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!

You know how sometimes you want to do something because you think "how bad can it be?" and then your brain tries to talk you out of it by reminding you of that one time you shoplifted and your mom spanked you so hard the brand name of her shoe is still stenciled to your ass? Yeah, it's like that!

I am an intelligent person. I swear I am. But sometimes oh my lord can I make stupid decisions!

It all started a week ago when I was going to make cheesy salsa dip. It involves only 2 things. Salsa and cream cheese. In order to mix the two, the cream cheese needs to be softened so I took out a brick of Philly Cream Cheese, accept no substitutions,  and let it sit on the counter for a little while. The little while turned out to be a week because we ran out of chips for dipping then we forgot to buy more then I became sidetracked etc.

Well, on Sunday, I decided to make a fruit cocktail that is infamous in our house. One of the ingredients is cream cheese. We bought 2 fresh bricks, I mixed everything together, then tasted it. Bleh! Too sweet! I thought to myself "gee! I wish had one more thing of cream cheese! ... Wait a minute!"

Does anyone else see where this is going?

I opened the package that had sat on my counter for about 2 weeks (yes, it probably was 2 weeks) and did a sniff test. The smell of cream cheese isn't a pleasant one to begin with so that didn't work.

Okay, I'll just TASTE it. I licked it- just kidding! I'm not an animal! I take a little piece and put it in my mouth, not bad! I taste a bigger piece JUST TO BE SURE! Still tastes good. In my head, I'm thinking the warning to keep refrigerated is a gross exaggeration! This thing has been out for at least 3 weeks (yes, may have been about 21 days) and it's fine! It's probably because the kitchen was so cold- without thinking, I take another piece and eat it as I'm rummaging through the fridge for orange juice that's when I notice I do have another container of cream cheese so I decide to use that instead. Better safe than sorry, you know?

I threw out the old warm cream cheese that was still perfectly fine and used the refrigerated one. My desert came out great once I de-sweeten it and we lived happily ever after! Only not!

Currently, I'm sitting at my desk (okay, computer cart!) waiting for Freddy Krueger to rip his way out of my stomach so that I may finally be at peace! The pain is un-freakin-bearable! Seriously. If I'm ever taken hostage and the terrorists want to make me spill the recipe for my pulled pork sandwiches all they have to do is give me expired cream cheese and wait 20 minutes.

This will go on my "do not do ever again!" list. Along with 'rub eyes after cleaning red pepper shaker' 'stick hands in shark tank' 'walk out in 10 degree weather while rocking flip flops' 'tap dance on thin ice' Well, let's face it, the list goes on and on.

 

Bloggers! Don't forget to join the Secret Santa Can Suck It Year Deux!

Where we give someone we don't know pretend gifts that may make them laugh or cry (for bonus points!). Email me at beesmusings@gmail.com

If you need details go HERE if you want examples from last year go HERE if you think I need therapy go HERE.

Thanks to all those who have signed up so far. It's gonna be awesome!

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!

Just dusting off the cobwebs and forcefully moving the squatter who was sitting on my blog.

So that was weird. I think this is the longest I’ve been away from the old blog… kind of pathetic really since that might mean I don’t have a life. And if I don’t have a life, what the hell am I always going on about? I have no idea either.

Thanks for the well wishes (and offers to assist me in my pursuit of vengeance). My brother is better and has regained his usual smart-ass-ness. He still doesn’t remember anything which I guess might be a blessing.

Saturday he was debating if he should walk the block to Dunkin Donuts/Baskin Robins to get an ice cream cone. I told him to give me a minute while I suited up in my protective armor and went with him as his bodyguard. He laughed because he has the same twisted sense of humor I do. But I was serious.

While waiting for some dryers to open up at the Laundromat Monday night, Andy asked me if I was going to do a post. I told him I couldn’t find humor in anything at the moment. He thought for a second and then said:

“Maybe you’re blocked” (ewww)

Uh no. I could sit down right now and type up 20 stories but they would all be scornful, hateful observations and I don’t feel like going down that road.

Take for example the Polish guy at the Laundromat who decided to take up every fucking dryer and only put 4 items of clothing in each one while Andy and I had to wait with our clothes in a cart. Instead of me coming up with an amusing name for him, all I could come up with was ball-sack sucking sheep fucker. In my head, the scenario I had for his retribution was me gutting him and then putting his organs in one of his dryers.

Since I’d rather not put such negative thoughts into the pureness of the webisphere, I was refraining from posting.

However!

This morning I saw a guy come out of his car wearing a business suit and an Indiana Jones hat. How could you not find the humor in a dude trying to bring back the Indy hat?

So I decided to put pen to paper, so to speak, and try to find the funny in the weekend happenings. I must warn you, I'm a little rusty.

I started my gardening on Saturday. Why didn’t anybody tell me about hoes? I bought one and am now in love! That thing is the shiznit! I loosened up the soil in minutes instead of hours (it used to take me hours because I used a HAND trowel)(for those of you non-gardeners, that’s a step up from a spoon).

While doing my gardening, I was listening to my neighbor Wilson’s grandkids. There is one in particular who seems a tad on the odd side. While the other little boys are jumping from their tree house and burning insects, this one was singing such classics as “Here comes the bride” and “That’s the way, uhhuh uhhuh, I like it” which, what the hell kind of combination is that? Nobody picks on him though because that little dude looks like he’ll eat you whole and then poop out your shoes without breaking a sweat.

The hoeing around calmed my nerves down even though my body was baptized for the season by its first bug bite. Did it have to be on my butt? Bastards.

When I told Milton about the bite she said it might me chiggers and I was like ‘Uh can you de-countrify that for me?’ She patiently explained that there are these teeny tiny little bugs that are in grass and like to bite people. So there you have it ladies and gents, I’m infested with chiggers and they are feeding off my flesh and blood to make bigger fatter mutant bugs. Coming to a town near you.

