  I’m making myself hungry . . .

Now, any normal person would forgive the person they were upset with after such a fried feast but no, not Amylynn.  Still wearing her “angry eyes” she insisted that I buy her a puppy.  I had to decline because I really, really like the lovely man that Amylynn is married to and I want him to continue to be my friend.  I suspect that she will not let this die quite yet.  I’ll keep you all posted on her continued demands.

Some of you may recall that Amylynn called me the “Diet Nazi”.  If you missed it, you can go back to see it on June 13, 2011 at 5:32 PM and 12 seconds – not that my feelings were hurt or anything.

The last diet we tried did not go very well.  In fact, any diet that leaves cake out doesn’t go well for us.  The basis of the last one was to eat wholesome, nutritious food in moderation. Why we ever thought that would work is beyond me.  I blame Amylynn. 

Anyway, I found a new one to try.  It’s one of those diets where they deliver food to your house weekly, so you can’t screw it up.  Wish us luck!