. . . 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?

Fatty Fatty Bo Batty- Goodbye My Chubbos!

Okay so I have some news.

In the next few months I will be on a quest to lose the flab that sits  next to me on trains, planes, cars, bars, chairs, bears uh everywhere?

Yes, I know I've said it a few hundred times before but this time it's serious because there's MONEY involved!

My brothers Sergio and Dan along with my sister Nancy, Andy and I are participating in a friendly wager to see who can lose the biggest amount of human grease (would you like some bacon with your breakfast?) in 6 months.

The winner (ME) will walk away with 400 American dollars. That's almost enough to buy a small country!

I know you're used to me being meaty and jolly and now you're selfishly thinking I'll change and I'll become bitter (when I tried to type *bitter* it came out as - bUtter-which makes sense because I'd love me a stick of butter covered  in sugar right about now! ... kidding... maybe) and humorless because I will always be hungry but you really have to stop thinking of yourselves! Besides, I don't think my sense of humor will disappear with my body fat. It might even help with honing it because it may help my delusions become clearer. Maybe Ill be more focused. Isn't that how Ghandi was able to achieve inner peace?

My goal is to lose 30 pounds in 6 months (hopefully not all in my boobs) and with my winnings buy a new wardrobe. I know you think 400 smackers may not get me far but, since I'll be a starving waif consisting of just decaying bones, all the clothes I'm going to buy will be from my former slutty clothes supplier, Rave. Their motto is "If people can't see the color of your underwear, you didn't buy your clothes here." ::sigh:: Rave, how I miss you!

Anyway, this is one contest where I can't cheat. Well maybe I can. You see, Andy and I may have gone a little overboard in the over stuffing ourselves before the official weigh in at 11ish AM on Sunday morning. We will have breakfast, drink a lot of liquids and not go to the bathroom until after we are weighed.

Andy, the string bean, is taking this very seriously (he downloaded and Ap for his iPhone that tells him exactly how many calories are going into my mouth)(that's what she said!)(are we done doing that?) so he decided to bake a cake as a goodbye to all pastries.

(my contribution were the nuts)

So yeah, in 6 months I may be so skinny, they'll think I gave birth... to myself only a thinner version. Does that make any sense or am I just sleepy?

P.S.

I went to my hairdresser, Freddy- El Monta Hombres (that's what he calls himself)(that means he mounts men), today and he asked "how do you want it" and I stopped and thought about it in horror for a minute but then I realized he meant my hair so I said "Do whatever you want" and that obviously means "please remove all of my hair from my head" because I am now sporting  what he called a "a hair cut all yuppie women are getting and you look white so it'll fit your face" the jury is still out and I just realized I now have no protection for my neck when winter hits. That makes me a little sad but mostly cold.

(It's all gone! ::whimper::)(That's my chin, not my nose. Andy was like "wow, you're nose looks huge in this picture!" and after he regained consciousness, I let him know I'd clear it up for everybody so that they wouldn't make the same mistake)(also, we were at the food court in a mall after we decided to have a romantic day of getting haircuts for Andy, Tazz and myself then taking my car for emissions testing and stopping for a walk down memory lane at a mall we used to walk through everyday after work.)(eat your heart out Michael Buble!)

 

Maybe I'll just have to rock this look:

Nah. It looks like my head is hibernating. 

 

Now I go sleepy.

You know, there is a lot to be said for the couple that trusts each other implicitly with all things sacred. Even though you panic and cry the whole time.

Did I forget to mention Andy dyed my hair the weekend of my reunion??

Let me take you back to Saturday day of the lord August 22, 2009.

I was looking at my hair in the mirror and wondering how it was possible that the maroon/red highlight I paid $150 for only lasted 3 weeks leaving behind a brassy orangey pukey color. I made the decision that I would NOT go to my reunion looking like the Hamburglar's less fortunate sister. I looked through my cabinets and found an awesome dye I had from last year.

Here was my dilemma. I have never dyed my own hair. Or anyone else's for that matter. I went to the only other person who was home, ready to plead my case.

Bee: Will you dye my hair?

Andy [without looking away from the computer (before it went Kapluey)]: Sure.

Ahh that is love for you right there! Your heart is feeling all warm and fuzzy...

Until.

Until minuets later. When you're frantically squirming because you're sure he is applying the dye incorrectly and he's patting your head with his big paws, massaging the dye so hard you're sure you're scalp looks like this:

Bee: Dude! You're taking too long in one spot! Don't swirl my hair like that because it'll get tangled! It's not lathering! My hair doesn't even feel wet!

Andy: Settle down! It's fine! Bee! It's fine!!!

He squirted another miniscule drop of dye on the same spot he'd been working for 10 minutes and then shoved my head this way and that with his ginormas panda hands all the while I was stomping my feet because I knew my new nickname would be Streaky Sheila.

Andy: Stop fidgeting you big baby!

Bee: No! No! Stop! You're going to mess up my hair! Oh lord oh lord oh lord!!

Andy [jumping up and down]: You're freaking me out!

Bee [stands up]: Just give me the bottle! Give me the bottle!! I'll finish it! Oh man! I am so screwed holy crap!

We walk to the bathroom.

Andy [frenzied]: What was I doing wrong? I followed the instructions!

Bee: This should be quick Andy! It's not your fault, I blame myself!

Both of us hopping. I'm serious.

Andy [pacing]: Don't ask me next time okay?? Just don't!

Bee: No way am I going to this reunion. No way!

And of course the love I mentioned earlier turns to culpability.

Bee: If you had only applied the color to my hair and not my scalp, I wouldn't be freaking out!

Andy: If you wouldn't leave things to the last minute we wouldn't be having these issues! What do I know about dying hair?

Bee: Get out of the bathroom!! Get out get out!!