On Sunday we had to pick up the work truck Andy will be using while his car is getting liposuction. Weekend driving and I do not get along which is why I married Andy. I was all complainy the whole way there and my bitching got worse once we noticed the road we needed to take was closed off so we had to take a detour.

That was fine while Andy was still driving but I know only 4 streets out here in the burbs so I would have to follow him closely on the way back otherwise I'd end up in Wisconsin. No offense to Wisconsin.

The drive back home was eventful. I'd forgotten my cellphone (eeek!) so Andy and I could not communicate. I noticed he was sticking his arm out of the window and making the "L" shape with his finger and thumb. I thought, make a left? He waved frantically 'no' was he calling me a loser? I'd totally ram the back of the van RIGHT NOW! Impatient with my lack of understanding, he pulled over, I pulled over, he jumps out of the car, I roll down my window he yells, "Turn your lights on! Cheesus!" You do a guy a favor...

We also found out why the road was closed and littered with cops. There were Na≠i (I don’t need more hate mongers on my blog so the “z” will be “≠”) demonstrators picketing the new opening of a Holocaust Museum with their Na≠i flags and propaganda. I later yelled at Andy for making me drive through those fashion victims (come on guys, black fatigues, black jackets, black combat boots and no hair? How about some kicky pink head scarves? Add some color!) because they would have let him go with no problems once he flashed his blue eyes. I, on the other hand, would have been taken to use as a sacrifice to their backwards-god and hello? With all the extra fat I’m carrying, I’d burn easy.

I was going to post a picture as proof because Andy took a picture for me but he's not answering my calls. I could go over to the dungeon and ask him for it but that would involve me moving something other than my fingers. Meh. I decided to make my own.

I managed to drive by undetected.

Well, that's about all I guess.

If someone told me 20 years ago that I would get old, I would have laughed in their face and said "Shut up stoopit!".

Sooooo as you may or may not know I work for an Orthopaedic Surgeon’s office. I’ve complained mightily about all the crap I have to put up with for average pay (and we can all agree I am an above average woman) (with an above average fixation for shoes and flowers/plants/garden stuff) and no glory.

However, one of the fringe benefits for working in an Ortho office, and being liked by the doctors and their nurses, is the fact that I can say things like “It hurts when I do this….” and I immediately have 5 different opinions and diagnoseseses (diagnosi?) free of charge. You need an X-Ray? Come on down and say cheeeeetos!

Anyway, I couldn’t stand the pain in my hands anymore. They’re not bad everyday, like right now I’m all typey typey clickety clickety and I’m fine, but when they are bad, it feels like I’m the new wolverine experiment and they are inserting adamantium into my body (no, I am not turning into a comic book geek, I just happen to know a lot of things that then become useful when posting about fictional characters and metals). I know that would be cool because I’d be able to lance Andy’s pimples without getting too close for the splatter but it’s still major ouchy! I called the front desk from my office (literally 10 steps away, I counted) and asked for an appointment for day of the lord Thursday. I would be Mr. Roger’s first patient. The other fringe benefit is being able to go in to see the doctor while on company time and still getting paid. Woohoo! Look at me making minor bucks while reading a magazine in the exam room. Don’t you wish you had my job?

Weirdly, my main concern for this exam was my armpits. I know you just shuddered but get back over here so I can tell you why. You see, my skin is as delicate as the wings of a butterfly so I cannot do the pit shaving as often as one would like.

Stay right where you are! There’s more.

This leaves me with some undesired uh growth but lucky for me, I haven’t yet embraced the monkey within so I don’t have jungle pits. Still, I did ask his nurse if I was going to need to disrobe for the occasion because I would then need to take a razor and… well, you know. I wanted to avoid this at all costs because I break out in a rash for a few days after I shave and I have to walk around with my arms out like I’m about to take flight until the burning feeling goes away. I was instructed to shave anyway. Sweet nibblets!

I don’t know about you, but I think it’s kind of weird to go see a doctor for your hands and then have to take off your top. Maybe that’s their fringe benefit?

Last year he diagnosed me with rusty old shoulder syndrome and this year it looks like it might be carpal tunnel syndrome. But don’t fret because if I do need the great and powerful OZ to perform surgery on me it will be, say it with me, FREE OF CHARGE!

Again. Woohoo.

After my exam update.

I do have carpal tunnel but it seems to be mild as in it will only make me feel like I was kicked in the balls every once in a while as opposed to every day.

Mr. Rogers gave me some suggestions on how to help with the pain one of them being to walk away from my keyboard every 45 minutes with the horrible one being, wear wrist guards when I sleep. Say whhot?? On the positive side, I'll probably sleep more comfortably if I accidentally bop Andy over the head when he’s invading my territory.

Here are my happy hand x-rays.

Sorry my bones look a little chunky but that’s only because I’m retaining water at the moment.

Never let it be said that I am trying to fool you into thinking I’m super hot. I mean, I did a post about my body shape, the one weird black hair that grows above my lip, the adult acne and now the unshaven condition of my arm pits. It’s a wonder Andy hasn’t left me, really.

Also, I didn’t have to remove my top so the shaving of the pits was unnecessary! The hell!

--------------------------------------------------------------------

In other less depressing news, I just finished reading Chris Wood’s book Sherlock Holmes and the Underpants of Death and it had me in stitches! The man is a hilarious writer who has a flair for bizarre scenarios. I’d call him a genius but then he already knows that.

If you want to give yourself a good laugh or anybody else you might like to share the joy of laughter with, go here:

Sherlock Holmes and the Underpants Of Death

You will not be disappointed. Unless you hate laughing and if that's the case you and I can't be friends.

Last I checked, my back didn't have the word "WELCOME" stenciled on it. You know, because it's not a doormat?

The other day, I was sitting at my desk pondering my bad luck in not being born rich and then thanking the lord I wasn’t because I would probably be more obnoxious than Paris Hilton and that Kardashian chick put together and really who wants that?

