Oh wow. It's December 28!

Yeah, time flies when you're looking for your underpants . . . or so I've been told.

I hope your Christmas was as good as mine. I spent an awesome Christmas Eve with my family, even though we missed my nephew, little man Mateo (and his parents too I guess ::winky face::), it was such a great night mainly because the little ones enjoyed it so much. It's all about the children and their greeed! ::just kidding face::

We spent Christmas Day in a winter wonderland, my in-laws' new place in Veryfarville, which is a lovely peaceful oasis from the real world. It's like the Calgon of the 21st century. Why can't I ever freakin spell century? To make matters worse, once the spell check comes on, I can't figure out which one of the 2 it is because they both sound right in my head. Only, when I pronounce the first option, I say it in a British accent so it sounds a lot classier.

I know I've been slacking on my duties at Shangri-La Bee's Musings. Here I thought that, once I left Anonymous Clothing Store, I would have all this extra time to post on a regular basis and yet I've still been neglectful to the very thing that was helping me keep my sanity, if not in my brain, at least somewhere around my knee area.

It's not that I don't find things ironically amusing anymore, because my life is still one giant joke, it's just that I find myself too lazy to move my laptop from its designated place on top of the bookshelf (because it was ousted from its prior comfy home atop my computer cart with my beautiful red chair once my brother in law moved in and Andy's dungeon had to be moved out into *my* space, leaving me with no place of my own to plan my take over of the world-BUT I'M NOT BITTER!), drag the cord and then try to balance my laptop on my, well, lap. I don't think my lap is built to hold anything bigger than a chia pet.

Oh the memories!

I sometimes have a great idea for a post so I jot a fragment of my idea down so that I'll remember it later but then when I come back to it, I'm like say what? ::confused face with head tilted and eyebrow askew::

Take for example: hidden behind bob

I know only 2 Bobs. One is my ex-boss who was all kinds of awesome and the other is a kid who used to work at Brown's Chicken a million years ago and I have tried my hardest to forget, he left a lasting impression on my smelling sense because he hated showers. I haven't seen either one recently so I'm not really sure what the frick I meant by "hidden behind bob".

I even had a Merry Christmas post that was almost finished which I entitled "All I want for Christmas is black shoe polish" but I changed my mind about posting it because I was afraid it would have been taken very literally and my Christmas stocking would be stuffed with nothing but shoe polish instead of what I really wanted which was a donkey (a poor woman’s pony).

Maybe I should have posted it anyway considering that my house is still donkey-less ::Damn you Santa!::

I really had trouble getting into the Christmas spirit this year. If you don't believe me, witness my Christmas tree one week before Christmas:

I know it still looks pretty but that’s only a fraction of my ornaments.I mean, even Archibald The Ugly looked better.

Normally, I get my tree right after Thanksgiving and then decorate It and the house that very weekend but this year I just didn't have it in me. I finally had my niece Natalia help me out because a naked tree screams out Grinch and there is no room for one in my family.

I think the lack of spirit is partly because I came down with what I'm calling the Deadly-Jim-Flu-of-2010 for the last week of November and most of December. Jim is my brother-in-law who got sick a couple of days before Thanksgiving and on Thanksgiving Day had full on chills and weakness before my family came over. And since he loves sitting in my chair when I'm not around, the evil virus probably laid in wait until I absorbed it into my skin and then BAM! it attacked me by filling my lungs with goo and taking my strength, my power! Anyway, I haven't been right since.

It's weird. Our year wasn't too horrible, especially in comparison to the flood of 2008, and yet I feel like this year was one I would have loved to just have slept through, with the exception of the birth of nephew of course.

It started with my breakdown in February and things didn't get better when an extra body was added to our household and I'm going to be brutally honest because this is my blog, my outlet, it has been extremely difficult.

I don't want to go into too much detail because I love my Andy and I know he'd be upset if I vent about it here, even though venting was the reason for this blog, I can't do that to our relationship.

It's just one of those things where we're going to come up with some rules, and we can do that because My Andy and I are the rulers of the Beehive, and these rules will have to be followed because we will stomp our feet and shake our fists theatrically until our will is done!

End of story.

I'm surprised I’ve let this go on for so long since we all know I’m not the most patient of people.

We'll be fine I'm sure. I had to go through this with my own brother and now the dude is doing A-freaking-mazing. Going to school, helping Andy and I out, working and taking care of his child. I couldn't be prouder if he told me he was also Batman.

I'm hoping to do better next year or um, next week, and post on a regular basis. I don't know who's still out there but I know of a couple of you who still love me! ::winky face with tongue sticking out::

 

Andy’s Christmas Andyism:

Andy: I feel bad that we’re not buying anything for the dogs this Christmas.

Me: Huh? The dogs don’t give a crap! They don’t even know it’s Christmas!

Andy: But I know it’s Christmas. I know! [shakes his head sadly]

He’s so cute.

First snow is always beautiful!

Phew! I can come out now! (rumors of me running over a little person are a teeny bit exaggerated!)

