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

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

I am going to start charging a separate fee when I translate sign language.

A long long time ago, when I was just a *little Bee*, my Spanish was horrible.

  (Isabella)(she's always mad at me)(like I bother her)

I was like a toddler learning to speak with half words/half grunts and finger pointing which was cute when I was 2 but not so much when I was older. My mom, with her maternal instinct set on high, would understand every single one of my *Spanish words* and so I got by.

This went on until the year we moved to Mexico and I was about 13. I learned the hard way that "negro gato" made no sense but "gato negro" meant *black cat*. (I know what you're thinking, those are the same words only in a different order. Very observant of you, Captain Obvious-Stater! I can use a lot of words but if they are out of order, they mean nothing! As evidence by this blog. Uh,  moving on.)

I say I learned the hard way because my aunts, uncles, and cousins had no mercy on this beautiful defenseless little girl and picked at every word, phrase, incorrect use of *este* my mouth uttered.

 

1. ¹este (adjective)
2. ²este (adjective)
3. ³este (masculine noun)
4. éste (pronoun)

 

Sure, I got back at them by calling them "ass-faces" or "jerk off bitches" in English because they only knew the one language so they'd be clueless but victories were always short lived.

I honed my Spanish skills the same way a ninja masters his fear of heights, the dark and large pointy objects being thrown at his head. As my vocabulary expanded, so did my confidence in slaying those taunting jackasses I called my family. (KIDDING! I love them all- except for 2)

I made a great pupil and assembled an army of Spanish words the likes not even the Spaniards themselves had known existed! I learned to side step their word darts and lob off a few of my own verbal grenades. People learned to be wary of my poisonous tongue.

And those victories were chiseled in the family hall of fame with the sharp needles of a drunk  porcupine!

Anyway, flash-forward to the present. Spanish has been a useful tool that has gotten me far in life. (Well, not so much *far in life* as *living in the suburbs*.) I have helped many hard working individuals needing a translator who wouldn't just make up words by adding an *o* or *a* to the end of an English word. The word "cast" does not become "cast-o" the word "fracture" does not become "fractur-a" okay it does because that's how you say fracture in Spanish.

My point is, I'm great at my translating duties.

There have been times when I've been embarrassed (like the time that dude hurt his shoulder from wiping himself) but, with the diligence of a nun kneeling during prayers, I have worked through the pain and discomfort.

This all changed on Monday. I was pranked again by that evil bitch, Karma.

I was called to the cast-room for translation. Nothing surprising about this patient. He had an ankle fracture, they were casting him, I was just going in to explain the x-rays, care of cast and to see if he had any questions.

Things were going okay but you could tell he had a question he seemed too embarrassed to ask.

Finally, OZ asks: Is there anything else before I leave.

Man: I was just wondering if me and my woman [I kid you not he said *my woman* !! Okay, I may be a tad judgmental especially because I call Andy *my man* but it's cute when I do it] will be able to [pumps hips] you know.

Ladies and gentleman, I've had a lot of awful experiences in my life, a bunch of embarrassing ones and a ton of nice ones but none of them ever prepared me for that! None!

Like there wasn't one time I thought, "Okay, I only have enough to pay for Nancy and Rick's bus ride home so I'll have to walk from here. Sure it's 10 degrees but that's okay because if I'm ever translating for a guy and he wants me to ask the doctor if he can have sex with his woman, this experience will come in handy!"

I bowed my head, and I tried to come up with a proper phrasing because I could not bring myself to utter the word *sex* in front of OZ.

Me: He wants to know if he can have relations with his girlfriend.

OZ [blushes, stands up straight, sprints for the door]: yeah sure! That's great! [leaves]

I know what you're thinking, '*relations*, Bee? What are you, living in an 18th century novel?' And to that I answer. Screw you! ::sobs:: Screw you.

The sad part? I don't think I needed to say one freaking word because his uh DEMONSTRATION? was universal in all languages! And besides! Do you need a flip book showing you what body parts you use for sex?

 

Do you really need your ankle?

Dumbshit.

I don't get paid enough.

... it's just another manic Monday!

Man, today hit me like an out of control granny driving a tank and chewing bubble gum.

I really don't feel like getting into the the incompetence of everyone I work with because you've heard that song before and reliving it just makes me want to squeeze my eyeballs.

Anyway, in what I originally thought was the capper to my crappy day, I soon realized it was actually the highpoint of my crappy day.

I was sitting at the front desk while Cowardly Lion went to the little girls room when I noticed a patient staring at me. I thought "yep, I still got it!" but then I wondered about the guys eyesight because today was definitely not one of my *good face days*. Not that I have many. At any rate, I would look up and he would look down quickly. I would turn away again but then snap my head back to look at him and he would pretend he was interested in the ugly wall rug that resembles a sushi roll full of rotted meat and rat hair.

 

Weird.

When CL came back and I went to my desk, I pulled out my mirror so that I may admire myself and that's when I noticed I had gone about 3 hours with a blob of make up in between my eyes!