I had just had another DISAGREEMENT with Glynda. She was trying to convince me that my getting a paycheck meant my soul belonged to OZ and I was extremely lucky to even have a job in these tough economic times so I should just shut up and scrub the toilet. Not literally m’mkay? I’m just trying to say that they want me to be responsible for everybody and their mistakes plus also be everybody's vacation back up but not give me more money. I was hired for a specific position and being a babysitter/receptionist was not part of the job description. While I don't mind volunteering, I will not be walked on, bullyed or threatened into doing anything.

I gently disagreed with OZ owning my soul and also pointed out that no, he was lucky to have ME in these tough economic times. At her look of disbelief I elaborated that I, Bee Lastname, am not a believer in 1) Belittling anyone (unless I hate you and in that case I don't have control over my tongue) 2) LETTING myself FEEL belittled (because I can’t stop people from trying to belittle me, I can only stop my reaction to their stupidity)

I am an independent thinker that is not easily brainwashed into believe that OZ is my savior.

This information did not go over well with Glynda. In fact she huffed and she puffed- oh wait that a different story book- well, she put me in the crap house again.

Back to my ponderings. I was wondering what made me so different from the other lackeys who work here that enjoy bemoaning the footprints on their foreheads but never fight back because they think “he'll fire me and who will hire me?”. This led me to a shocking revelation. I have the Jehovah’s Witnesses to thank.

You read that right.

picture is from an issue of the Jehovah's Witnesses magazine on the children who have died because they were not given blood transfusions that may have saved their lives.

You see, being in the Jehovah's Witnesses (JWs) opened my eyes to something I might have missed had I not been a part of this cult. I may call it a cult because I was in it for a few years so I feel I have the right to shed a light into some of my experiences.

I was very young when we became JWs and my pops thought he had found his religion. He also sold Amway so I’m thinking he was halfway to Brainwashville and didn’t have a chance.

Even at a young age, I remember thinking that their teachings were a big crock of shit. Or crock of doo-doo since I didn’t swear back then. I noticed how the elders were always men in the upper middle class while the rest of us broke asses were delegated to do the grunt work. You know, going from house to house and getting the doors slammed in our faces? (Stories for another day)

I remember seeing the yearning in my dad’s eyes to fit in with those phonies and doing anything they asked just so they’d notice him. I hated that. You see, I knew how smart my dad was (during our stint in the JWs he was sober which I guess they did us some good for those few years), he was attractive (and this I new because of the women always staring at him), he had a gorgeous wife (and this I knew because of the men always staring at her) and a beautiful family if I do say so myself.

I didn’t feel the elders deserved the reverence everybody else showed them, respect maybe but washing their feet in a bowl of milk and lavender? I don’t think so.

As an example I give you one of the yearly pilgrimages which in this case took place in Arizona. The motel where we stayed had a swimming pool and I remember thinking ‘yay pool!’ Well they made the kids exit the pool at about 7pm so the grown ups could swim. Crummy but that’s not what this story is about.

We were sitting in the hallway outside of our motel room with our legs dangling down from the railing of the second floor. From there we had a clear view of the pool and we noticed that there were only 2 people left in there. One was one of the elder dudes who was married and the other was a young single woman who came with her sister.

They were awfully chummy. Hugging and laughing while splashing around in the pool. We decided to give his wife a little help in the cooling his pants department (okay, not really trying to help his wife, we were just kids but we knew he was doing something wrong). I got up, grabbed a bucket of ice and we started throwing ice cubes into the pool. We weren't trying to hit them and that was made apparent by us sending the ice cubes softly to the other side of the pool. I was probably 9 or so and I’m assuming my partner in crime was my brother Sergio since Dan has always been a goody 2 shoes and was probably sleeping.

The elder guy started yelling at us and his moobs were shaking as he tried climbing out of the pool. We ran into our room and dissolved in a fit of giggles. The next day, at the JW assembly, he came up to me and grabbed my arm whispering that he knew it was us throwing ice and blah blah. I remember yelling as loud as I could “LET GO OF MY ARM! YOU’RE HURTING ME!!” and then people turning to look and his face getting all red and then laughing it off like it was no big deal. Hearing the commotion, his wife came over and I decided to apologize for my bad behavior. We were at a place of worship after all, “I’m sorry we threw ice while you and that lady were hugging in the pool.”

I don’t know what happened to them because I don’t remember anything else about them after that.

Example # 2

I went to school with one of the elder’s (not the same elder who was frolicking in the pool) sons. He was a short little bastard who thought it was okay to corner me by the lockers when we were in junior high. He thought it was okay until I slammed his head against a locker and punched him in the gut. When he threatened to tell his dad so my dad could get in trouble I dared him to go ahead because I really didn’t care.

This is where my epiphany comes in.

See, what my father failed to see is that yes, the elders may have had a higher education and more material things (which is really not living the life they evangelize) but in my head, that just makes them more polished but not better than us. The fact that I resisted their brainwashing at such a young age and I was able to see through their self righteousness made me immune to any future jackholes trying to make me believe I was beneath them. Nobody has the power to make me feel inferior but me and why would I give someone that power? That just doesn’t make sense.

I’ve used that logic in every aspect of my life. When dating, I waited for the right guy to come along who appreciated me and basically deserved having me (we can all agree I'm pretty cool) and sent the rest packing. Lucky Andy! Coincidentally, he and his family were JWs for many years too. In dealing with people or mindlessly following crowds- nu-uh I do things because I want to and if others are doing it too, coolio. But! Let's not remember my skiing trip please because that was a total lapse in judgment!

This brings me back to the present day. OZ is a respected surgeon and I’m sure he worked hard to get where he is but so what? I worked hard to get where I am too. What makes his journey more special than mine? What makes him a better human being than me?