So, I celebrated another birthday last Thursday. Yeah, I know I totally acted out of character by not having a doomsday countdown this year but it kinda slipped my mind which is either a good thing because I don't feel like birthdays are a looming guillotine or a bad thing because I'm just getting too old and my memory has just gone to shit.

Either way, ignorance is bliss I guess. Although, I do always have this weird paranoia that I'm going to die the day before or even the day after my birthday and the news people, because you know that if I die it will be in a spectacular fashion (maybe via an overdose of shoe shopping where I'll just drop once I've discovered a “to die for” pair of shoes at a bargain for like $15 then I’d collapse on an old lady suffocating her instantly which would be a double tragedy because, not only would I be dead, but I wouldn't have had time to buy the shoes that I should have worn at my burial) will say "she died one day before her birthday" or  "she had just celebrated her birthday!"

And if I were to die on my birthday? Well then the news would become global.

"We interrupt your regular programming to bring you the tragic news of a young(ish) woman who died at 11:11 AM on 11/11/10 as she was entering a shoe department and a giant shoe display toppled ontop of her, crushing her. She must have had some sort of muscle spasm because witnesses say it looked like she was smiling."

Because of this paranoia, I tend to have some pretty far-out nightmares.

Bee (to Andy at 6 am on the Wednesday before my birthday while he's getting dressed and I'm kicking the wall because I hate the Asylum and therefore want to break my toes): I had a weird dream last night. I dreamt I was in a car accident.

Andy: Why would you do that?

Bee: I didn't do it on purpose! It's just that a midget pissed me off so I bumped his car with my giant truck!

Andy: ::sigh:: don't say midget! And stop being so aggressive!

Bee: Listen to the whole story before you judge me! Okay, so my sister and I were in my giant truck--

Andy: What giant truck?

Bee: It's a dream! Anyway, --driving on Belmont Avenue and you know what a pain in the ass Belmont Avenue is, both traffic-wise and pothole-achey-butt-wise, so there was this midg-uh LITTLE PERSON in a tiny toy car in front of me and he was only going like 5 mile per hour so I honked and he gave me the tiny midge-uh LITTLE PERSON middle finger and I saw red so I bumped him but it was barely a tap but he was all hysterical and threatened to call the cops and I was like "do it little guy! You go ahead and call the cops! Then I'll tell them I couldn't see your miniature toy car in front of me! And that's dangerous!"

Andy: Bee. Why is it that even your dreams you're causing problems?

Bee: What?? HE started it!

Andy: See you later and please don't "bump" into anybody!

Bee: We'll see . . .

Lucky for everybody involved, I encountered few ignorant drivers.

My actual birthday went without a hitch. I woke up, lived the whole day and then woke up the next day and the day after that and the day after that and the day after that… so I'm thinking I'm pretty much on my way to the next big birthday celebration.

I received money for my birthday from my In-laws and from Master Andy so I was able to hit the 6AM door buster sales on Saturday.

One of the things I bought was this awesome hat.

 

I put it on my head at the store and asked my partner in morning madness, AKA my mommy, how it looked and she said I looked beautiful! Like a movie star from the 50s! So I bought it and came home with my purchase and showed it to my drugged out hubby, he had a tooth pulled so he was riding the codeine high, and he mumbled something which I assumed was "you look fan-fucking-tabulous!" but I hear nothing but nice things about myself, so I was happy with my purchase.

Then. Then my heart broke because I put it on to show my sweet little niece Isabella and I innocently asked. "Do you like my new hat?"

And she paused and pinched her little face and said "It's different . . ."

When I asked what she meant she looked away and shrugged and I knew exactly what she meant.

I need a bigger forehead to pull off this hat!

Who wants to be a milonaire?

So I finally saw Slumdog Millionaire. I know I know. I am so late to the band wagon. Brian and I were probably the last 2 people on Earth to see it, I know he hasn’t seen it because he has an aversion to theater nachos, and now he’s all by himself on that ledge.

Anyway, it was a good movie. A little shocking but the concept was an original one so I liked it. The only thing is, when this movie first came out, they were making a big deal about the dances showcased in the movie. In fact, my niece Natalia performed a Slumdog dance at her school recital and I know it was a Slumdog dance because her teacher said it was a Slumdog dance. So I kept expecting musical dance numbers to entertain me throughout the movie but then it ended without a single dance!

Me: WTF?? Where’s the Bollywood routine??

Andy: Not every Indian movie is going to have a Bollywood routine, Bee.

Me: Um yeah they do! And the media promised me some dancing! I feel so cheated! Oh wait. There it is.

And the dance came on at the very end and I was very disappointed. In my opinion, they were showed up by a class of second graders in a small Chicago suburb but the movie was good so watch the movie for the movie and not the dance.

I also found out the Youtube people loved filming there kids doing spastic routines to the Jai Ho song. This was my favorite:

I don't dine on swine.

The other day (not sure which because I no longer keep track of weekdays), Milton, Glynda and I were talking about dinner meals we've had. I know! Interesting topics we explore here at Asylumland. I was talking about the Coq Au Vin Andy made for dinner (see big boob above) and Glynda was talking about the deli sandwich she had and then Milton was talking about the pork roast her husband made.