This blob was bigger than my fist!

(simulation)

Now I need to ask you, would you let your coworker walk around for hours without telling them they have goop on their forehead? Would you let them humiliate themselves by checking people in and out when up at the front desk while CL empties her bladder or fills it with coffee? Would you let them go into a room and translate for a patient without so much of a mimed forehead rub from across the room??

I mean, I wouldn't have said anything to them either but this office should only have one vicious vindictive witch and I'm planning on keeping my thrown until it's pried from my cold dead ass. 

P.S.

Don't ask me why I didn't notice it myself upon leaving my house because I will be forced to beat you with a piano.

My reign of terror at the Laundromat? It comes to an end!! (Shoots off confetti at the audience!)(Hopes nobody gets it in the eye)(except maybe YOU right there!)

This past Saturday morning, Andy and I woke up extremely early SIX-THIRTY! He got up and put on his big boy pants so he may take the dogs out, go move our cars and open the back gate while I decided to stay in bed and send my support from there. With my eyes closed. And hugging my teddy bear.

I was all snuggly when I heard my car alarm go off. I jumped out of bed, because I know how over reactive my man can be, and ran to the front door. Meanwhile Andy ran the length of our long driveway and came into the house through the back door, which doesn't make sense because my car was parked in the front but whatever, yelling "BEE! WHERE IS YOUR KEY FOB???" (as my car alarm was going nuts waiting to be shut off) (as he was holding my car keys with my, ehm, KEY FOB that shuts off my car alarm). So I say "you are holding it" in English because that is the only language he understands and he bellows "NO I'M NOT! WHERE IS YOUR KEY FOOOOOOB??" so I take this thing that he's holding that he claims is NOT my key fob, walk to the front door, push the button on this imposter key fob and miraculously shut off my car alarm.

I slowly turn to look at him and he's just standing there, seething. Then he walks into the bedroom and I look at the time. 6:45 which triggers the rage within me. When he came out of the bedroom I let him have it boys and girls. I can't even remember what I said but I'm sure it was mean (because my voice was all snarly) and I ended it with "so you better apologize"

And he did.

I don't recall the last time Andy said 'I'm sorry'. Wait, I do. It was that one time he accidentally elbowed me in the head while he was sleeping. But that one shouldn't count because I smacked him on the stomach to wake him up and told him what he had done and he opened one eye and said 'oh sawrry' ::snore:: I'm sure that in the rule book (The Marriage Rule Book) there is an entry that clearly states that half conscious apologies are invalid in the states of Illinois, Wisconsin, California, Hawaii and maybe Alaska.

Anyway, the reason we were up so early and moving the cars around was because we needed to make room for the delivery truck that was dropping off our BRAND SPANKIN NEW WASHER!!

The delivery dudes (or "happy marriage makers" as I call them) arrived at 7:01 and, after they installed it and hauled away the old washer, were gone by 7:15.

I was so happy, I was doing dance moves I haven't been able to do since the late 80s.

I have to thank my mother and father-in-law (or "fairy godparents of smiling, happy couples" as I like to call them) for their awesome gift. They took pity on the people I have to interact with at the Laundromat and decided to intervene on their behalf. They knew I was down to my last nerve and the chains holding me back from doing serious damage to people hogging all the carts, dryers, tables, wouldn't keep me back for much longer.

Thank you Mom and Pop R.!

Here is a picture of my beautiful new washer. See how it spins for me??

Here is a picture of it standing nobly next to my dryer (which will hopefully be replaced in March).

My heart sings for you, my beautiful washer!

Later that morning, Andy cleaned out the garage (with some help from me) (but it was mostly me standing around saying stuff like "ewww! Look at all the spider eggs!" and Andy correcting me by saying "They're spider SACKS, Bee" and me saying "look, they can be spider eggs, sacks or balls for all I care because they are still EWWW!" and then him telling me to get out of the garage because he didn't need me jumping around every time I thought something was crawling on me and knocking over his elaborate balancing crap-o-stuff.).

After the flood of 2008, we stored a bunch of stuff in the garage. Materials, tools, stuff I bought on ebay which years later has me wondering what kind of drugs I was on (must have been good ones):

I know I just became cooler in your eyes.

When I opened the box, I was stunned. Was I thinking about changing careers and trying to break into the clown industry? Holy crap!

To answer your unspoken question, no, I never wore them. Just opening the box now makes me want to disinfect my body. And to some extent, my mind.

We took a break in the middle of the day to have lunch at Costco. I know I've said I don't eat any of the samples because I'm afraid of contracting small pox, eating more than my daily recommended intake of other people's skin flakes AKA dust and being pressured into buying 80 lbs of crab salad (and I don't even like crabs, edible or otherwise) but my mom came with us and hit every sample table from the front to the back of the store.

She'd walk away with portions for herself, Andy and I. By the end of our stay, we had to be rolled out of there. The freakin place was packed but now I know why people go there at around 1 o'clock. Why pay $8 per person at Corner Bakery when you can eat for free?