Andy: JERK!!

As I'm hysterically applying the rest of the dye and almost passing out from the noxious fumes, I can't decide if I'm angry at Andy or not. On the one hand he was trying to help and on the other hand he was too obstinate to relinquish control once I told him to stop.

I paced for 25 minutes and then took a shower to wash the dye off. As I was brushing my hair later, I couldn't bring myself to look in a mirror. Logically I knew it couldn't be that bad because the hairdresser dyed my hair black and nothing will alter black unless you bleach it out so I guess I don't know why I was in near tears. Lucky for me, everything turned out okay. My hair didn't fall out and it looked awesome. 

Stay tuned for the illustrated version on Sunday.

This post is brought to you by...*

I love watching commercials. I know that may not be a popular thing to say in this day of TiVos and DVRs but I enjoy a well crafted attempt to hypnotize me into obesity/alcoholism/gambling/promiscuity.

One of my favorite commercials right now is the one for Schick Quattro. I hope the creative minds behind this idea are, at this very moment, on a boat sipping champagne in St. Tropez.

It is seriously one of the best commercials I have ever seen. Take a look:

The first time I saw it, I laughed my ass off while Andy looked at me in confusion.

Bee: Don't you get it?

Andy: It's a commercial about a razor, so?

Bee: Do you see what's happening to the bushes as the women walk by them?

I rewind it so he can see the bushes.

Andy: I don't get it.

Bee: Good lord man! The woman walks by the bush and then it morphs into a more manicured shape!

Andy: ...?

Bee: Bush bush BUSH!! [gestures wildly]

Andy: Oh BUSH!! [nods and points]

::sigh:: I married an innocent!

Anyway, the reason I think this commercial is genius is because they don't give you specifics and yet they leave nothing to the imagination... without being tacky. And I know tacky!

In the name of blogscience, I will test out what the commercial advertises and walk in front of a bush.

Before:

After:

Ummmm, uh-oh?

*Alternate title "One in the hand is worth 2 in the bush"

Well shiver me timbers and blow me down! (That Popeye was such a perv!)

Sometimes things happen that make you wonder how you'll be able to find an ounce of humor in that specific situation.

You sit at your desk and you cock your head to the side thinking “well, maybe this is one of those ‘life lessons everyone is always blathering on about” then you shift in your chair because the slight unevenness of the floor is making you lopsided and you really need to brood over the recent events. Being distracted by one butt cheek being higher than the other is unacceptable.

After you adjust your sitting position and have a sip of your water, which is now lukewarm because you were too distracted to drink it before, you go back to wondering about life’s injustices.

“Maybe I did something horrible and Karma wanted me to repent for my behavior towards my fellow men/women?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have added those few drops of dish washing soap in the office toilet bowl just to see what fun would ensue?” (All I have to say is BWAHAHAHAHA!!!)

“Maybe I should take Milton seriously when she tells me she tip-toes throw muddy spots when she’s walking to work so as not to create back-splash that will ruin her pants, you know, instead of laughing my ass off?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have sent a picture of someone I know to my friends and family saying ‘If Pedro from Napoleon Dynamite and Napoleon’s uncle had a baby he would look just like this guy!’?”

“Maybe I should have let my Andy have that last slice of pizza?”

As these things are forming tiny thought bubbles over your head, you realize you have to shift again because the chair has rolled ever so slightly to the divot on the left.

You sadly re-examine your life and wonder if it is finally time for you to change your ways. Yep. Karma is telling you that you must look within/into/onto/over yourself because your evil ways will no longer be tolerated and you will suffer all sorts of repercussions for your actions!

After all, what other rational explanation could there be for your mom having an iPhone before you do?

(That contraption is a tortilla maker because my mom rocks!)

And to top it off, you call your spouse and give him the opportunity to be a part of your one person pity party and instead he... or SHE asks how much money you have saved from your allowance to buy your own and when you say $60 they laugh in your ear and suggest you look into toe waxing as a part time job then bites your head off because you’re bothering him eh or HER at work. Granted you’ve done the same to him-her but it’s cute when you do it. His refusal to provide at least an ounce of sympathy has you planning how to best hurt him er, you know, HER when they get home. Then you stop your thoughts in their tracks because you realize this is how your bad karma begins! So really it’s not your fault because there is obviously no way you can control people provoking you into being bad.

Damn you karma and your tunnel vision!!

... ... What were we talking about?

Anyway, here are a couple of pictures of my hair. The pictures do not do the color justice.

Please excuse my puffy face. It was early in the morning, salt, water retention, hangover, you know.

The color this time around is more burgundy than red which is awesome!

This weekend, I learned my family thinks I'm mentally incapable of doing things on my own and also, nuns can seem to sense the evil in me. Nuns and babies.

Last Friday I went to the same stylist who gave me the red highlights last year and had him do them again. This time I went alone since Crazy Ez had gone the day before. I didn’t remember exactly where the place was but the directions didn’t look too complicated so I embarked on my voyage with a falalala in my heart and mapquest on my lap.

The day before my adventure, my mom had said she would come with me, when I told her the process took 3-4 hours she gulped and hesitated. I told her she didn’t have to come with and then she said she didn’t feel right letting me go by myself.

Me:
Uh, mom? I am 36 years old. In the eyes of the law, I can venture out without an adult.  

Mom:
I know but I’d feel guilty not knowing if you were okay.

Me:
You and Nancy travel all over the place by yourselves! Why is it a big deal for me to go somewhere on my own?

Mom:
I don’t know, it just is.

Then Andy.

Andy:
Your mom isn’t going with you? You are going alone? BY YOURSELF?

Bee:
Cheese n crackers people! I was walking home from work alone, late at night, in the mean streets of Chicago before any of you even knew what danger was! Driving to a suburb in broad freakin daylight should not be a problem!