Milton: The pork roast was delicious but I had to keep drinking water all evening and I'm even parched today! I think it must be because pigs are saltier than all other animals, right?

You know that screeching record sound effect they do on the radio or TV when somebody says something so outrageous everything comes to a halt? Well, I heard that noise in my brain.

Glynda and I looked at each other and silently told each other to play along.

Me/Glynda: Saltier?

Milton: Well ham is salty and so is bacon and those come from pigs.

Me: Uh, yeah. They are saltier than other animals. I think it's because they lay in mud all the live long day.

Milton: Really? How does that affect the pig?

Me: Have you ever tasted dirt? [Milton shakes her head] Well dirt has these natural seasonings so it's like they're marinating until the day they're pork chops, or in your case, pork roasts.

Milton: Oh, I didn't know that. [taps her pen on her chin, I KNEW something awesome was coming!] Because ham and bacon are saltier, do they raise those pigs in a different type of dirt? Or maybe a different climate?

Me: I think so. I've heard New Mexico has really salty dirt so maybe the ham pigs are from there. I've even heard that people walk right up to the pigs and just take a bite  to determine their saltiness.

Milton [horrified]: That's cruel- [notices Glynda and I covering our faces to hide our giggles] hey! You're pulling my leg!

Me [laughing so hard tears are pooling on my third chin]: I'm sorry! I couldn't resist!

Milton: I should have known! [thinks] So where do you think the saltier pigs are really from?

Me [completely losing control]: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

Glynda: Pigs are NOT salty! The ham and bacon are cured that way!

Milton: Are you sure?

Me: Do you want to taste the dirt on my shoe to see if it’s salty enough to raise pigs here?? BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

 

And almost as if the pigs overheard our conversation: Pigs loose on Indiana Toll Road after semi overturns

My theory is that they were looking for a BBQ Sauce Mud Puddle. MMMMMMMM!

. . . which reminds me . . .

So, I went to get a hair cut about a month ago. I usually go to wacked-out-Freddie over in Chi-Town but I was lazy and it was hot and my finger was hurting so I went to the salon that's around the corner from my house instead.

I mean, even if they fucked up my hair and I wound up looking like Moe, it would still be a win-win because the place is literally around the corner from my house. No driving to a shady part of town, no traffic, no parking hassles since I'd walk, no gangstas wanting to cap my ass [Brian? That means shoot me], win-win.

I walked into the salon, my appointment was with Paulo (real name) and he turned out to be a bleached blond semi attractive gay dude (I say “semi” because he’d look better with his natural hair color of what I’m assuming is black because Paulo is Mexican). I was having second thoughts due to his self inflicted dye job but I desperately needed a cut so I decided to back burner my worries.

Paulo sat me at the hair washing station and proceeded with the small talk.

Paulo: You live around here?

Me: Around the corner.

Then BAM! His next question kicks me in the jaw!

Paulo [as he's massaging shampoo into my scalp] :You know we also do eyebrow waxing here?

Me [hands immediately going to cover my eyebrows]: Uh, why do you ask? Are my eyebrows that bad??

Paulo: [5 seconds of silence] Nooooo. I was just letting you know.

So I sat in the shampooing chair, sobbing inside, wondering if I should let judgment-y Paulo do my brows. I was thisclose to saying yes but reason won out.

Me to myself "How about you let him do your hair first? If he fucks that up, you can wear a hat. If he fucks up your eyebrows, do you really want to wear an eyebrow wig? . . . Again?"

Me: You know, lets focus on my hair this first visit and we'll see how that goes?

Paulo: Okay.

Silence. Sweet sweet silence. Then another *BAM!*

Paulo [as he is now cutting my hair]: How many kids do you have?

Me [sweating]: Uh, none.

Paulo: You married?

Me [Holy shit! What’s with all the personal questions!]: Yep. 9 years.

Paulo: Is your husband a lot older than you?

Me [wondering if a cap in the ass hurts as much as this interrogation]: Nooo, he's actually 4 years younger than I am.

Paulo: How old are you? 30?

I ♥ Paulo!!

Me: 37. [15 more days until the big THREE EIGHT]

Paulo [his scissors making question marks in my hair]: Then why no kids?

I HATE PAULO!

Me: We decided not to have any---

Paulo [stops cutting, looks at my reflection and I wonder if I accidentally sat on a puppy]: Why??

Me: ::sigh:: Because we didn't think we could handle the responsibility. Besides I have 3 nieces and a nephew. We are set in the kids in our lives department.

Paulo: Is your husband Mexican too?

Me: No, he's a white boy.

Paulo: Ohhhh.

And his questions stopped. And my questions started.

Me: Why does that matter?

Paulo: You know Hispanic men. They want kids kids kids all the time. White guys not so much. A Mexican man would have made you have kids. You like your hair?

Me: Yes but, so we’re clear and if I become a regular you need to know this about me, no man makes me do anything. Well, unless he’s paying but that’s another story.

I can see from the look on his face he is beginning to think I’m weird. Me?