After we were able to tear my mesmerized mother away from the Costco blender demonstrator (who thinks he's so cool because he has a Madonna microphone) (but I'm not impressed unless he sings Lucky Star and shines one me wherever I are), we made our way home and lived happily every after.

Well, until the free booze wore off.

Man + Woman + his and hers computers = Harmony.

As some of you may know, Andy and I have been married for over 8 years. (EIGHT LONG YEARS)

I personally think people should go through some sort of pre-marriage counseling that prepares them for the different facets you'll go through in a marriageship. In fact, I, as the all knowing been-there-done-that chick, volunteer to be your personal guide through stormy seas. And by *volunteer* I mean there will be a nominal fee of $1,000.

Expensive, you say? Well, it's a one time payment and you will get the benefit of my expertise and have me at your beck and call. That's a bargain since not even Andy can boast of such privileges. Unless he pays the $1,000 fee but that would be immoral and along the lines of prostitution which we here at Bee's Musings do not condone!

Okay! Let's get this train back on track!

My Andy and I have gone through a lot of transitional periods but the hardest ones were probably the first 3 years (I'm not counting the seventh year among the problematic ones because I blame it on temporary insanity)(HIS temporary insanity).

In the first year of our marriage, we discovered that our heads will not literally explode from yelling at each other until we sound like chain-smoking winos. This was a great realization since we seemed to be at arms everyday and twice on Sundays.

"Why don't you close the shower curtain after your shower? What? You want to bathe in mold??"

"Do not touch my lunch snacks because those are mine- for ME to take for MY lunch- MINE!" (I think we can all recognize this as being Andy)

"Gah! Can you pick up your feet so I can sweep under the couch??"

"Why do you have to clean when I'm trying to watch Football/Basketball/Baseball/Golf/Midget Wrestling??"

Specialist in mental health call this "The adjustment" period (I assume) but I call it the "Watch your ass or I'll kick it!" period. Still, we tweaked our behaviors. He by becoming addicted to the computer instead of the TV thereby staying in his dungeon and me by never cleaning. Ahhh apathy, you are the instrument which tunes my soul. Or not. Whatever.

Worked out well I'd say.

Our second year we argued less but when we did argue, it was mostly about money. He would give me my allowance at 6:00pm on Fridays and I would have it all spent by 6:05pm on Fridays.

"How is that you're broke already? I JUST gave you your money! Are you buying drugs in the alley?"

"It's none of your beeswax! It's not like I'm asking for more!"

Those same specialists may call this "The financial overlord" period and I would have to agree. It would drive Andy insane that I'd never know where my money went and I refused to give him a breakdown. As far as I was concerned, it was my allowance and I could spend it on wax jobs for women in third world countries if I wanted to!

After we bought our house in the midst of our third year of marriage, all arguments over money stopped. There was no money to argue over, you see. Our allowances went from "Woohoo! Shoes, purses, TEQUILA!!" to "Hmmm I think I have enough to buy a Butterfinger, a bottle of water and a bag of twisty fritos. Doh! I forgot about the tax!" We go to work, come home, pay our bills then go to our respective corners and relax.

There's something about being on the hook for hundreds of thousands of dollars that makes you bond and realize it's you two against the malevolent banks with their interest rates and their rolls of quarters.

We reached a plateau in our marriage. The "comfortable with each other enough for ONE of us to confide in the other that we just took the longest poop on record!" (okay, it wasn't me). One where we can be have our own likes without codependency.

You figure there is nothing else you can hide from each other. No new behavior you need to adjust to. From here on out it's smooth sailing...

Until.

Until the day comes when his computer breaks and now you're left to fill that vacant void that's labeled "relationship".

All of a sudden your pleasant routine transforms into this "WE" thing.

"What are WE going to watch?" -Uhhh I'M going to watch "17 Again". (Don't judge me!)

"The Cubs'/Bears' game is on, can WE change the channel?" -but I'M already watching Less Than Perfect!

"Are WE going to have ice cream?" -Sweet Moses!

And then he starts taking over your things, your seat, your sanity.

"I am just going on your laptop for a minute- why are there pictures of Brad Pitt and David Beckham flashing me?" -because they're gorgeous duh!

"Can you scooch over? There's a glare from your terrarium on the TV." -which is why I sit where I sit.

Then it gets worse because now you have to listen to ::shiver:: sports talk!

"Shabadaba Tarrrruiti is on the DL (disabled list)(useless trivia) again! That man must be made of glass!"

"The Cubs played the Dinosaurs and lost by 17 but they should have won! Gary Whocares lost it at the end!"

"Blah Blah Blah football."

He keeps looking over at me as I type this. WE are watching Law & Order Criminal Intent (I LOATHE JEFF GOLDBLUM!)

There sits my Andy. Drinking my Miller Lite and eating Doritos...