Apparently my family gets nervous when I'm left to my own devices. They had me feeling like the mentally ill family member who can't be trusted with scissors because I would probably find a trampoline and jump around until I stabbed my neck. That is insulting beyond description. Sure it took me about ten loop-dee-loops to find the place and I kept passing it up but at least I got there! It was kinda funny because I had my sister and Big Tex on the phone looking up my location and I decided to pull into a strip mall to wait for further instructions when I noticed the big sign for the Beauty Shop. I stumbled upon the joint all accidental-like.

My hair looks awesome by the way.

That same day, over dinner, my mom shared another missing puzzle piece.

When I was 15 and UNRULY (according to my mom but I think she just needed to have a beer every once in a while to mellow out), my mom and godmother decided it would be a good idea to send me off to a boarding school convent thing (to exorcise the demons within I assume). My godmother, being an ex-nun (who SUPPOSEDLY married a Fitzgerald as in John Fitzgerald Kennedy Fitzgeralds -whatever, I didn’t believe it either), pulled some strings to get me an interview in this very prestigious boarding school in Guadalajara Mexico.

I don’t remember much of the interview with THE NUNS (other than they being all frowny faced) but after it was done, they sent me out of the room and spoke to my mom and godmother alone. That place gave me the heebie jeebies! It was dark and creepy and all I could think of was finding a way to escape.

We left shortly after and I never returned. I assumed my mom had been appalled by the prison-like facility and changed her mind but the reality was different. It seems the nuns said “No thank you!” to yours truly and I didn’t find out until this weekend. I asked my mom why she hadn’t shared this information earlier and she said she hadn’t wanted to upset me. I then asked her if she was aware I had a blog and that this juicy information was like gold!

It seems the nuns feared my American-nes and thought I might disrupt the rest of their students and maybe bring unholy ideas into their sanctuary. Some may look at this as a rejection but I think this just solidifies my badass status.

My mom still enrolled me in a regular catholic school though not that it helped much but that is a story for another day.

Tazz is a jerky pants who smells like bean burritos. Yeah, I went there!

I was going to do a post today but... to piss Tazz off (because he snatched a tortilla from my fingers and I almost wound up with the nickname of 9 Fingers Charlie) I pretended to be thunder, he hates thunder, but it backfired because when I went like this:

KKWRRRWVVVVOOOOOM!!!!!

I strained my vocal chords (hopefully that's the right *chord* DAVID!) and now my throat is ouchy.

Tazz was unimpressed. He didn't even pretend to hide. Bastard.

Anyway, since I can't talk, I can't do a post. You know, because I talk while I type?

Also, Tuesday night, while eating Rice Krispies (I know YUM!), I swallowed a moth. Insects in my house better beware!

Okay, I wasn't too upset about the moth thing until I googled images of moths and now? Now I want to take the blue pill.

And finally, Andy cut his hair(s) and no longer looks like the drunk derelict I found sitting outside of Boomhauers garage. I'm happy because I won't go to hug stinky drunken strangers and he's happy because I no longer step on his hair while I'm walking by his chair.

So anyway, that's why there's no post today.

The following post is mature in nature. Please read it at your discretion since it may cause involuntary gasps followed by exclamations of “ewww!” and/or body seizures.

Subtitle: Personal information that makes my body cringe and want to burst my eardrums.

The post immediately below was going to be my Friday post. I had it all prepared ahead of time and thought how much I rocked because I would be able to go to bed early and maybe actually sleep tonight. I wouldn't worry about typing up a post because it would already be done, you see.

Then!

Then the Thursday morning meeting happened. How can I not talk about Glynda’s bizarre request? How can I not share the conversation between Milton and I that followed? I have a responsibility to those of you out there who don’t work in offices. After reading this you'll probably get down on your knees and thank the lord you don’t have to be a part of this insane asylum.

And now, I bring you, Two Posts Friday! Woohoo! Yay! You lucky ducks you.

First up, kinky grandmas at the movies:

Andy and I went to the movies on Sunday and saw “I love you man” with yummy Paul Rudd and that dude from Forgetting Sarah Marshall. You know the guy I’m talking about, right? Tall guy with shaggy hair who bounced his penis all over the screen in that movie? Yeah, that guy.

Anyway, their movies are usually extremely raunchy and funny so we knew we were in for some good laughs. I did pray I would not have to see full frontal again. Average Joe naked is not good naked. Sorry but it needed to be said.

Imagine mine and Andy’s surprise when we got to our regular seats and saw 2 grandma-like women sitting with a boy of about 14. By grandma-like I mean permed hair held in place by 2 cans of aerosol and tinted blue for elegance, thick glasses etc.

Andy and I nudged each other and pointed at them at the same time but since they were sitting in the row in front of us, we just grinned and imagined the uncomfortable moments they would have because of the explicit dialogue.

However! We were shocked SHOCKED to hear one of the grannies respond “I liked Coke better when they used to put cocaine in it” to the kid when he said he liked Coke.

Andy and I nudged each other again and tried our hardest not to laugh out loud. Go granny! Then she put her leg on the seat in front of her. How can one concentrate when granny is talking about cocaine and being all limber??

The best part was when the tall-shaggy-haired-penis-bouncer actor guy proclaimed to have a (Mom R. look away from this sentence) jerk off station and the kid laughed uproariously and the little granny had to lean in and tell the other granny what the guy on the screen had just said.

“He has a jerk off station. No! A JERK OFF [hand motion] STATION!”

Sweeeeeeeet! That is one cool granny.

Oh yeah. The nachos were excellent, minus Jalapeños though due to the razorblade affliction I now have because I’M OLD, and the movie was very funny. What? It was funny! Don’t come here for your movie reviews! But don’t go away either. Just stay right here, okay?