He did a good job on my hair. My only complaint (other than the assumption that boundaries are something we read about in fairy tales) is that he didn't cut my bangs short enough. So. Being the impulsive shit brain I am, I took the chicken-butcher scissors to myself again last night. I always forget it's a bad idea until the next day when I try to style it and I wind up looking like a transvestite who was attacked by an epileptic Hobo with pruning shears.

Sigh.

Today I came into work with my mini bangs brushed to the side and my hair up. Each time I went to the bathroom, I'd rearrange my hair to look less Betty Page on crack but it kept backfiring. Finally, when I noticed it looked like I was trying to rock a mullet, I gave up and decided to just stop looking in mirrors for the next 3 weeks. Who cares if I put my lipstick on my chin?

♫♪ Not me cuz I can’t see it! ♫♪

Also, maybe I should invest in actual hair stylist scissors and retire the chicken-butcher shears?

The tragic day Milton lost her trusty, thick, finger cushion-y, red pen. [TAN TAN TAN!]

Yes, the situation was as dire as the TAN TAN TAN implies.

The morning started like every other morning, you know, with me leaving a trail of tears to my desk? There were no ominous signs of things to come. There hadn't been a blood moon the night before. No dead crows on my desk. Nothing to tell me that I was in for a day in hell.

At about 10:30, I noticed Milton acting *unusually* erratic and chicken-y (that's when you move your head from side to side in a robotic fashion) so I innocently asked "everything okay?"

And I wished I hadn't.

Milton: I can't find my red pen. I had it here just a minute ago. [stops to stare out her window, I'm assuming she was calculating something really complicated that no ordinary short person could ever understand] I had it when I went to talk to Glynda but it never left my hand.

Still Milton: Then I went to the bathroom but I didn't take it in there with me. I left it in the kitchen. When I came out of the bathroom, I know I grabbed it because I also had some crackers and I was balancing those along with the pen, my water and a chart.

And she continues: Then I stopped to talk to Toto because I liked her cardigan. She told me she got it last season for- [at this point, I blanked out so I'm not sure what else Toto and she discussed regarding last season's fashions].

On and on she goes: Then Glynda came and gave me the mail while I was still talking to Toto. I put down all my stuff so that I may reorganize everything and carry it all more efficiently.

At this point I can see stars spinning around my head.

Rambling Milton: I put the mail on top of the chart and stuffed it under my left arm. I held my water in my left hand and the crackers and pen in my right. I went to the front desk to relieve CL for a potty break. I put my stuff down again, drank some water, ate a couple of crackers and made notes in the chart with my red pen. [shows me chart with red penned notes]

The adventure? It continues: When CL came back, I came back to my desk where I arranged my water and crackers to my right and the chart, mail, pen to my left. 

Milton [looks at me suspiciously]: I went to grab a notepad and when I got back to my desk, my pen was missing.I've spent an hour looking for it and retraced my steps multiple times with no luck. [sighs and shrugs] I can't figure it out!

Me [after clearing my throat to remove the dust and cobwebs]: Can you just get another pen?

Milton [obviously insulted]: This was a special pen! It was thick and had a special finger cushion! I NEED THAT ONE!

Me: Eh, okay? Did you alert everyone so they could be on the look out?

Milton: No! It has to be right here! I just haven’t looked under the right pile of papers! Or maybe it rolled under my desk!

Me: Listen, we can help you look for it. Just stop freaking out.

Milton [looks around wildly]: It can’t have disappeared! I need it to make my notes!

Me: Let me just--

Just then, I was interrupted by Glynda walking into the office.

Glynda: Here you go, Milton, you left your pen at my table. [walks back out of the room]

Milton: But. . . What? How? [moves around the office all herky jerky]

Me: ::sigh:: Don't try to figure it out. Just be happy you have your pen back. [but I knew deep deep down she would not stop talking until she made sense of it in her head]

Milton: This can't be my pen! I had my pen everywhere I went! No! This isn't right! [starts mumbling] I made all these notes with a red pen! Was it my red pen? Did I steal someone’s pen...

And on and on and on!

Pens, highlighters, staples create nothing but drama in this freaking office.

Mug Shots

Was today one of those days that had you responding "fuck off!" even when someone was just saying "good morning!"?

No? Was it just me? I must be getting less tolerant in my old age. And so begins my moaning about turning another year older in approximately 31 days!

Anyway.

Sunday was my 5th Anniversary at Arkham Asylum. I remember when I first started here, at the young whipper snapper age of 32 (although soon to be 33), and was still a Bambi (naive with balancing issues) with hopes and dreams and a small coffee cup. After a couple of years, I bought a bigger cup because my escapes from my desk for coffee refills became less and less frequent.

This year, to celebrate the demise of my sense of humor when it comes to the Asylum, I graduated to an Andre the giant sized cup. I stopped kidding myself about being able to leave my desk. Ever.

I know what you're thinking, doesn't this mean more potty breaks? I won't tell anyone if you don't!

Of course this also means I am celebrating 5 years of playing "Fetch OZ's sandwich" which is always nice. Especially because one of my joys in life is walking across a vacant lot, side stepping dog poop landmines, in 4 inch heels for a meatball sandwich that somebody else is going to eat.

