A girl needs her bacon hot

We fried up some bacon Friday night. And, that should tell you everything you really need to know about the awesomeness of our Friday night. It was going THAT good.

So, while Ben was occupied in the kitchen sizzling up the bacon, my attention was diverted to our backyard where raccoons and vermin could be found encircling our deck; the bacon aroma attracting animals like a moth to a flame, or a new mom to a cup of coffee. It was right around then that my father yelled something to me out the backdoor. [Remember, we're living with him.]

"Hold on a sec! I'm in the middle of some heavy negotiations with the wildlife. I'm this close to convincing them to take the half eaten peanut butter sandwich that I found wedged behind the planter. They need to forget about the bacon. 'It's out of your league vermin!' O.K., what did you say Dad?"

"Oh, I think I heard someone at the front door?"

Are you sure, because the last time an errant smoke detector went off you tried answering your cell phone?

But, he was sure he'd heard some "thumps;" the guy just HAD TO KNOW who was at the front door. Oh, you people with your need to know everything! Like who's knocking at the door, and how old's the cottage cheese in the fridge? Whatever happened to a little mystery?

I humor him and go to see if anyone is there. I'm telling you now, it could have been Justin Bieber and it would not have made a difference to me, because we were about to sit down and enjoy a meal of bacon. [You want to know who this Justin Beiber is anyway, right? You're probably also the type who wants to know whether or not the milk has expired before you'll drink it too. Am I right?]

So, with a roll of my eyes, I swung open the door and wouldn't you know it - a clipboard person. A Census worker here to ruin my bacon.

Now, I have a constant stream of political and non-profit solicitation calls throughout my day. Usually, the calls come in, bunched-up around nap-time. I've become adept at hurtling myself over large pieces of furniture and running barefoot across piles of Legos in order to grab the phone before the second ring. They're calling for my dad. The guy who signed their petitions and donated money to their causes. The causes I cannot get behind.

I have begged and pleaded for them to take us off of their calling lists. But they won't. And if these organizations don't stop calling soon, I plan on volunteering, along with my tattooed, lesbian, girlfriend and our transexual, evolutionist friends, to canvas neighborhoods on their behalf. Just as soon as we finish-up our volunteer shift at Planned Parenthood.

Therefore, I figured I could handle a nice, reasonable Census worker. Except she must've been tired from her day job of issuing parking tickets and kicking puppies, because she couldn't have cared any less that she was intruding on our family's weekend launch meal. I tried explaining this to her. That and, "No, we never received a Census form in the mail, and we're about to sit down to dinner, so wouldn't she be so kind and just leave a form with me to fill out and mail back?"

No, she won't can't. And, then she leaned forward and belched in my face. O.K., maybe not exactly, but she was really rude and officious, so SAME DIFFERENCE.

She put on her reading glasses and began asking me questions that I was too hungry to answer. How many people reside here? No fair! No one said anything about math! My race? Woman, can you not hear the dishes being set around our dinner table? Yes, she could, however, "the Census is important," because, by god, America has to know right then and there whether or not I'm Asian!

I tell her that of course the Census is important [snort], except when there's bacon hanging in the balance. That's when people, who need to know things like the expiration dates on dairy products and the racial make-up of households, should step-back and let an American eat her bacon in peace. Have you no shame Census 2010?