In other news, after my long lost friend found me, she also directed someone else to me who was like my sister. More on her in another post because she needs to know how much she meant to me and it can't be in the middle of kinky grannies-- and bizarre bathroom behavior.

Anyway, I was determined to reconnect with other friends who were such a big part of my life at one time or another. I found one on THE FACEBOOK who gladly accepted my friend request then I looked for one other one and thought I had found her. I sent her a friend request with a message asking “Is this so and so who used to work at Brown’s Chicken? If not, please disregard and I apologize for the intrusion.” I didn’t get an answer until weeks later but then I got the following:

Subject: wondering who you are?
Is this Bianca?

And I responded in my typical egotistical manner “The one and only!” immediately after I got the email. That was 5 days ago and I still haven’t gotten accepted as her friend or any other response. Did you hear that? That’s my ego shrinking an inch! Realistically, an inch is nothing to worry about when my ego is so big I nickname it "Australia" but what will happen next time I see an old friend walking down the street and I yell out “Hey! It’s me Bee from the nuthouse!” will they run away?

Now I’m wondering if I was that bad of a friend. Andy says I have issues maintaining friendships because it involves me calling people and then meeting them somewhere to socialize, you know, because I'd rather have virtual relationships? But I’m trying to change people! I feel like a born again friendship giver/taker who everybody thinks will fall back to her old ways of screening calls and being too lazy to write. ::sigh:: You know who loves me unconditionally? My cellphone.
And so ended the original post. But now...

The mysterious shedding at Arkham Asylum:

Morning meeting started the same as usual. Chatter about whose kid is too old to be living at home but can’t seem to get their shit together to move out, how cute our dogs are, etc. When Glynda asked if there was any other business and everybody responded no, she went on to say:

Glynda:
I have a request for everybody here and I’m a little embarrassed to bring it up but as the office manager, I have to.
I've gone in to use the bathroom here in the office and noticed pubic hair on the toilet seat on several occasions.

[GASP!]

Since that bathroom is also used by the doctors and I don’t want them to bring it up to me one day because I would die, please do a bathroom check before exiting to make sure you've cleaned up after yourselves.

Office Staff:
[silence]

Glynda:
I know how embarrassed you are right now but imagine how I feel.

Office Staff:
[still silent]

Bee:
I once walked into the public bathroom outside of the office, because I don't use the one in here, and overheard two women talking about how, once menopause hits, they start shedding.

Glynda & Office Staff:
[silently look at me in horror]

Bee:
What? It’s not true?

Glynda & Office Staff:
[Looking down, up anywhere but at me.]

Glynda:
Well, anyway. Please double check the bathroom.

Bee:
What’d I say?

Glynda & Office Staff:
[silently walk away]

Oh sure but my confidential poopy problems were okay to talk about in mixed company!

Yeah, how embarrassing, right? Lucky for me, I really don’t use that bathroom because the doctors are pigs.

Back in our office, Milton and I were giggling like teenagers when she drops this bomb on me.

Milton:
Speaking of odd bathroom behavior. [OH LORD!] I wonder why my urine is darker in my bathroom than it is in the bathroom here. At first I thought it was the lighting but my bathroom has more light than the one here.

Bee:
Ummmm Milton? I’m assuming that your toilet is smaller and isn’t one of those commercial ones we have here and therefore has less water to dilute it?

Milton:
Oh! I hadn’t thought of that!

Bee:
Also, can you never again make me a part of your weird bodily function wonderings? I’d really appreciate that.

eek!

Weekend, you didn't get here soon enough!

A 3 year old who knows more swears than I do and the news of a comic strip. No, not a funny person stripping.

hmmmmmmmmm

uhmmmmmmm

::sigh::

There is a little dude running around the waiting room right now yelling "sheethole fockface" over and over. I had a near collision with him when I was on my way to the ladies so I'm guesstimating his age at 3 because he's short.

So, my questions are:

1) Why are the parents not muzzling him and/or tying him down somewhere?

2) Where did he learn such bad pronunciation of those precious swears?

3) Why not teach him more so he doesn't bore us with the same shit over and over?

The parents look to be about 18-20 so I'm thinking they know how to let loose with the f-bombs, is it too much to ask for them to be good parents and ask the kid to shut up if he can't say the words right?

Oh, the precious little lad just ran in here and said, you guessed it, "sheethole fockface" I didn't kick his ass because he was talking to the copy machine and the copy machine can be a sheethole fockface.

[above was written at about 2:30pm while I was at work, obviously it is not going on right at this second]

╗╝╗╝♥╗╝╗╝♥╗╝╗╝♥╗╝╗╝♥╗╝╗╝♥╗╝╗╝♥╗╝╗╝♥╗╝╗╝♥╗╝╗╝♥

The other day, don't ask me what day because they have all been the same to me once the temperature dropped below 40 degrees, I was watching the front desk for CL while she went to lunch. There were no patients since the docs were off so I was bored out of my ever loving mind.

When I'm bored, I write/scribble/doodle. I had nothing interesting to write about and I was done with scribbling weird things like, why is Keanu Reeves in so many movies if he has no expression on his face- EVER? and OMG I found Keanu's dad!

You know, things that didn't really lead to any posts so I started doodling.

When I was a teenage Bee, I loved to draw. I would draw Garfield, Snoopy, Face aka Templeton Peck aka Dirk Benedict from the A-Team, book covers that caught my eye, stuff like that.

One time, I was about 16, I showed my dad a drawing of Face and he said "Hmmm well, keep trying it doesn't look like total crap but I'm sure you can make it look better" or something along those lines. I put down my pencil and shelved yet another broken dream. Ha ha! Just kidding, it wasn't that serious. I just stopped drawing and thought about how my life might have turned out if my mom had gone out with and married her other serious suitor, the ice cream vendor.