I don't know what's wrong with his computer. I don't know how to fix it either but, by Eve [shakes fist in the air!], I'm going to take out my tools, pour myself a drink and figure it out!

A mile in my shoes.

So, lately I've been feeling a little depressed. It's mostly due to XYZ health issues and ABC medications. I know you wouldn't be able to tell from my chipper blog attitude because, due to your delicate sensibilities, I've been putting on a brave front for your sake.

You're welcome.

Anyway, I've been experiencing some swelling in my body due to side effects of testing this pill or that pill to see which one works best. One of the things that has me down is the fact that the size of my puffy feet make it impossible for me to wear any of my awesome shoes.

I know some of you are probably thinking in disbelief and yes, a little condescendingly, "Shoes?? You're upset because you can't wear certain shoes??"

Short answers "Yes" long answer "How about you shutty?" The shoes situation just served as my catalyst.

I don't know about all women but in my case, a great pair of shoes can do wonders for my spirit.

The past few months, I've been wearing a pair of Clark's Sandals that are nice but plain. I bought them 6 years ago because they were on a great sale but I hadn't worn them in about 3 years. Turns out they, and the sketchers sandals I bought earlier this year, are the only shoes that fit me comfortably. For some reason my right foot is considerably more swollen than the left. (anybody have Barnum and Bailey's number?) Because of this, I wake up in the morning and dig through the more casual of my clothes. There's no sense in putting on a nice outfit if I can't wear the shoes to match. Along these lines, why bother with make-up if I'm dressed so casually? Added to that the spider bites that left my legs with this ugly biohazard look to them, I've been too self-conscious to wear any of my skirts... and so I step onto the insane merry-go-round.

I know there are bigger issues in the world and mine are trivial in comparison but there is no talking logic to my depression. After all the things I've lived through, I felt like this one was crushing me in ways I never expected. I didn't have the will to fight through it either because my brain knew how ridiculous and irrational I was being. I was just letting it consume me one day at a time. Everything in my head ended with "what for?" or "what's the use?"

I finally snapped out of it on Friday.

Andy and I were doing some last minute shopping for our trip to Starved Rock. One of our errands was stopping to get him a new pair of shoes since his old shoes wouldn't be comfortable enough to do any hiking. There I was in my baggy shorts and my bleach stained T-shirt, hair all Nick Nolte-like, no make-up and looking haggard and old with my ugly feet. I felt like a tired old woman. Seriously.

The shoes Andy picked were a little narrow so I went around the shoe department looking for a salesperson to ask for a bigger size. That's when I stumbled upon the most beautiful shoe I've seen in a long time. I stood in front of it and, I kid you not, looked at it reverently- too afraid to pick it up for fear of getting my hopes up that it would be

a) in my size
b) affordable

and the most important

c) in my size and me be able to squeeze my elephant foot into it

I timidly picked it up and found it was half a size too big but this hasn't stopped me before. I set it on the floor and slipped my foot out of my sandal. I slowly pushed my foot into the shoe and wiggled it this way and that until it went in and it fit perfectly!

It may sound like I'm exaggerating but I felt my body drain itself of all the tension I'd been feeling the past few months. I asked the somber sales dude for the other shoe and gushed over their unusual color, their style, the fact that the heel looked like the paneling on my dad's old station-wagon (never in a million years would I have thought this to be a good thing in a shoe). I was so happy, the sales dude went from quiet and serious to smiling and cheerful. He told me they were $19 on clearance and with Andy's purchase we were able to save $15 instead of the $10 I thought we would save from a coupon they had running. The great price made the find even sweeter.

As the evening went on and I was cutting up fruit, marinating steak, making a check list of all things we needed to pack the next morning, I kept thinking about the shoes and when I'd be able to wear them. They were too special for their first time on my feet to be just to work. I decided on wearing them to a reunion a former boss of mine is organizing for this coming Saturday. From there my mind went to picking an outfit and with each passing minute my heart became lighter.

I started looking forward to going through my shoes and checking to see which ones I felt comfortable wearing. On Sunday I did just that and found a few that made the difference in my feet imperceptible.

I also painted my finger nails so they're back to looking sharp and lethal. This morning I woke up, ironed a nice pair of dress pants, picked out a pretty purple blouse and wore my killer black shoes. Some make-up, jewelry, and perfume later and I felt like I'd lost 10 pounds and grew 4 inches in height.

People at work were telling me how great I looked and commenting that the trip to Starved Rock must have done wonders for me. While I did enjoy the magnificent scenery (Andy and I are planning a trip in the fall where we will hopefully go on more than one trail) the shift in my attitude happened the day before. It made it possible for me to truly appreciate what I was seeing because I was at peace with myself.

Listen, I know this all sounds screwy and I have had some brief relapses but I've been able to pull myself out of my pity party quicker this time around. I also debated on posting this here since it sounds more Bee's Dark Side but I thought "screw it! I'm the boss of me!"