Yay me!

And if I happen to be at lunch when his majesty wants *HIS* lunch? Well, Glynda and her CSI skills track my ass down.

Glynda [walks into my office doesn't see me so she asks Milton]: Where's Bee?

Milton: Lunch.

Glynda: I was just in the lunchroom and she's not in there but I noticed the toaster is still warm.

Milton: Maybe she stepped out?

Glynda: But her purse is still here. [points at my chair where I place my purse and then swivel it to face the wall so that I don't get burglared by criminal patients]

Milton [starts fidgeting because now she's faced with a puzzle she cannot solve (no, I wasn't there to see it happen but I know my Milton)]: Um well maybe she walked to the gas station/Subway.

Glynda [dusts my area with special tracking powder]: Her car keys were sitting on this ledge and now they’re gone.

Milton: I-I-I don't know where she could be! [cries]

Glynda [she leaves the business office and is hot on my trail]: The foot pattern in the kitchen indicates she headed to the back door. Tiny miniscule crumbs tell me she left the building. This twig that was lying facing the handicap parking spot is now broken in half with the longer piece pointing east. Aha! She's eating her toasted sandwich in her car!

And then I heard a knock on my car window so I looked up and there, in her 4 foot 9 inch flashy white uniform, stood Glynda.

Glynda: OZ needs a meatball sandwich with cheese and 5 onion slices right now.

Yeah, she must still believe in Santa Claus if she thinks I'm gonna jump like a trained poodle and rush over to fetch his sandwich before I've had my lunch.

Me: Did you bring me money?

Glynda: Uh, no but Milton can get it for you.

Me: Okay, I've got another 15 minutes. I'm sure OZ won't die of starvation before then.

Glynda: Will you go right now if I bring you the money.

Me: No.

Glynda: I'll tell him you're on your way anyway. No sense in upsetting him.

And she waited for me to respond but my brain had already dismissed her.

In the amount of time it took her to track me down, she could have walked over to get his damn sandwich but I guess it wouldn't have tasted as good.

One more year of this silliness before I'm fully vested in our retirement fund!

Andyisms:

We spent the weekend at my in-laws house and woke up before sunrise on Sunday morning. As I was getting ready to go outside so that I could witness the sunrise, I asked Andy if he was going to come outside with me and his response was classic Andy:

"Well of course you sappy bastard!"

He makes my heart SOAR!

Sometimes, my iPod even surprises me.

The compromises one makes in one's marriage will determine how well you sleep at night.

Hey, what's up? How've you been? You know what? Before you answer, let me tell you about last night. Not that I don't care about what you've been up to but this here blog is called "Bee's Musings" not "Everybody tell Bee about their lives because she really cares only she doesn't but she'll pretend to listen because she's all about being polite and shit." that title would NOT fit on the header thingie. So don't be rude and interrupt me, m'mkay?

For the past week and a half I have been completely obsessed and utterly hypnotized by a show called Dexter. There is something about watching a seemingly average, mild mannered man turn into a butchering monster and the only difference in his appearance are the shadows on his face. I have to admit I have a little bit of a crush on him.

   

No, I have a huge GINORMOUS crush on him. I know he's a killer and all but I know I'd be safe. After all, I'm not too much of a bad person. He wouldn't harm me just because I love making fun of people. Words don't kill people, Dexter does.

Throughout my Dexter obsession, Andy has been a trooper and just rolled his eyes every once in a while when I've dreamily sighed after Dexter has dismembered yet another bad guy. We went through the first season pretty quickly and I put the second season in our Netflix Queue faster than you can say "chainsaw" but Andy had some conditions before I could watch the next season.

Well, just ONE condition actually. I had to give in so that I could got back to my Dexter.

His condition? That we watch the movie he put on our Nextflix Queue. A movie called Bitch Slap.

This is straight from IMBD:

When three curvaceous babes, stripper Trixe, business executive Hel, and the feisty ex-con Camero, arrive at a desert hideaway to steal a stash of diamonds from an underworld kingpin, things quickly spiral out of control. Allegiances are switched, truths are revealed, criminals are unmasked and nothing is quite what it seems as the fate of the world is precariously balanced among this trio of sexy femmes fatales. Written by Anonymous (why are you hiding you horn dog?)

Well. Erm. Okay?

Bee: Uh, where did you hear about this movie?

Andy [looks away]: Uhm, I watch a lot of trailers so this was one of them and it just looked... INTERESTING Yeah! That's it! It's an action adventure film and you know how I love "action" and "adventure"!

Bee: Mmmmhm. [stares at him with her Dexter starved eyes and then shrugs] put it on. No, wait. Let me get my ice cream [because ice cream washes away all the dirty].

So we sit down and the first scene is this:

 

And then the girls are diggin by moving one grain of sand at a time while their boobies nearly spill out of their tops.

(left to right: Hel, Trixie, Camero)

Well damn! They should come help me dig my flower beds.