Anyway, one of the things I loved to draw were those naked "love is…" people but I'd draw them with clothes on and nicer bodies. That was my skill, to make the world decent and better looking.

When I doodle, I go back to those naked people and draw something similar. That day I drew a little cartoon and tried to make it look kind of like me but I have better hair.

I didn't like my first try since it looked like I had a Quagmire chin instead of boobs.

My second try was this.

I had no neck. You know what? I guess my pops was right!

Anyway, once I re-sketched it and got it how I wanted, I was going to scan it so I could put it up on my sidebar with a little caption. Maybe the weird thoughts that run through my mind when I don't have the filter on?

But then I started thinking.

While the smoke was coming out of my ears for overexerting my 6 brain cells, I started to get the idea that Andy and I should start a comic strip here at the Blogus. We'd take a regular, every day blow out fight difference of opinion and put it to a comic strip.

I'm including Andy in my little project for 2 reasons, he draws way way way better than I do and he is the cause of all many of my headaches even though he denies it.

I thought it would be fun to post it every Sunday and we'd call it "Bee n' Andy: Married and sometimes, still in love…" because it's true. We are always married and sometimes still in love. Other times we wrestle like a couple of alligators fighting over a tourist leg.

When I brought the idea to Andy, he laughed and then saw I was serious -seriously going to kick his ass for laughing- so he asked "What if we run out of stuff to comic-strip about?" my turn to laugh because he and I will never ever run out of inane things to argue about. Never.

That might sound a little sad and if I were you, I'd think we needed marriage counseling but when you are on this side of the fence, you know it's totally normal and even healthy-ish.

So yeah, stay tuned for the Sunday comics here at Bee's Musings.

P.S.

Stop staring at my boob-chin!

Humor-Blogs

So yeah. I feel the spirit, man.

The picture above is the reason why I could never move from this booger-freezing climate. It looked absolutely beautiful! (until it melted and caused another near flood but we had on our floaties)

Every year, we celebrate Christmas Eve with the Cors and then Christmas day with the Ruts (not our actual last names but I don't need you guys going to google maps and then watching me sit in front of my TV night after night)(weirdos).

The Cors party was awesome I got some great gifts from the White Elephant game- booze and a vacuum/broom thing. I'll be drunk while I clean, AS IT SHOULD BE.

The next day we went to my inlaws and had a blast. I normally feel some tension but this year we were minus my brother-in-law's long time girlfriend, we will call her Mulee, she was... well, IS a conniving little bitch and I was never able to let bygones be bygones when around her.
Not even on Christmas. I know I know my soul will be damned until eternity blah blah it can only be damned once though so I've had that privilege since the 80s.

We had fun, the dogs had fun and the men did dishes. It was a Christmas miracle.

Mocha went absolutely nuts over a very peculiar looking toy:

I found it disturbing since you had to shake it in an up-and-down motion to make it gurgle...

While we were eating my mother-in-law's delicious raspberry french toast casserole, Andy and I had this exchange:

Andy:
You know what I find interesting?

Bee:
No, pray tell my sweet.

Andy:
How we love raspberries but if you think about it, we are eating hairy berries.

Bee:
I like their tartness, it makes my cheeks cave in and get all skinny.

Andy:
Hey you! Come here and eat my hairy berries!

Bee:
BWAHAHAHAHAAA damn dude! Don't be so nasty! It's Christmas! … Well, Jesus would think it's funny too.

Andy:
Of course he would think it's funny! If I was around back then I'd be his sidekick apostle. I'd totally have his back and kick Judas in the hairy berries and I'd say, 'see what I did there Jesus? I kicked him in the raspberries for ya'!' Fuckin Judas.

Bee:
Amen and peace to all mankind.

All in all, it was a great Christmas!

P.S.
jean knee sent me marygeewuanna for Christmas. JEAN KNEE! I LOVE YOU MAN!

Humor-Blogs

I leave you with my favorite-ist song of the season:

What? An intruder in my house on Christmas Eve? Don’t make me go all holiday ninja on your sorry ass!

So…

As some of you may know, my momma is in Mexico at the moment and will not be returning until I’m 107.

This means that I’m all alone in my big house once Andy leaves for work.

This means that I’m washing my hair with my eyes open when I’m in the shower because I ain’t no Janet Leigh (in more ways than one, she was hawt!) and refuse to let some psycho with a knife make button holes on my body. Just seems like something I would want to avoid at all costs, you know?

Anyway. I usually leave the attack dogs on the loose so they may alert me of any intruders. This works as follows, Mocha barks her head off letting Tazz know that he has a tasty morsel on his turf. Tazz then goes and digs out his bib so he may dig in and savor any ruffians that happen to make the wrong decision by coming into his home. Burglar butt is his absolute favorite!

Christmas Eve, however, Andy had put Tazz in his kennel before he left and I was making banana pudding (not slang for anything, I was ACTUALLY making banana pudding) and then hurrying up to take a shower, I was too busy to let him back out of his kennel. Sooooo my only line of defense was that nutty airhead who would rather be petted than attack anybody.

I’m in the shower, singing my FALALALALAs with the radio blasting, when I hear Mocha go nuts. Odd, but she will also bark at dust bunnies, not that I have any ::wink::, so I’m not too worried until I hear Tazz’s malevolent growling and him throwing himself against his kennel making it rattle furiously.

I turn off the radio and listen intently.

I HEAR FOOTSTEPS!

CURSES!

The one day I kennel Tazz the Carnivorous is the one day intruders decide to steal my cool stuff!

Now I have to hurry up and rinse off so I may get dressed before I go investigate. I really don’t want to die naked, just don’t want that on my tombstone “here lies Bee, died in the shower with her white butt face up”.