He may have more zeros and commas in his bank account but that doesn’t make my life worth less than his.

Sure, my ambition wasn’t high since all I have ever wanted was my family to be healthy and happy, my own home, a decent car and as a bonus, a man who loves me. I’d say my path was the right one since I’m right where I want to be.

The moral of this story? OZ (and people like him) can kiss my unpolished ass.

How does that song start? A lady swallowed a spider then a bird...??

So, I have an awesome terrarium where a spider used to live and eat the little gnats. I think I accidentally killed it by moving a statue because its webs are still full of those petrified little gnat bodies.

I found another one in one of my plants so I went to make a transfer. I had it on a stick and went to blow but I inhaled first. I think I swallowed it!
What do I have to swallow next?

I also wanted to clear up a couple of misunderstandings. No, I am not really mad at Diesel. And! I set up accounts under my friends and family with their permission. jean knee feeling violated was a total coincidence.

Seriously though my throat feels scratchy!
Nancy stop laughing!

If you are walking down a dark alley and see a short woman running at you in high heels, step aside or she'll knock you over to get to her victim. Or she might be a hooker and if that's the case it's not me so no worries.

You know how sometimes you wish you could tell your boss to go give a rusty tailpipe a good suck ?? The reason you don't do it is usually because you need your job for crazy things like food, stuff to keep your body warm (this could be clothes or prostitutes because I don't judge… much), stuff for your kids (this could be medicine or Tequila, again, I don't judge), sparkly jewels and shoes.

Instead, you seethe quietly- or as quiet as yelling that you are sick and tired of this pompous asshole and one day you will bump into him in a dark alley and make him eat 4 day old shrimp that was marinated in mayonnaise and cooked on a car engine! can be.

So you sit at your desk, doodle hangmen, while at the same time typing a report you have verbally given him a million times but he insists on seeing it written up with the dates and periods and comas and yes, it will take you half a day but he does pay your salary so suck it up you whiny complainy little pissant (I have learned a new word since spell-check is telling me pissant is actually puissant: powerful; mighty; potent- which I would think would be an antonym of pissant… your thoughts) )and do as he says!!!

Then.

Then your devious little mind concocts a great plan. A way for you to tell that overfed gasbag exactly how you feel and what he can do with his job.

You go back to that 6 page document you just labored over and make a few key letters bold. A few key letters that if you look at them intently might spell out a secret message.

Please see below example:

You left this chart next to my phone on my desk and I was wondering if you still needed it right away or if it could wait until tomorrow or Wednesday? As always, just leave a note on the chart with your instructions on my desk and I will get to it as soon as I come back to the office.

If this message were taken to a special lab, it may be decoded as follows:

You can kiss my ass jerk off!

How do you like me now oh powerful OZ!!??

I know some of you might be thinking I'm full of shit and I didn't do it but I so fuckin did. I did and he read it with no clue. But the best part?

After I spent hours on the report and he read the whole thing, he said:

"My mistake, I gave you the wrong patient name. I meant this guy." because he can find no fault in your work and now needs you to be distracted with yet another project!

And so touché you turd licking toe sniffer. You have won again and all that's left is for me to wait for you in a dark alley.

P.S.

My Christmas tree timbered (fell) because of that brand spankin' new tree stand. I told you guys about the Snowmen, right??? They. Are. Assholes.

Humor-Blogs

Just because I buy a jar of pickles does not mean I'm pregnant!

I know it was sitting in the middle of the lemon swirl sherbet and the pistachio ice cream but that doesn't mean I was going to use the pickles as my spoon to eat my most delicious treats.

 

 

 

There was no need, my beloved husband, to give me this look

Beeeeelieve me when I say that if we were to be expecting a bundle of chaos (because let's face it, me + Andy = HIDE THE KNIVES!), I wouldn't keep the news quietly next to my heart like a treasured item. No, not me. I would say something like "Yo! WTF!! You knocked me up!!!!!" as soon as I found out AND AFTER YOU CAME TO. Because that my love, is something for us to suffer through together.

♀♂♥♥♥♥♀♂♥♥♥♥♀♂♥♥♥♥♀♂♥♥♥♥♀♂♥♥♥♥♀♂♥♥♥♥♀♂♥♥♥♥♀♂♥♥♥♥♀♂♥♥♥♥♀♂♥♥♥♥♀♂♥♥♥♥

Andy quote of the night:

"Sometimes people have to get shot in order for them to know better!"

Luckily, he didn't mean me!

Humor-Blogs

P.S.

I mean, come on! It was just pickles! Granted I had forgotten how much I hate the texture of them when I bite through one. Grainy.

You know how some sick sadistic bastards sometimes say they have good news and bad news because they like f*cking with your emotions? Also, I saw Twilight.

So... good news. We got our flood insurance money. Yeah! I know! How awesome, right? Right??

The bad news is that they issued it under my name (that's okay because I am who I say I am), Andy's name (he is who I say he is so that's good too) AND OUR MORTGAGE COMPANIES. In little tiny print, it says "this is a multiple party check and cannot be cashed without having all parties sign it". Great! Now we have to go hunt down Mr. National City and Ms. First Bank.  I have no clue how to make a whole institution sign a check that belongs to us.

I feel like they delivered our money in shatter proof glass, set it in front of us knowing we couldn't get it and are currently laughing their asses off as they eat small children. Fuckers!

 

In other news:

I went to see Twilight on Saturday.

Because my husband is a great man and is whipped loves me, he got up early so we could go to the first showing and avoid all the tweens who were sure to be screeching and shrieking and sighing and talking. We were the first ones in the theater so Andy left his coat on the chair beside me and went to get our delicious nachos (yes, it was only about 9:30 and eating them so early goes against my junk food before noon rules but I am not being supervised at the moment, remember?). Here is what I didn't count on. THE MOMS! There were zero tweens but their moms were everywhere!