I feel like I'm back to my abnormal self. I've never underestimated the small things that can brighten my life. A pair of shoes, a flower, some kind words, whatever it may be, it's not silly if it makes you happy.

P.S.
I realize a pair of shoes does not cure any health issues m'mkay? Rest assured I have a team of gorgeous male models medical experts analyzing every molecule in my body.

P.P.S.

While hiking, we came across a bunch of carvings that stated 'so and so was here' my favorite was:

(here with your mom on 4/20/09)

If she bends over, you'll know what year she was born. Also, see a duck mooning the crowd.

We went to the Laundromat again on Monday. I think we all know how much I detest that place. Every time we go, something happens that infuriates me!

This time it was a stupid washer that didn’t let me select any other cycle other than ‘woolens’. Normally I would have just taken my clothes out and found one that had its entire workable buttons but the ones that weren’t being used, had little out of orders signs. I decided to just leave it there, what could go wrong?

Well, it turns out that the soap compartment wasn’t working properly and so my clothes received the same cleaning my uncle Ricardo gave himself when he was 10 and he pretended to shower by wetting the top of his head but not bothering to remove the dirt stains from his face.

The options were to rewash them which would mean spending more time in the demon’s armpit or just dry them and call it a day. My uncle Ricardo would be proud.

Next up, a lady set her basket on my table. Some of you may remember the near nervous breakdown that caused the last time. This time I remained calm (as calm as a teeny tiny raft on a raging river), cool (as cool as a walrus in a sauna) and collected (as collected as the hippo stamp)(I don’t know what that means either but I couldn’t come up with anything anti-collected). I decided not to say anything until it was time for me to use the table. When her husband went to move the basket without me having to say anything, I heard her say “leave the basket there”

It. Was. ON!

Unfortunately, she left the L’mat (that's what we cool non washer having people call it) to have dinner while her clothes were in the wash so she didn’t see me grab her basket and throw it on a washer. I told Andy “Don’t worry babe. If she comes in here and says something, I’ll take her outside!” but my Andy, being the kind hearted person he is said “uh Bee? She and her husband are both bigger than we are…” so I told my man he could wait in the car while I took care of them both.

I really thought she'd say something when she came back because she was also a Latina and I know I would have said something but she didn’t. She must be one of those higher plane people with normal blood pressure I keep hearing about.

Things at work are a little better since OZ is on vacation yet again. Boy, the economy hasn’t hit that dude one bit! Anyway, he still has peculiar requests when he calls. His most recent one was odd even for him. He wants me to Google ‘why we should send a refund to an insurance company’. When I asked if I may just CALL the insurance company themselves and ask them directly why they’re requesting the refund:

“No! JUST GOOGLE IT! I want a full report when I come back on Monday!”

Um okay? While I have my googler out I will also ask “why does my boss think google is a magic 8 ball?”

That man cracks me up. He cracks me up like a baseball bat to the head cracks me up.

We took my mom and Natalia to the Botanic Gardens on Sunday and while Natalia, my mom and Andy tanned, the sun left its mark on my scalp, chest, arms and feet the way a soccer ball did to my thighs when I tried to stop a goal (what a fun memory! The imprint of a half moon on each thigh was an awesome thing to explain to people). I remember being able to tan just by standing near a window now I have to cover up like I’m 106.

I love going to the gardens. I was happy to see that a lot of the plants/flowers they planted are the same ones I’m trying to encourage to grow in my garden. Sadly, mine got too much water earlier this year so they’re struggling but I’m hoping they come back healthier next year.

Of course, plants aren’t the only things you see at the botanic gardens.

There was also a woman in a sheer maxi-mini dress in 5 inch platform stripper shoes. I didn’t take a picture of her, even though I could have, because I worry about the content I put on this here blog. I certainly do not want to corrupt/offend anyone with delicate sensibilities so instead I drew a picture of her.

censored for your protection.

Yeah I know! Ewwwww!

So anyway, later alligators.

War— I mean WORK stories.

It’s been a while since I regaled you with the adventures of Arkham Asylum. Today we will feature:

Milton (female), the bookkeeper (one of my favorites).

Scarecrow, the spastic x-ray tech.

Purple Dino-SOUR, the world’s most useless human.

And because I do like to mock myself from time to time, Bee, the cool chick.

When last we left Arkham, the biddies were devising new ways to mentally torture our favorite character, Bee.

Milton

Milton:
Do you know who threw out the green scott brite dish sponge?

Bee:
The ugly dingy one that no longer made suds and was even oily and black?

(That's not it. It looks better than the one I threw away)

Milton:
Yeah, that one.

Bee:
No.

[I actually had it wrapped in a paper towel in my purse. I know that sounds weird but this thing was revolting and she was using it to wash the forks and spoons I use to eat my food. Which means they go in my mouth. I couldn’t throw it away in any of the garbage cans because…]

Milton:
I looked in the garbage cans and it’s not in any of them. They had to have thrown it out at some point yesterday before the cleaning crew came.