Once I dried myself, I decided to put on lotion. The cold is making my skin too dry. Okay, clothes on… I should really brush my hair too. If I survive, I don’t want it to get all weird and frizzy.

Uh… since I’m brushing my hair, I might as well put makeup on. You know, in case I have to talk my way out of being reunited with Elvis, I want to look my best.

Then I notice Tazz isn’t growling anymore. He’s more like muttering. Mocha isn’t barking either but that could be because they distracted her with a cookie. Bitch!

I call out to Mocha BEFORE unlocking the door and NOTHING.

Okay, I have to make my way out there but I should call my sister and have her on the line in case she needs to call nine-one-one. This isn’t the first time she will be my lifeline in case of death. I once went to open The Chicken place and found the back door wide open. I called my sister and told her to listen while I walked around the joint with a machete looking for intruders. True story.

I grab my phone, yes I take it into the bathroom with me TRACY, notice I have a text message, decide to read it (kicking thievery ass can wait 2 minutes) and almost pass out with relief because it reads “I got the box ;) Nancy.”

I know that message means nothing to you guys but to me it means my sister drove to my house at the buttcrackofdawn to pick up a package her MIL had sent from the great big Texas. The package I promised my sister I’d take to work so she may only drive 3 blocks to pick it up. SHE was the noisy intruder.

She obviously didn’t trust me so she decided to make me die of fright instead!

I won’t lie to you, I am a little pissed but ultimately happy that it was her instead of a burglar. Especially because the only things I could have used to defend myself would have been my hairbrush and bleach spray. Bleach spray is way too expensive.

Nancy, your key privileges are REVOKED!!

Oh yeah and Merry Christmas to all!!! I’ll catch you guys next week.

P.S.

If there are any lowlife thieves reading this, I also have nunchucks and a machete so don’t try to come rob this chick.

I just don’t keep them in the bathroom.

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Unlike Samson, cutting my hair makes me stronger, smarter, faster... colder.

*Other title for this post that was discarded due to a disagreement as to what it would actually mean was "The antonym for Samson is Bee. "

So... I went to get my haircut Saturday morning.Since Charlize Theron's hairdo won by 43% and was also given a big thumbs up by my 5 year old niece, I packed up my magazine, water, cellphone and Kleenex (in case I cried) and headed on over to my stylist guy.

I've said before how the place I go to isn't a fancy salon. It's usually me and about 20 guys, which would be a nice fantasy but I think the majority of the characters there are of the dangerous variety.

Even so, I go there because A) I'm not afraid of anybody B) My hairstylist, Freddy, does an awesome job and C) If I stopped going he would hunt me down, shave my head and then slice and dice my scalp. (I know I just said I'm not afraid of anybody but Freddy is not just anybody! He has sharp scissors that are usually inches from my carotid artery and my eyeballs)

Anyway, I arrived and Freddy was styling some chicks hair with a blow dryer. When I told him what I was going to do with my hair, he shut the dryer off and asked "Que tu estas loca m'ija??"
Which is the same exact thing the other stylist guy said to me earlier this year when I told him I wanted blood red streaks.

I showed Freddy the picture of Charliez, he said okay.
A few minutes later, he showed me a picture of some random chick and asked what I thought. I said "oh, that looks pretty" but I didn't think twice about it after that.

I think some of you might already know what's coming. Even though I was giving him specific instructions on how I wanted my hair throughout the whole process, he did what he usually does. He did whatever the fuck he wanted!

This could have turned into a tragic story ladies and gents but it just so happened I loved the style, Freddy the Omnipotent, gave me.

So, in one year I've gone from:

To:

And:


To the most recent and final:

No more pony tails for me, they are definitely more like pig tails.

I've had long hair for years so it took a hefty dose of balls to say "Cut it all".

Even knowing my hair grows fast, I still felt a little faint when the scissors made their little kweek noise after he removed the first few inches. Then.... the experience became cathartic (and not in the icky, emptying of bowels sort of way, well maybe a little).

I don't know what it is about a great haircut that makes us feel like we have the power to remove obstacles from our path or crush those that are stupid enough to not move on their own.

I had a blow out fuckin fight with OZ (my boss, the orthopaedic surgeon) and I basically told him, TO HIS FACE, that I wasn't going to take his shit any more.

And I did that before the haircut so I'm thinking that we're in for some fun shit now that I've discovered the power of invincibility.

One of my favorite exchanges from my Friday meeting with OZ:

OZ:
Wow! Is this how you are with the attorneys? I'm glad you're on my side!

SICK OF ALL THE BULLSHIT BEE:
Beware because I'm not always on your side.

BURN ASSHOLE BURN!

The look on his face was priceless and I wish I had my trusty Scarlett to snap a picture for future bulls-eye and dartboard backgrounds.

Right after my venom exploded all over his shirt, we continued our meeting the way it should always be.

He listened when I spoke, didn't interrupt me and just sat there with his tail between his legs.
I still say he looks like Phillip Seymour Hoffman so here is what he kind of looked like:

ΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘ
Moving on, the winner of my Pass It Forward thingie is..........

I promise you I didn't cheat, you might not believe me but the name Andy pulled was.......

TRACY'S!!

I debated whether Andy should pick another name but then I thought "Hey! I'm the boss of me!"

So Tracy, I already have your address so I will be sending you a little something something later in the week.

P.S.
If you're thinking I should fire my hairstylist because he always does whatever the fuck he wants, I was thinking the same thing too. I might have to go into witness protection though so please look for my blog under the new name of "Mee's Busings".

P.P.S.
As I type this, my in-laws and Andy are watching the sucky Bears play what some call football but I call torture to the eyes, ears, nose and VAGINA!

The current score is Lions: 23 Bears: 20

Humor-Blogs

Well, I love stuff and you love stuff but do you love stuff like I love stuff??