All that digging is making them hot, though, so they decide to cool off with a water fight. While their boobies nearly spill out of their tops.

But then the girls get mad at each other because one makes out with the other so they fight! While their boobies nearly spill out of their tops.

Sadly, one dies (sorry if I ruined part of the movie for you!). While her boobies nearly spill out of her top.

(I think this was Andy's favorite.)

I won't ruin the end for you because I don't want you to track me down just so you can Bitch Slap me so I'll just share some of my favorite quotes from the movie:

"Camero: I'm gonna booty-bang bitch slap your fucking ass until you're just this side of salvage. Then I'm gonna ram-ride girly's show tits asunder before I plow both of you bitches under!" --(damn, girlfriend! Do you eat cheese with that mouth?)

"Camero: Fun's over with, Gage. Next stop, brown town." --(ouchie!)

"Trixie: We read that we ought to forgive our enemies; but we do not read..." --(she's the smurt one)

"Trixie: Oh, my God. You're a wicked-cool covert operative masquerading as a sex-toy tycoon?
Hel: Mm-hmm. My mission was retrieve that... a weaponized vial of synthetic nano-swarm that Gage hijacked from a CIA convoy. It's filled with trillions of self-replicating robo-viruses that latch onto any living organism and suck the carbon out... 'til you, me, even the cockroaches are nothing more than gray goo" --(glad she's on our side!)

"Gage: [to Trixie] You take orders better than a Bangkok bum boy." --(nuff said)

When it ended, I let Andy know that the video quality wasn't bad for a B-movie and he just shrugged. I think he was upset because none of their boobies actually spilled out of their tops.

Oh well! On to Dexter, shirtless!

 

"Camero: The bitch is back!" --(Well, said my busty friend! Well said!)

It was late, I couldn't sleep and then I started hallucinating.

I saw the most ridiculous commercial!

It turns out there is a company out there that thinks we are all a bunch of morons. They are marketing a ball that they say gives you the illusion that it is defying gravity!

It seems to be a metal(looking) ball inside of a clear ball so it tricks the eye and your brain thinks "Ooh! Look pretty ball floating!"

Pfft! They're not fooling anybody! Especially not someone like me who can...

::suspenseful music::

FLOAT THINGS FOR REAL!

 

Follow me and watch while I float a cup over my lovely assistant Andy's hand!

So now you're thinking "Well, of course you can float a plastic cup! It's very light, dontcha know!" okay you doubting Thomas!

Here we have me floating a bottle over lovely Andy's hand. A bottle with WATER still in it!

But then my lovely assistant was called into battle so I quickly had to hire my mommy, we like to keep it all in the family, to be his stand in.

Voila! Floating flyswatter!

Last but not least,

I present,

FLOATING RED WATCH!

Now you are in awe and very impressed.

Yep. I'm oh so very talented. I think I inherited the talent from my great great aunt Ms. Wicked Witch.

But wait! Since I really like you guys, I'll show you how to amaze your friends and family! That's right! All you need to do is send 3 payments of $49.99 and you will be a floating sensation!

Act now operators are standing by!

"Bee n' Andy" Heatwave!

My brain is currently full of hairy sacks. I'll be back after I harvest them. Hopefully Friday.

Why am I always forgetting my pants (or *trousers* in Brian-speak)??

I received an email* the other day asking about our new living arrangements with my brother-in-law because I haven't talked about it at all. This person was wondering how it was going and if I was ready to join a traveling circus yet. The short answer to that is *yes* and the long answer is ohmylordwhatdidwegetourselvesinto!
 
Honestly, it's been a difficult adjustment. Our whole lives have changed dramatically and I have to admit to Andy and I arguing a lot more than we used to because we no longer have the buffer his dungeon offered.
 
Sometimes, I feel like I'm living in a boy's locker room because OMG why do I have to scrub the tub so often?? Other times I feel like I've regressed into my teen years where I would have to ask my brothers and sister not to wear my clothes (I had both guy and girl clothes) or to pick up after themselves. Or when they would deny doing something even though they were the only ones in the house at the time. Grrrr! Okay, deep breaths!
 
I don't know if it's the fact that I'm old and set in my ways and feel like I've worked hard all my life and all I want to do at the grand old age of 37 is go home to my obnoxious mutts and veg in front of the TV without having to worry about watching a girlie show in the presence of 2 dudes. The last thing I want to do is surf through the channels looking for bisexual programming. Uh, and by that I think I meant unisex? As in for both genders? I don't know what it's called so which ever one fits the situation, that's what I meant.
 
I think the hardest thing I've had to adapt to is the lack of privacy. I no longer have the luxury of having the bathroom door open while I stand in my underpants drying my hair after I take a shower. I can no longer change into my jammies and lounge in front of the TV before bedtime because my jammies no longer consist of sweats and a t-shirt.
 
 
 
Yeah, I look exactly like that. 
 
As some of you may remember, I am not an early riser. I'm used to just rolling out of bed and WHILST showering deciding what I'm going to wear. After my shower I would wrap myself up in a towel and drip drip back into my bedroom to get my clothes. Now it has all changed. Now I have to make up my mind before my shower (who can think clearly seconds after waking up? If I mismatch my tanks and cardigans, I shouldn't be penalized!) and then I have to take my clothes into the bathroom with me.