[… I knew she would dig through the garbage so I had grabbed it that morning before she came in and stuffed it in my purse. It’s scary how well I know my bats]

Bee:
I’ll bring you a new one from home. That one was beyond disgusting. It probably already had a micro civilization complete with skyscrapers and Al Gore.

Milton:
You guys are too delicate. At home, I can go months without replacing the sponge.

[after I swallowed my bile, I made a mental note not to eat at Milton’s house.]

Scarecrow

Bee [on the phone with a patient while both the receptionist and her back up, PD, were on vacation]:
We have an opening tomorrow if you’d like to come in then, Mrs.—.

Scarecrow [in such a loud whisper I wouldn’t be surprised if Brian heard her]:
Oh no! Not Mrs.—! We do not want to see Mrs.—!

Bee:
We will see you on Friday Mrs.—. [I slowly turned to look at Scarecrow and she almost seemed to shrink before my eyes] May I see you in the chartroom for a minute?

Scarecrow:
I-I-I have to go look for a chart.

Bee:
Well, you can start in the chartroom!

I dragged her boney ass in there and proceeded to tell her how unprofessional she was to not only say such things about a patient while I’m on the phone with her but to say it in front of other patients in the waiting room. I told her that while I was the substitute receptionist she was NOT going to behave in such a manner on my watch! Her response?

Scarecrow:
W-w-would you like me to bring you a cup of coffee?

I think she was trying to show me her underbelly as a sign of submission but I ain’t taking any chances in her spitting in my precious coffee.

Purple Dino-SOUR

As I said before, both Cowardly Lion (the receptioist)  and PD were on vacation so the next person in line to play receptionist was lil’ ole me. Why the hell they stuck me as the receptionist is beyond me since I am clearly not a people person! Usually when PD goes on her yearly jaunts to Le Florida, I get to work her desk and mine. However! These were special circumstances. I had never done a 2 day stint as the merry phone lady so I figured PD’s desk could rot for all I cared.

Would you believe this bubble head came in and threw a tantrum because her desk looked like somebody had replaced it with mine?

PD:
Did you run claims for me last week?

Bee:
No, I was hoping the elves would come in and do it for you since I was too busy trying to do my job and be receptionist at the same time.

PD:
I can’t get all this done in one week!

Bee:
So hey? How was your vacation? I haven’t taken one in 2 years and this is your third this year.

PD:
I have worked here 18 years! Don’t I deserve to take a vacation?

Bee:
Of course you do! You need time off from the 5 hour 3 days a week job you have. I’d be exhausted too but nobody does my work when I go away to sunbathe in the nude.

PD:
::gasp!::  [stalks off to complain to her fellow bubble heads]

Bee

First up.

For those of you keeping score, I was KM a couple of weeks ago so I brought in a healthy veggie tray with dip and some chocolate and blueberry muffins. Those rotten old ladies did not eat any of my snacks so I wound up having to throw out the veggies because they grew moldy. The muffins were enjoyed by my family so that was okay but what the hell!

This week I had a plan. I was not going to eat any of the treats Toto brought in as a sign of protest. I wanted them to feel all hurt and achy inside just like I did when they didn’t eat my goodies. Come with me as I give you peek into my head.

Bee [all in my head]:
Hmmm she brought 2 types of coffee cake. I don’t care what kind she brought I AM NOT HAVING ANY!

Oh, one is open custard [mouth drooling] and the other is Bavarian chocolate chip [drool spilling onto my shirt]… NO! ooh! She brought colby-jack cheese too! Maybe I’ll just have a little piece— NO!! Oh dear lord! She brought the dip she knows I love! She did this on purpose just to torture me! She’s met her match because I will resist the temptation—

Who am I kidding? I have no self control when it comes to snackies.

And to end things with a golden brush of dumbass...

I requested a copy of our contract from a big name insurance company. They faxed it over and I made 3 copies but for some reason I thought the contract they faxed had print on both sides of the page so I had to redo the copies and make them two sided. We have an old fax machine. Can anyone tell me why I'm a dumbass?

Now you'll know what I sleep in... and it's not a coffin you jerks!

You know what this is?

This is a picture of my warm, cozy pajama bottoms*. I have puppy pjs, moon and star pjs and skiing dude pjs. That's right, nothing says sex appeal like fuzzy pajamas!

Normally, around this time of year, they would be tucked away in the far corners of my closet waiting patiently for winter. So far this year I have put them away 3 times but here they are, freshly laundered and ready for me to wear again tonight because the person holding the giant thermostat in the sky has decided we need a few more months of winter. Somebody find that groundhog and fry his ass!

In other news.

As you may remember, I'm still looking for a replacement job because I am fed up with the nuthouse and I'm determined not to turn into a whiney old lady.

I uploaded my resume to Carreer Builders and they send out emails every once in a while with job matches.

Usually they are pretty accurate and I have had a couple of oddball ones but Holy Mother of Moses did they send me a couple of perfect matches!

All in all, a step up from the asylum.