So there I am, sitting in the dark theater, waiting for my nachos (and Andy) when a group of them got in my row. Andy and I sat all the way in the back row smack dab in the middle. This way, buttholes do not have to walk in front of us when they have to use the bathroom because they either go to their left or the right. Movie watching is serious business! Anyway, they (the group of women) started side-sliding down my empty -except for me- row with no sign of stopping. When I noticed one of the MOMS' asses was going to sit on Andy's coat, I had to say something. Politely of course. "Uh, are you planning on sitting on my husband's coat??" Her "whoopsie" nearly drove me to commit battery. Where did she sit? RIGHT NEXT TO ANDY'S SEAT!

Then they started yammering away. Non stop! And giggling. And sighing. And shrieking. And talking. This was an unforeseen dilemma I have to say.

When Andy came back, I told him to sit on the other side of me (WOMEN ARE NOT ALLOWED TO SIT NEXT TO HIM)(but I'm not possessive or anything). It was a good thing because that stupid lady kept squirming in her seat to talk to her friends. I told Andy (in a loud whisper much to his embarrassment) "dude! she totally would have nailed you with her elbow!"

The the theater filled up with groups of women my age. I couldn't help but think that a lot of them were probably bloggers too. I would have stood up and asked but I was eating nachos.

Now for my movie review. I really wanted to like it. The scenery was excellent but as is the case with books to movies, they sometimes disappoint. I wasn't a fan of the actors. Unfortunately, this book is more about Bella's thoughts so it's kind of hard to translate that into a movie.

I found her constant exhaling annoying. It was almost as if she was trying to convey frustration/exasperation/fear by releasing air. Um? Yeah? I'm not much of an actress but even I could have done better.

Watch, here is me frustrated:

<FRUSTRATED></FRUSTRATED>

Here is me terrified:

<TERRIFIED></TERRIFIED>

Here is me exasperated:

<EXASPERATED></EXASPERATED>

Say what you want about my acting but I did it better than she did. It seemed like she didn't believe herself and if she didn't believe herself, why should I? You know how serious I take my vampires!

Anyway, the guy who played Edward is hairy. That's all I have to say about him.

Also? What is with young guys these days and their refusal to brush their hair? Don't make me go over there with my heavy brush because I will whack you with it and then brush your hair!

I have to admit I will probably go see the next one. Don't judge me!

 

Humor-Blogs

How to start a kitchen fire in 5 easy steps.

1) put pan on burner
2) light burner
3) put oil in pan
4) go remove Tazz's jaw from Andy's leg
5) come back and put beans in hella-hot oil

Stand back and watch the oil, liquid, fire combine for a beautiful fire display. BUT! Beware of becoming hypnotized by the flickering flames because they might make you want to get closer and you'll end up with an unfashionable hairdo.

Yup! I sure did start a fire and nearly burned my house down! The sad part is that it was my first official cooking day.
Don't worry, everything is okay. Even though the microwave and cabinets were lit up like Rudolph after a week of binge drinking, nothing melted.

To quote Andy "Isn't making BEANS part of your DNA for cripessake??"

He's just mad because when I yelled out for help (normally I'm all calm, cool and collected but when I noticed the flames on my microwave and cabinets, something inside of me shit its pants) he came barreling from around the corner, assessed the situation and opened the back porch door and stood there in a semi crouched position…

… While he was getting ready to escape (WTF?) I turned off the burner and moved the pan to a less flammable area- the middle of the kitchen where there are no cabinets or cobwebs (do you know how fast cobwebs burn, YIKES!).
Andy claims he was opening the door so that I may run outside and throw the pan as far as my little person arms could (not far, it probably would have landed at my feet).

I think we need to set up cameras in my house because this for sure would have won us the title of "America's dumbest couple"! We later laughed our asses off because we can't seem to function when no real adults are present (mommy?).

The beans came out great in case you're wondering.

Also, for Angie and Abstract (and even Andy) who feel jipped (Word is saying I should replace *jipped* with *japed* I thought they were joking) because I didn't give more of the story yesterday:

I was helping a MEAN patient with her medical forms since she didn't speak English but then I got a phone call and had to go back in my office to take it. She followed me back to my office (BIG NO-NO) and continued yammering so I had to give her the "hold on a minute" finger but I must have been pissed at her because I used my middle finger instead of the index one. Accidentally of course…

The boob thing, I was wearing a new bra (TMI?) and the girls were not being contained properly so I adjusted them with my back to the door and my front to the window. I couldn't see anybody out there but our office is on the ground level, it faces the parking lot and it's a medical building right on a busy street, during rush hour. I didn't pop them out or anything but if anybody saw me, it was clear I was shoving them into submission.

Okay, I'll talk to you guys later, I'm off to put a frozen pizza in the oven. The kitchen is safe for one more day.

 

P.S.

Why is it that when I try to sound like Gwen Stefani I wind up sounding like Cher but when I try to sound like Cher I sound like Bob Dylan? It's making it very hard for me to sing "Don't Speak" and "If I could turn back time".

Humor-Blogs

Technorati Tags: Gwen Stefani,Cher,Bob Dylan,Me,Humor-Blogs

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

The De-evolution of my dancing...

I've been told that when I was a wee little Bee, I would run with my legs straight without bending my knees.

Yeah. Everyone, who is at least 10 years older than me, loves LOVES telling me about my weird robot running. Ha ha! What a freakin' riot it was to see me chasing butterflies! Don't worry, that was my only defect, in every other way I was (AM) perfect.

Then I grew up and had to do track, jump hurdles, pole vaults and other body torturing exercises in school so I learned to bend my knees and became a part of the agile, rhythmically blessed population.

My newly learned knee bendiness came in handy in my teen years because I come from a Festive Mexican family who loves parties. What's a party without music? Why have music if not to dance?

So I learned to groove with the best of them. My hips would move like this and that. My feet moved my legs and my upper body followed the rhythm. All appropriate body parts were always in sync.