I have been blessed ladies and gentlemen.

Please read this post in awe of the love shown and brought forth on to me. I will pass on the love but in my own little typical way. My love is not gooey or chewy and/or syrupy. Is syrupy the same as gooey??

First, Georgie from Decisionally Challenged has sent me a Pay It Forward act of kindness package. I call it a blogger care package. I'll be ready to write down whatever pops into my head as soon as it does before it leaks out! Yeah baby!

Sorry about the picture but lighting is a commodity I don't have in this here Electrician's house.

I will pay it forward as follows, I will write down everybody who comments on this post, put the names in a hat and choose one randomly. That person will get a small gift from me without me expecting anything in return. Nothing. Don't even worry about my birthday coming up on November eleventh. No worries. ;o)

Then, Heinous at Irregrilurly uh Irregilurly um IRREGULARLY PERIODIC RUMINATIONS (damn! hard to do while drinky drinky!) gave me a Kreativ Blogger Award and I have to assume it's due to my mispells and what-not. THANKS HEINOUS! You guys should go check out his blog because his church visits have me in stitches!

The rules are: List 6 things I love and then pass it on to 6 people.



Luckily, I love more than 6 things but I'll try not to be too effusive.

ONE!-
I love how my boss is arrogant enough to think we have it good working for him so we'd never look for another job. It's probably because the majority of the people who work here have been at the Asylum since Moses was looking for the exit sign in the desert. He assumes we are all doormats with the ability to absorb shit off his shoes as he walks on us. To him I say "Fuck you and the egg you rode on. Asshole!"

TWO!-

I love how I'm an old, one wrinkle, lady (I use the term loosely) and am breaking out like if I were a 15 year old on a binge diet of chocolate, fritos and french fries! I can deal with gray hairs and one wrinkle but pimples and zits?? Whoever invented this getting old thing can kiss Tazz's ass!

THREE!-

I love how the attorney I just spoke to found a new way to "caution" me by saying he was going to call the news channels so they may do a report on surgeons gauging their patients. Me? On TV? Really? Can you wait until I have my new hairdo? Maybe then I can tell the news people how the doc rebuilt the patient a-la the bionic man and isn't charging him a million dollars for it. I'm sure it would make sense to then bill $0 but he does have my exorbitant salary to pay so fuck you rat-bastard turd brain.

FOUR!-

I love how Diesel over at Humor-Blogs has deemed my blog PG due to "coarse language and mature themes". Dude! PG?? What the fuck does a bitch have to do to make her fuckin' blog rated NC-17 or at least R? You are messing with my rep. And mature themes? Which ones might those be? The ones where old people grab my boobs and flash me their whities? I won't stand for this shit I hope you know! I was already trying to spice up my blog to a higher rating so now I'll be even more determined!

FIVE!-

I love how I am constantly being bombarded by Obama's campaign.
DON'T GET ALL POLITCAL ON ME M'MKAY??
I'm not saying I'm for or against the guy since I deem that as none of your beezwax. I just don't like my TV time interrupted by a half hour 250 million dollar commercial. Especially considering we're still trying to put our lives back together after The Flood of 2008. Now, if they would have sent me personally a portion of those $250 million, I wouldn't be bitchin' and moanin'.

Am I saying you can buy my vote? If you were smart enough to crack that code, you deserve a scoop of cottage cheese.

What was I talking about? Oh right! It's nice to see we have our priorities straight.
SIX!-

I love how a simple statement at work will get me in trouble:
"Toto, I think you need to shut off the copier and wait 10 seconds for it to reset before you turn it back on" (after a paper jam) Milton then says "I believe it's 20 seconds" walks over, pulls out the manual, reads it for about 10 minutes and determines that yes indeedy! 20 seconds is the way to go! Good to know!

BONUS!-

I love how I never do things the way the rules indicate. I think it's part of my charm, don't you??

The six peeps I will pass it on too aaaaare...

jean knee for her kick ass Etsy store.

Tracy because she'll kick me to the bottom if I don't.

Brian because he never accept awards so I have to find the right one he'll accept.

AngieSS because she has a talent for banners and pictures.

VE because he is insane. No, really! He is! He'll deny it but don't be swayed by his very hot avatar!

Mike because he draws monkeys and the pink would go awesome with his decor. And also, he smells funny.

That's six, right?

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LAST BUT NOT LEAST!

I was Tag Teamed HERE by Chelle B. and Chat Blanc AKA Sandy.
Go read them talk about how awesome I am. It's all totally true you know.
(BTW, they posted a picture of my hairy unshaved leg in a pink rubber boot!)



Phew! I'm tired.

Here is something else you guys can help me with. On Saturday, day of the Lord November first, I will be chopping off my hair. It will be gone. GONE! Please vote on the style I should choose. It will go on the sidebar by the morning.


Humor-Blogs

Why did it take me one and a half days to finish this post? Oh yeah. Life.

On Saturday I saw a commercial for a new HBO series called "John Adams" (about a president or something) starring Paul Giamatti. Am I the only person on this Earth who sees his face and wants to replace her eyeballs with Peanut M&Ms?

I counted the movies I've seen that have tortured my eyesight by showing me his ugly mug and I came up with 13.

THIRTEEN!

Two were shockers, My Best Friend's Wedding, he was a bellhop (I think that's what you call those guys with the funny hats) and only came out in one scene but when I saw his chinless-face I yelled out (to Andy)(because he was in his dungeon) "Oh WTF! The Giamatti dude is ruining my movie!".

Tonight, when Andy was watching Saving Private Ryan, there he was. His weaselly voice scrapping my eardrums with rusty hangers.

Do you remember how everybody was talking about how great Sideways was? do you want to know What Andy and I did? I'm telling you anyway.