*The PJs are thanks to my awesome little sister.

"I think I've lost my penis"

As some of you may know, I'm a huge fan of Man vs Wild with Bear Grylls. Well, I watch it because I love to mock the host's obsession with drinking his urine and eating squirrels (I hate squirrels) I was watching it this evening and I haven't laughed so hard since... the last time I laughed so hard (I'm probably just easily amused). If you have a chance to watch it you must do so!

Also, I've invented a new fad diet. Bear Grylls said that in extreme cold, like the arctic, you lose up to 6,000 calories a day. Twice as many as normal. So, who wants to come with me to Antarctica or Siberia? I figure it'll take me about 3 months to lose the weight I want to lose. Okay maybe 6 months. And that's if I lose a whole leg.

And now, a snippet from "Confessions of a Pseudo Receptionist"

Bee (answering the phone):

Good morning, Arkham Asylum.

Old lady:

I WANT TO TALK TO THE DOCTOR!!

Bee:

The doctor isn't in yet, may I take a message--

Old lady:

I SAID!! I WANT TO TALK TO THE DOCTOR!!!!

Bee:

M'am? He is not in yet. Let me take a message--

Old lady (yelling at someone else):

SHE WON'T LET ME TALK TO THE DOCTOR!! I WANT TO TALK TO THE DOCTOR! NOW!

Bee:

If you don't stop yelling, I will hang up on you. He is not in. He comes in at 11 and it is only 9.

Old lady:

WHEN DR. NEVERHEARDOFHIM CALLS ME BACK I AM GOING TO REPORT YOU!

Bee:

That doctor is not in our practice. Do you have the right doctor's office?

Old lady:

OF COURSE I DO! I'M OLD NOT STUPID!

Bee:

That's your opinion.

Old lady:

WHAT??

Bee:

I SAID HE'S NOT IN!

Old lady:

THIS WOMAN DOESN'T KNOW WHAT SHE'S DOING! [CLICK!]

She had the wrong doctor's office but I'm the dumb one. Multiply that shit times 20. I like my job and hate filling in for the receptionist. In my position I can argue, yell and fight with anybody who dares piss me off. As the receptionist, I have to pretend I like people.

The mysterious case of Michael Bublé (or as I like to call him Mr. Facial Expression Exaggerator Sinatra Wannabe)

So, like all good citizens of the world, I have an iPod. It was given to me by the generous and talented man I live with on one of my many birthdays. It is the iPod Nano with only about 1 or 2 gigglebiggles so it only holds about one thousand songs.

Unfortunately, fortunately for all musicians who take my money, my love of all kinds of music makes the selection of only 1,000 songs near impossible. I have to Sophie’s Choice my playlist “On a scale of 1-10, how much do I really like ‘Pump up the jam’?” (The answer: a hell of a lot more than is healthy!)

So imagine my surprise when I came across a whole Michael Bubblebutt album! Not one or maybe 2 songs that may have forcefully snuck in by knocking out my anti-overly-smooth-crooners safeguard. A whole album consisting of 13 songs! Thirteen Jerry!

 

So I went to the only other person who lives in my house and has access to my computer.

Bee:
Andy, did you upload Michael Bubblenut into my iPod.

Andy:
Michael who?

-Lengthy explanation followed-

Andy:
Come on! You have to remember buying that CD?

Bee:
uhhhh no. I would never buy that phony-baloney's CD! How dare you imply—

Andy:
I bet if you look around the house you will find that CD.

So I looked around the house and found the CD. That doesn’t really prove anything because I have many enemies willing to plant crazy shit in my house just so they could accuse me of having no taste in music. (and then while they’re here, they hide my left shoes)

I mean why? Why would I buy that CD? I’m pretty sure nobody gave it to me because I would have given it back inside a bag of dog poop.

I guess this is one of those Life’s Mysteries I’m always hearing about.

In other news.

I was at the office and decided to get some more coffee. As I was making my way to the kitchen, I noticed an elderly woman in a wheelchair sitting in an exam room waiting to be seen. She kept staring at me and her eyes were growing wider and wider the closer I got. When I was near her, she grabbed on to her companion (son maybe?) and screeched (yup, loud enough for all nearby eyes to be on me) “She’s a gypsy! She’s a gypsy! Never trust a gypsy!”

That’s nice. Old people (and babies) instinctively fear me. I think I'm going to put that on my resume.

I'm down with OCD! Yeah you know me!

You know how I'm always talking crap about the bats (ladies I work with)? I'm always saying how they're off their rockers because they have all these idiosyncrasies that boggle my mind?

Well...

It seems they may be slowly infecting me. I feel the changes are, at the moment, imperceptible but yesterday, when I was getting ready to leave the office, I did what I have done since I discovered Milton has been going through my desk. I clipped together the paperwork I've been working on and strategically placed a bunch of items on top and then took a picture.

I do it everyday and then in the morning, after I verify nothing was touched or ask "WHO THE HELL MOVED MY CHEESE??" if something was, I delete the picture and start working.