This skill came in handy in my 20s when I was hitting the clubs scene. Ahh so many memories, so much fun.

As I'm aging, I've noticed that my groove (but not the Stella groove) has either been replaced with Ed Grimley's or it was just killed and buried in an avocado orchard.

Now I find myself dancing, only when I'm alone, to my old-school (as in 90s jams) music and looking like I'm trying to crush and/or kick invisible insects.

I know I can still find the rhythm because I tap my foot at all the right places. I do a mean upper body jam while sitting on a chair but if I get up and try to move all my limbs at once in time to the music? DEH! FAIL!

I need to know what happened, did someone substitute my bone marrow by injecting concrete?? Is it something I can fix? Maybe I can have a Elainebenisdectomy?

Do you know how sad this makes me? I go to parties, such as the one I attended this past Saturday where my brothers nearly broke their backs by break-dancing (by the way, the peer pressure to have me drunk was unbelievable! I just love how the family will unite for one goal and then mercilessly taunt me by saying "if you don't have a drink, you're old!" for crapsake people! it's like we're living in the 90s again and you are my booze buddies!)(I'm also happy to report that, due to my Mojito training of this past summer, I DID NOT GET HALF AS DRUNK AS THE LIL BROTHERS! HA! In your faces!), and see the young 'uns tearing it up, I die a little inside.

I've been living with this secret for a few years now. While I'm glad I got this off my chest, I hope you will be compassionate enough not to mock me.

P.S.

While removing the potting soil from my terracotta pots so that I may store them for the winter, I came across many little nuts like these.

The damn squirrels have been ruining my plants the whole season to store their little winter stash. They've destroyed many beautiful flowers and my pepper plants MY PEPPER PLANTS the little habaneros and jalapeños did not even have a chance to burn anyone's butt on their way out!

When I was putting all the nuts in a container, my beloved husband said "You do realize they're counting on those nuts, right? If you take them, some may not make it through the winter."

My response? Payback, she is a bitch, no??

What? I never said I was nice!!

Humor-Blogs

Oh Gahndi! Will you be my bodygaurd? I know you're dead but I'm sure we can work something out.

As I type this, it's a beautiful evening in Chicagoland. The kind I love and look forward to every year. I'm sitting next to the open window (don't tell Andy, he'll yell if he finds out I opened it again) letting the cool breeze freeze my toes. Our trees seem to be glowing from the fall colors and I know what this weekend's chores will be, picking up soggy leaves and burning the dry branches. Fall? Te adoro!

After reading that, you are probably thinking "Oh good! Bee's in a great mood and it's about time! I'm tired of her constantly w h i n i n g!"

Yeah, dream a little dream, people!

Do you guys know who Gandhi was? Apparently he was some dude who was always peaceful and I believe he won a peace prize for not losing his shit (I can't be bothered to look him up so if you know more about him and I got any of it wrong, don't correct me because you'll only anger the beast)(thanks). Well, even that guy would go apeshit at the Asylum. He would probably hide under people's desks and slash their ankles with a sharpened calculator! … Not that I've EVER thought of doing that… nope.

Went bat* huntin' and...

Weirdly, my relationship with the attorneys I have to deal with has gotten better. I don't know if word has gotten out about my MAD negotiating skillz or what but I now get nice, even tempered requests to go fuck myself as opposed to those rage filled tirades. I call that progress! Yay me!

You know what I've learned here at Arkham Asylum and will be careful not to repeat when I find another job? Now listen up people because this is very important. Your mental well being might hinge on this piece of information I'm about to impart. Are you ready?

No mater what— NO MATTER WHAT!!! Never EVER volunteer to do anything!
.
If you are trying to fit in and have people think you are one of the good guys STOP!
Let's say you just started working at a place and they just opened a Subway across the lot and your Office Manager asks if anyone would mind going across to get the boss a sandwich, do not (NO!) DO NOT take pity on the old decrepit crones and say "Oh, I'll go.".

If you do, you will forever be known as the dog who goes and fetches. And the times you say no? Woo boy! It'll be like you just told them you filled their gas tank with sugar.

If, for example, your job description does not say you have to relieve the receptionist but you think "Meh, I should volunteer so that everybody is equally watching the front desk. What can it hurt?"

For the love of peaches!! STOP!!

What will happen is that they will EXPECT you to KNOW everything there is about that desk. They will EXPECT you to ALWAYS be the one to be her back up even on Fridays.
You remember Fridays, right? The days you are already stressed to your eyelashes because you have to meet with a demanding boss who will give you a list of accounts that'll have you scurrying and then just want to talk about how nutritious Cheerios are. Really? Lower your cholesterol you say? May reduce the chances of a heart attack or heart disease.

Well, sign me up for a fuckin boatload there sparky because MY heart is doing all kinds of funny things right now! Oh what pretty dots I see.

FUCKERS!

Uh, but I'm not bitter.

*Bats is what I call all some of my coworkers.
.
Humor-Blogs

P.S.
My 36th birthday is rapidly approaching. It hopped on a jet and will be landing on my head faster than I can say "What The Fu-"!
.
(THAT'S THE BIG THREE SIX PEOPLE!)
Last year, I started bitching about it in August. You've been lucky so far.

If coffee were a person, I'd marry it. Or worse.

Terrorist ridden computer

Damn.

I'm tired.

Have you ever been so tired you feel drunk? There was a legitimate study, done by some brainy people somewhere, which determined sleep deprivation had the same effects on the body as being inebriated... only without the sweet smell of stanky bar (why is *stank* a word but not *stanky*?).

.

Remember that smell? It was kind of a mixture of stale cigarettes smoke, beer, whiskey, body odor and in some cases for those of us who had too much fun...

... v o m i t.