We went to Best Buy, putzed around, looked to see what movies we could add to our collection, it was Andy's turn to choose:

Andy:
I heard Sideways was pretty good.

Bee:
Meh. One of the stars is that hobbit dude.

Andy:
I think it won something at the Oscars, best picture or actor or something.

Bee:
Listen, I'd rather buy 3 copies of A Clockwork Orange and play them on my teeth while juggling samurai swords with my toes.

Andy:
As much as I would like to see the toe juggling, I think we should get Sideways anyway. We might learn something about wine.

Bee:
I already know everything I need to know about wine. Grab glass, drink, say 'yuck', order a beer/piña colada/blood. But! Whatever makes you happy babe. You know I'm put on this Earth to please you. (not exact words but I'm sure it's close enough)

On one cold Sunday morning, we popped it into the DVD player and then wasted ninety minutes of our lives on a whiny dingus and his horny friend.

I couldn't wait to get that crappy movie outta my house so when Crazy Ez (sister in law) came over and said "Ooh! I heard this was a great mov--" I interrupted her and told her to take it and godspeed.

Sucka!

What the hell was I talking about? Oh yeah. I dislike Paul Giamatti with an intensity I only reserve for tiny red ants that bite my ankles and cause me pain!*

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On a sad note.
I was visiting some blogs tonight and noticed they have tons of awards. How many do I have?
5 and one I made myself to give to myself! Some call that pathetic I call it, uh.. ANTI-pathetic.
Do I have a "World's Greatest Daddy Blogger" award?? No.
How about a "Fastest Typer in the Northwest" award?? No.
A "Your skin smells like lavender" award? No! I really want that one!

What am I doing wrong? I shower everyday. I pay my taxes. I'm nice to ugly people (except Paul Giamatti but he's a millionaire so I'm sure he doesn't give a shit).

Oh well, something else that will keep me up at night!

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On a Lastly note.

Chelle B and I tag teamed another blogger over at Humor Bloggers. The subject matter is not for the faint of heart, people with asthma or my family members. Especially family members. ***Please do not go over there if you are in any way shape or form a part of Mi Familia. No. Don't!***

*I realize that it's ironic I did a whole post on a person I think looks like the wrong side of a jock strap but I needed to get it out of my system.

Humor-Blogs
Humor Bloggers dot com

P.S.
I used my spell check so any misspelled words are Godzilla's fault.

Jellyrolls are not just for breakfast anymore.

The following post is RATED R.

No nudity but some flab.

Proceed at your own discretion! Hide the kids. Slap the cat! Smack your boss!
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Ready?


So.. remember I said I was going to try to get in shape? Remember? It was in my insomniac post?? Come on you guys! You have to listen (or read) every once in a while! What if I'm drowning and I need you to fish me out of the bathtub?? Ummm, okay. Call Andy because some of you I don't trust! You KNOW who you are!!

Anyway, I was looking for some pin up girl pictures for umm, research on how long it took Google to produce images (.07 seconds! wow!) yeah, that's it. I came across my perfect pin up picture.
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Don't laugh! That is so disrespectful!
She looks a little taller than me but basically... yeah. I still think my boobs are bigger but you can't have it all.

As I go on my little deflabbing adventure, I will put her in my side bar. Each time I lose a few pounds, I'll narrow her down a bit. Not sure how I'm going to do that but hey! I figure it'll be harder in real life so chopping off a few love handles from Ms. Jellyroll should be a piece of cake! Or, erm, celery! A piece of celery!

Now if I could only find a machine like this one:
I'd wear a little more clothes in case of a friction burn, YIKES!

What I need from you.
Whenever you can, if you remember, I need you to tell me how good I'm looking. Or how you can't even see traces of the chocolate chip cookie I smuggled in my hair.

Encouraging stuff like that.

I will not be starting my workout regimen until Monday because I have some food I need to eat so it doesn't go bad or feel like I'm neglecting it but after that, no sugary, fatty, creamy, delicious, mouth watering... ... ...
What? Did you need something? Can't you see I'm eating a bagel??

Wish me luck! Well, on Sunday I mean. Or now, you can wish me luck now if you want.
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Please stay tuned for the last post I will ever do of my brain dead assistant. I haven't done it because I've been busy at work (don't scoff! I can hear you!) so I haven't been able to type it up while pretending to work. I know, I feel sad for me too.

Later guys! This girl is beat and needs some snuggle time with her Georgie Bear.

Humor-Blogs

Add an onion and some celery with a side of beef and we have a nice pot roast.

So...
I couldn't sleep again. This is what you get at midnight.

I decided I'm going to start exercising again. I know what you're going to say "Why? You're perfect as you are!"
I know but... or should I say BUTT, I need to try something that will tire my body and hopefully let my brain sleep.

See, right now, I feel like this:
Who the hell styles Mrs. Pothead?? Green shoes and tacky earrings??

I honestly don't like comparing myself to a potato. While I love to eat them, they don't particularly strike me as the type of veggie one thinks to be sexy in nature. Don't look at me like that! You know what I mean!

The carrot however... it's lean, has a nice head of hair, looks like it can bitch slap a potato within seconds... Yup! That's my goal to slim down like a carrot! Hmmm, maybe I'd reverse the look of this picture and have the pointy part as my head... but then I'd have a tail and no hair.

Hold on while I search for a better picture.

Ewww! No!
No. Whatever the bunny does in the privacy of its own home...
What the...??? NO!
After 25 minutes of searching for the perfect picture of a slim carrot with legs, I give up! You have failed me Internet and also made me hungry! But at least now I'm tired.

What was wrong with Mrs. Pothead again? You know, besides her colorblindness and lack of fashion sense.

Humor-Blogs
Humor Bloggers dot com