I've been doing that for almost a year. Everyday.

I fear there is no turning back.

My house has windows. My car has windows. My office has windows. My bologna has a first name...

My friend Brian, I’m sure you guys have seen him around, did a post the other day talking about how much he hates Windows and how Linux is way better because it brings you ice cream and what not. 

One of his comments was that, using Linux, if you wanted to delete your files you only had to command it once. He said Microsoft is suggesting we’re dummies because it does such things as ask you once, twice and sometimes three times (the lady) if you’re absolutely positively SURE you want to go ahead and delete ALL the pictures in your gallery even the ones that you do not have copies of?

I thought about this as I was working on Monday because the system I use at work does ask you repeatedly “if you’re sure” of your next move. That’s when I realized Microsoft knows what it’s doing.

I’ll stand back while the BOOs die down.

Look, I’m a reasonably intelligent person. I can’t compete with a lot of the brainiacs out there (BRIAN) because I’m self taught. I didn’t touch a computer (outside of limited access in school) until I was about 26/27.

At my first office job, the guy who trained me was a stickler for protocol. This is how they taught him and these were the only things I was allowed to do on this computer.Once he left and moved to OCDland, my somewhat logical mind questioned certain commands I clicked on a menu here and there to see where they would take me and once I found out I couldn’t blow up the computer or the toaster, I became a little more daring. On my own, I found short cuts in systems I’ve worked in and also learned how to reset things, remove things and generally make my work life easier.

However!

I am thankful that I have always had the option of saying ‘no’ to such things as “You just asked me to erase the back up, would you like to proceed?” because my very first office job might have been my last.

I love operating with a safety net.  I’m too impulsive and sometimes, always really, I don’t read the next set of instructions because I’m arrogant and think I know everything but when the pop up window then asks “Are you sure you want to broadcast your SS# to the interworldwideweb, you dumbass? Because that’s what you just asked me to do!” I can then breathe a sigh of relief that somebody, anybody is out there saving me from myself.

While I may not be the reason they add warnings like “do not put plastic bag over your head and dance around until the oxygen leaves your brain” I do sometimes need someone to second guess me. Well, not in real life because everybody knows how I feel about opinions. I just mean in computerland.

I have also been thankful for those extra few steps when training new employees. Can you imagine what would have happened with my assistant from hell if we didn’t have those safety locks? Here, let me type out a little play for you.

Asst.:
Bee said I should add this insurance to this account. Let’s see ‘do I want to add or delete account’ ummmmm delete I guess? Okay now that the account is gone, where do I add the insurance?  Maybe I have to add it here where it says “do not edit” okay, I’m in the screen editing away. Goodbye Coke formula, goodbye. Wow this is really easy.

It doesn’t always work though as we may remember from the July incident where this dumbass I called my assistant proceeded to erase a whole day’s worth of work even though I am 100% sure excel did ask her if she wanted to save changes before closing the document and SHE SAID NO.

I believe people’s brains are built differently. I can understand people liking Beyonce even thought I think she is an overrated schreechball to each their own. I just don’t think there’s a right or wrong to what one considers more user friendly. Can't we all just get along?

Linux works for Brian because his intelligence is above average and he seems to be an extremely detailed human being. Windows works for me because I generally don’t know what I’m doing and I’m just winging it. Plus, I wouldn’t know what to do if I accidentally erased my pictures when I pounded on my keyboard one too many times. Windows works for Andy because he can’t operate his iPhone. Windows works for my mother in law because she can call me and I can walk her through certain things she has questions about. Linux works for Brian because he is a poopy head.

So there, Brian!

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.

A man, another man and a dog. + What is the penalty for stealing from a 6 year old?

Back in January, we had yet another snow storm here in Chi-town-land. It was what the kids call a doozy! Well, if you were a kid in the 50s you'd call it a doozy. Anyway, I was inside the house having a nice hot chocolate and I decided to observe my Andy as he shoveled our driveway. Our neighbor Boomhauer was out shoveling too. I noticed that they would shovel and then chit chat while Bella went back and forth.

It was very entertaining so I decided to take some pictures until I
A) got bored
B) ran out of hot chocolate
or
C) Andy found out and called to yell at me.

What wound up happening was the hidden D) I heard my "you have mail" notification and then I forgot Andy was outside because I lost myself in my virtual little world.

Then, Friday night I was clicking around my laptop applications and noticed a "Make a movie" tab so I said to myself "You've always wanted to make a movie so check-check-check it out."

What happened next will not shock you because I've told you what an amazing person I am. It seems there are no limits to my talent and I have no doubt one day I will make it to Cannes Film Festival where I will wear a black sundress with red shoes.

I now present:

A man, another man and a dog.



You may now tell me how brilliant I am.

In other news, my niece has a little friend who has the best THE BEST glasses and I was wondering what the penalty was for stealing a little girl's glasses. I'm pretty sure I can out run her.