I guess it wouldn't be too big of a deal if I didn't keep forgetting to bring in my pants! I mean, it's not like I just started dressing myself yesterday! I've been doing it since I was about 11 or 15 so it's been a few years but my brain goes into pause and as I'm getting ready to exit the bathroom, after I've done make up and hair, I think to myself "hmmm something is missing but I can't quite put my finger on it!" as I pat my naked thigh "I know I'm forgetting something but what can it be??" as I admire my freshly shaved legs "so many things I have to keep track of. . ." as I admire my fancy shoes "why did I think these pants would be too short for these shoes? Oh wait! I'm not wearing any pants!" and then I grab my towel and wrap it around my lower half and I carefully open the bathroom door, peek out to make sure my BIL is still in his room and then make a mad dash for my bedroom and the safety of my pants.

He's usually not up that early so we're not always in danger (I say we because it would be a very bad bad experience for all involved) of witnessing my pantless mad dash to my room but there was that one time he got up early to go to Great America, lucky for me, I had remembered the pants so when I opened the bathroom door and heard "hey, Bee" I only squealed a little from the shock. Okay, I also dropped my phone which made scream but at least I was fully clothed!
 
Andy and I are trying to remain chill (that's young people speak for *cool*) because we know his brother is also stressing. He's used to peace and quiet while my house is anything but. He's used to a well stocked fridge while mine is stocked with beverages and lunch meat. He's used to a well organized house where mine is chaotic and cluttery. I have been known to accidentally store my flashlight (or torch, Brian) in the fridge...

Anyway, we're gonna keep working on... winning the lottery. In the meantime, I'm gonna stock my cabinet with Nyquil.  
 
*Thank you all for the emails you send me. I try to respond as I get them and if I don't you can blame it on 2 things. The fact that my AT&T guy, Big Tex, hasn't fixed the email feature on my iphone 4 and the fact that evil spam elves are diverting a lot of my emails to my spam folder against my will.

Also, some of you should have blogs because you are very funny! I'm looking at you, KJAX! Cracked me up!

"Bee n' Andy: Shoe Sale"

I am so gender confused!

I was reviewing my blog stats the other day because the searches that land people on my blog always amuse me. For some reason, there are a bunch of people obsessed with *googly eyes*! Anyway, I came across somebody, a spam site I think, linking to me via a post called "50 Best Blogs for Marriage Advice".

I was like "Oh cool! Somebody actually listens to my backwards advice! Someone will probably live happily ever sometimes based on all the little nuggets I post about my marriage! It feels so good to be able to inspire people-- wait what??" and my ego bubble burst!

" 9. Bee’s Musings : Written by a quirky man who lives in a Chicago suburb, this blog gives an inside look at one man’s view on the opposite sex and their views on men. Don’t be surprised if things get a little wacky!" 

Que? Me? A MAN??

I mean, I know I'm tougher than most men and can basically whoop ninja ass but I know for a fact I'm a girl!

I think?

I do remember getting all that spam about making my penis bigger...

And I still get these in my inbox.

Recommended for men of all ages‎ - Better lovemaking does not have to come at a crazy price

Achieve greater strength and girth‎ - Your lovemaking ability decides the chicks you can get

When no is a dirty word‎ - Love your pecker, and make your pecker love more and she will love you

She will fondle your nerve endings‎ - With my improved stamina, i could take her on all night long

Sex will never be the same again‎ - Look, it really works, you should try these organ enhancement organic pills

::sigh:: Spammers can't be wrong! Maybe my mom should sue the doctor that told her I was a girl? To think of all the money she could have saved on all those frufru dresses she bought me. Will I have to learn to like sports? And what about my shoes?

My pretty pretty shoes!

 

Will they still fit me if I'm a man?

I think I need a nap.

Nut crackers!

Andy and I went to Costco on Sunday to restock our toilet paper stash and grab another 20 pound bag of Chihuahua cheese when we walked by this display.

That right there is a Nutcracker display. Wait, I need to repeat that. THAT RIGHT THERE IS A NUTCRACKER DISPLAY! As in the toy soldiers that guard the Christmas tree from rabid squirrels during the Christmas season. The Christmas season that is usually in December!

Sunday was August 22! Who needs to start stocking up on Nutcrackers while the sun is still burning the grass and drying the rivers?

...

I should go back and buy 2.

And now, just for you jean knee, some Milton!

So, as some of you may know, Milton is Arkham Asylum's *female* accountant (I'm pointing out that she's female because I gave her a male name and people always call her *he* or *him* and she's not either). As a person, I like her very much and she's been to my house and we've done yard sales and also skipped hand in hand through a field of daisies. Sometimes, however, she has me questioning God's plan.

Anyway, tomorrow (or if you're reading this on Friday it's today and if you're reading this 6 months from now it was 8/20 and if you're reading this in the future, pick me out the winning lottery numbers) is her birthday so as is tradition here in the Asylum, she had to bring her cake in on Thursday (because everything is celebrated on Thursday due to the fact that OZ is in surgery and therefore does not make an appearance).