You thought I was going to say *sex* didn't you? I knew you'd think that because you are all a bunch of perverts! Except you right there.
.
I used to come home from the clubs, strip on my way to the bathroom and leave my clothes in a puddle outside the door (that's right! I said PUDDLE). I'd put on my PJs (or what I could of my PJs), grab my clothes and dump them outside so they wouldn't stink up my tiny bedroom.
Ah Good times!

What was my point? Oh yeah. I'm tired.

This morning, while walking with my heaven's elixir, disguising itself as crappy office coffee, I almost stumbled and spilled it! And I wasn't even wearing high heels! I need to do something about getting some sleep.

I've tried counting goats but that just makes me hungry.

I blame the lack of sleep on the excrement littering our path lately.

Oh yeah! I found out Omarosa (artist formerly known as Glynda the Office Manager) suspects something is up and I might be looking for another job.
Lesser women/men would be shaking in their stilettos but not THIS CHICK! This
chick is hoping the adrenaline will wake her the hell up!

I guess I don't have a point here except maybe to say I'm TIRED!

When I used to go to the clubs and come home at 4 AM, I'd pass out after my nightly ritual, get my ass out of bed at 7AM to go to work at the chicken joint, work until 3-4 and was fine. Bright eyed and bushy tailed.

Then I'd come home, take a nap and be ready to hit the clubs again.

Why can't I stay awake now? I sit at my desk FREEZING because when I'm sleepy I get cold, and constantly feel like I'm nodding off (is it just me, or does anybody else giggle when you say or hear "nodding off" I don't know why it's funny to me but it is)(maybe because I'M TIRED). In fact, the only thing keeping me awake is typing this post.

Which brings me to the way I have to do my posts. I have to type them up on a patient account I made up, print it, delete it, take it home, try not to lose it (the paper not my mind), eat dinner (only relevant because this is where I re-read it and make additions or subtractions "should I remove this whole parenthesis since they might get bored and just go google 'naked woman window'? nah!"), try to decipher my hieroglyphics, turn on my laptop, and then retype it on blogger. Yup, all because my computer is still terrorist ridden.

.
Hey? Did I mention I'm tired?
.
Where was I?

.

Now I can't remember what this post was going to be about. Oh well, now we're all confused. And probably tired.

.

What time is it?

.

Humor-Blogs

.

P.S.

Damn you Madagascar II! Now I will be singing "I like to move it move it!" for a year!

.

P.P.S.

A (future seeing) crystal ball would have been a better gift.

Today is my man's birthday. He turns the BIG THREE TWO and is like fine Pomegranate Juice (actually, PJ doesn't last in my house. we're gonna need to start buying in bulk soon). I met him when he was the young age of 18 and I was the cradle robbing age of 22. What?? I've told you we didn't start dating until he was 21 and old enough to run my liqour errands.

I would like to tell you about the first time we celebrated his birthday as boyfriend and girlfriend since today marks the 10th anniversary of that day. Did you just roll your eyes?? Listen, it was a day for me to remember so I think you should read the whole post while sipping your coffee/martini/yak's blood. Here is what you will learn:

Andy's Grandma calls Bee out
Andy talks shit about Bee's gift
Bee's brother gets arrested
Bee's head explodes
what happens to Andy's Grandma
Andy's dad meets ONE MORE Mexican

Uhmmm... I guess I that told you all you needed to know and I don't need to add more but I will anyway. Trust me when I say this would be an indicator of how our life would turn out.

Since we were a couple of broke fools, our plans were cheap and simple. Go to Water Tower Place, Lincoln Park Zoo, dinner and then cake at his parents' house.

I drove to his house and while we were waiting for his mom to come home so she could watch his Grandma, she had Alzheimers, I gave him his present. I'd gotten him a Kerry Wood jersey, he was supposed to be THE go to guy for the Cubs. He seemed to like it so all was peaches and cream.

When his mom got home, his grandma started yelling at her. Since this was my first time meeting them, I decided to pick up the newspaper and read the funnies so I wouldn't intrude on their family issues. Suddenly, his Grandma starts yelling at me.

"WHY ARE YOU PRETENDING TO BE READING???"

AAAAWKWARD!

We left his house and arrived at Water Tower Place where they have a sports memorabilia store. Andy walked in, saw a signed Kerry Wood baseball and said "This is what you should have got me for my birthday."

Uh-Huh! He sure did say that! He denies it now but my my memory never fails while he can't remember where he parked his car two seconds after locking it.

He bought the ball (which is now worthless since KW turned out to be more breakable than Elijah Price) (at least the jersey still looks good but whatever!) and we moved on to the Zoo.

It was a perfect fall day and we were having a nice romantic time -while the caged monkeys were throwing feces at us- when my cellphone rang (yup this was 10 years ago and I had a cell, I've always been this cool).

Deep voice:
Is this Bianca Lastname? This is Officer Soandso. We'd like to inform you we have your 16 year old brother Rick in custody for possession of 2 bags of marijuana. We need you to come pick him up so he may be released to your custody.

You see, October first also marks the anniversary of my youngest brother Rick's birth. My youngest brother who decided to celebrate his birthday by buying a couple of dime bags of pot and sit in an alley to smoke up with his "dawgs".

I told the officer I would be there and he let me know I needed to pick him up before 8pm otherwise he'd be transferred to Cook County Lock Up.

Decisions decisions...

So Andy and I went for pizza... I'm serious! I had a good 3 hours before he got shipped so I was gonna eat my freakin' pizza! He needed to learn a lesson anyway.

When we finally got to the police station, I was metal detected and frisked. Niiiiiice lil' bro! It's always been my dream to get felt up by a 400lb white guy! I signed a paper that said he was going to be my responsibility until he turned 18 and they brought the lil' convict over.

I have to admit it was a bit heart wrenching to see him walk over without shoes and pulling up his 30-sizes-too-big pants up his bony ass. They remove their shoes and belts so they don't use the laces or belt to strangle others or themselves. A little fact I could have gone my whole life without needing to know.