We prepared the cake by lighting the candles and then waited for her to walk into the kitchen so we could *surprise* her with the cake she brought in. When we saw her shadow rounding the corner, we yelled out "surprise" and sang Happy Birthday (I did a little dance for her too. Luckily there is no video evidence of this tomfoolery!) and then we waited patiently while she cut the cake.

Well, "waited patiently" may be exaggerating a bit because the cutting of the cake took a FREAKIN life of its own!

Please, come in and observe.

Milton [as she sticks knife in cake]: Oh dear! I went slightly off center.

Me, Cowardly Lion, Scarecrow, Toto (and the new addition to the team, uh, we'll call her Lucy and I'll tell you about her another time)(hopefully): ::unbelieving stare::

Milton: I think I will cut it in 4 pieces first and then divide it from there. [stands back to take a better look, in the meantime, the knife is at a 789 degree angle, in the cake]

Me: I don't care if my piece is lopsided. I'll just eat it with my head tilted at an angle so that will even it out.

Milton [squinting, looking for imaginary lines]: No, I'll slide the knife a little to the right and it should be fine. [slides knife and stands back again to inspect the results][I AM NOT EVEN MAKING THIS SHIT UP!]

Me [I put my hand on the knife's handle]: Uhm, how about I just cut the cake so we can get on with the eating?? I NEED SUGAR! [okay, I probably didn't need it because I was already all buzzed up on the 'feine ]

Milton [slaps my hand away]: Hey! At least I'm not doing what I do at home!

Me: I'm afraid to ask . . .

Milton [looks at me and adjusts her glasses]: I use a tape measure, of course!

Me, Cowardly Lion, Scarecrow, Toto and Lucy: ::unbelieving stare, mouth wide open::

Milton [looks at us with a serious smile]: Who wants the first symmetrical piece?

Bee takes you back in time again but this time, she asks that you keep your clothes on!

So, since I obviously missed posting about some uber important happenings in my life, which I'm sure you guys are bummed out about [winky face], I will have a new series called "Bee Muses Flashback Edition" and when you see that, I want you to picture that weird wave they do on a TV sitcom when the characters scrunch up their face to simulate deep thought or a memory sequence and then they make the screen go all wavy and they play that harp music. Got it? Good!

So here is the first installment:

*Dorooroodorooroodorooroo (Wayne's World! Picture Wayne's World!)*

At the beginning of time, the powers that be at Arkham Asylum instituted Treat Day and designated Thursday as the day to fill the tiny kitchenette with saturated fat. Mmmmm!

For over 20 years women would complain about what some people brought and practically dry hump others that brought their favorite homemade goodies (I'm glad I was always in the other category!) For over 20 years, every Thursday, one unlucky woman would be in charge of making all the other dissatisfied women happy by bringing in cupcakes, cheese, crackers, spreads, chips, peanuts, cakes, dips and wretched, awful fruits and veggies (that was me and let me tell you that I would get hell for daring to eat healthy!). Religiously, every Thursday, after morning meeting, there would be a shuffle to the kitchenette and ladies would announce their verdict on how the poor lost soul fared on her day. Every Thursday, that is, until a certain shawty decided she had had enough. It was time to break this unhealthy tradition of woman bashing and unhealthy fat consumption. That woman, ladies and gents (I had originally typed *ladies IN gents* because that is where my mind is dontcha know?), was yours truly!

[hold for applause]

I gathered my strength because I knew this battle would be another one for the Arkham Archives and brought up the subject at morning meeting.

"Ladies, on this great day in April, I propose we no longer have a weekly treat day.

--loud murmur interruption-

Let me finish. I ask that we only have treat day once a month as supposed to on a weekly basis.

--gasps!-

Hear me out. Now that PD has retired, Milton has become obsessed with the amount of times she has to be Treat Marm per year.

--Milton: Well, I. Well. Yes. I. Too many times. Ratio versus calculus and variable.

I personally am sick and tired of hearing about it. What say you, kind and beautiful womenfolk?"

SILENCE

[I clear my throat] "Okay, if not once a month how about not at all?"

--Mutterings were heard: "Heathen! Selfish! Nice hair!"

[I gather my whacking stick] "Erm, so, yay or nay?"

 
Glynda: I leave it for the majority to rule.

Out, in the far far distance, I see one hand slowly rise. Milton! I knew you'd come through for me buddy! Then a second hand pops up. CL! I knew you'd jump on my wagon because I control your pee breaks! Then, one last hand makes its way up (well, it's really 2 hands but I count SC and Toto as one because they lovingly share one brain) (what? I'm not mean! I said *lovingly!) and I breathe a sigh of relief and lower my whacking stick.

So, after 20-something years, one woman has done what no one else has had the chocolate balls to do. I have successfully eliminated weekly treat day!! Woohoo!

::confetti!!::

Yep. I have proved that if I set my mind on it, I can accomplish anything! Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm trying to turn my electric bill into money and Tazz into a maid.