In the car, after I yelled at him for about half an hour, his response was:

"Yo' man! What's the big deal? It was just weed!"

My head exploded.

We dropped him off at my house and headed to Andy's parents' house for yummy cake. This was going to be the first time I was meeting his dad too so I was a little nervous -in a "I hope he doesn't say anything to piss me off!" kinda way-. I didn't want to be rude and spill anybody's blood on my first day. I was also dreading seeing his grandma again.

Much to my (and Andy's) surprsie, we were informed they had taken his grandma to a nursing home THAT SAME DAY!

Right now you're thinking "Phew! What a long day but at least it's over and you can just sit down and enjoy some cake!"

Really? Do you guys read this blog on a regular basis?? You should know things are never as easy or piece of cake if you will.

And now, the first conversation I ever shared with Andy's dad---

Future father in law:
You don't look Mexican!

Bee:
Ummm... Is that a compliment or an insult? You have to help me out here because I don't know how to take that.

FFIL:
I was just making an observation.

Me:
O-kaaaay.

FFIL:
I worked with a Mexican once.

Me:
... Con-- Congratulations?

FFIL:
He would always say "Jahnnie, ju're doin dis rong Jahnnie!" [::blinks::] He was a nice guy though.

Bee:
I'm glad my people have been good to you.

I was expecting him to ask "Do you know him?" next but he didn't. I think my future mother-in-law might have kicked him under the table.

So yeah, the evening did end well (by Andy and I making out in his gangway before I left) and the rest is history because we lived Happily-Ever-Sometimes.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY BELOVED ANDY AND MY (STILL SOMETIMES PAIN IN THE BUTT) LITTLE BROTHER RICK*!

*Rick is now 26 and a baby girl will make him a daddy in January. All I'm going to say is, I hope you name your first frown wrinkle after me. :op

P.S.
JINKSY (from Extremely Funny which is always... well, extremely funny)! You hit the nail on the bitch head!! From now on, playing the roll as Office Manager at Arkham Asylum, Omarosa!

P.P.S
I'll be incommunicado for a few days since my stupid work computer still doesn't have internet access so I'll see you guys on Friday!

Humor-Blogs

PSA #4754- The car you love and the man who sabotages it.

Hey! I haven't done a PSA in forever!
Ladies, if your husband ever calls you and is FRANTIC, because he thinks your car is going to die while he's driving home after having taken it to get an oil change, where he found out the thingy that blah blah the battery was corroded, let him know that as long as the car is on and your alternator is working fine, you can actually remove the battery and go on your merry way while singing show tunes.* It won't start again once you turn it off but I'm sure the fairies will fix it. When he got home (after he give me hugs and kisses for not picking up my phone until the seventh time he called) (HEY MAN! I WAS READING!), he showed me how they had jimmy-rigged the thingy so that the car would start.
.
That there is tape. Regular scotch tape. You know, the one you would use to wrap gifts for your loved ones? The one that only sticks to paper or skin (making scary faces by putting tape on your eyelids and then sticking them to your forehead=AWESOME Saturday nights!)?
Please excuse the messy insides. If I would have known I would be sharing the guts of my car, I would have dusted.
This is the best the guys at The Boob Lube could come up with? Have they not heard about duct tape??? It holds the world together!
How about learning a little bit more about cars? Now I have to smell the burning plastic every time I turn on my car! This doesn't let me appreciate the smell of burning tires when I merge into traffic!
.
He was having some difficulty removing the nut because the corrosion was so bad, it had a welding effect on the washer so I decided to help him with my own tools. His are the big ones with the DIRTY blue handles, mine are the cute ones that say IKEA. Then I got bored, because there are only so many new swear words your brain can learn in one day, so I sat in the garden to read my book while he went on grunting a few feet away. At this point I was only 100 pages away from the end of the rambling 750 page book I was reading and I could taste the finish line! (It tasted of human ribs and pasta)
Andy told me I could go inside since he no longer needed my assistance but it was a beautiful weekend here in Chi-townland so I decided to take advantage of the cool breeze (not to mention I wanted to be within hearing distance in case he caused any MORE damage to my Mini Tank or you know, he exploded)!
.
He was finally able to remove all offending metal particles (by sawing them off) that didn't belong in my car and replace the bastard piece that was preventing the juice from making my car hummmmmmmmm (all this is technical stuff so if you don't understand, it's okay).

Ooh Shiny! That's Andy's hand. Isn't it beautiful?? And it's not soft either!.
There are a couple of things I wish I would have known before this little adventure.
.
I wish I'd known how toxic the white powder on the battery was. You see, after I helped with the untightification of the nut, Andy dared me to stick my whole hand in my mouth before washing it! Yeah, he is soo trying to kill me!

His warning to me this morning was "Let me know if you see sparks" I swear I heard him mumble "If it's not too late..."
.
Other thing is, just because your car is running smoothly (until your husband has it for one hour then everything goes to shit!!!!), it doesn't mean you shouldn't pop the hood and check it out to see if it needs anything like say, a cleaning from the acid overflowing from the battery.

All in all, we both learned something new.

Me: Battery liquids/powders = BAD

Andy: My wife knows more about cars than I do.

*I'm not a mechanic (as you can tell by all my non-technical terms) but I've had a shit-ton of crappy cars which made me learn things the hard way. If you ask my family, they'll tell you I blame any car malfunctions on the alternator.
.
P.S.
Yes, yes. I know we need to replace the battery but I'm gonna wear out that four dollar piece he had to buy first.
.
P.P.S.
I finished the book and will have a review (nothing too detailed) on it another day. Stephenie Meyer fans will hate me but they can take a number and wait at the back of the line along with the weird tourist who was asking for directions to the Sear's Tower and I mistakenly directed him to the Hancock building. I might have been a little tipsy that day.

Humor-Blogs