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!

Clarification, Pontification, Stupefaction. I think.

Just to clarify, my birthday isn't until Wednesday November 11th. Oh joy of joys. 37. 3 more and I get a set of spatulas. I'm registered at Tiffany's.

The picture I posted yesterday was of a bee (get it? because I'm Bee?] hanging from a noose. The Asylum was getting to me until I realized I could either work or play. Guess which one I chose. Also, Andy thought it was a potato.

Andy [from his dungeon]: Is that a potato? 

Me: What? Is what a potato?? [as I'm trying to make fajitas for 8 without setting fire to my cabinets. You know, again]

Andy: The picture on your blog, is it a potato?

Me: Nooooo. It's a bee.

Andy: I don't get it.

Me: It's a bee hanging from a noose. Because I was stressed at work?

Andy: Oh, I hadn't seen the noose.

Me: ... [hot oil splashing on my face]

Andy: I still think it looks like a potato.

Because he loves to torture me.

►►◄◄►►◄◄►►◄◄►►◄◄►►◄◄

Regarding OZ being an asswipe. Instead of feeling sympathy for the error in my bank account, he interrogated me because I asked for a copy of my cashed paycheck and treated me like a sneaky criminal who was capable of funneling money from his account to my account via my paycheck. Oh wait. That's not criminal at all, right? I mean, if I perform a service for, let's say, a person who hires me, shouldn't I expect payment? It's not like I can cash the same check twice and to make matters more complicated, the second time I cash the check it will be via a photocopy. I know I'm a genius but even I have my limitations.

For some reason he didn't believe the bank teller had deposited my check into the wrong account. He also found it hard to believe that Andy knew our account number by heart and then he suggested I no longer do a manual deposit slip, did I know that the bank could generate some with our account number already on them? I asked him if he treated accident patients the same way. "When a guy on a motorcycle gets hit by a car, do you berate them for not knowing the car was going to hit them?" It wasn't our fault the cashier decided to guess as to what number was on the deposit slip and didn't bother to check the name on the account with the name on the deposit slip.

I said to Andy, 'you know, I grow tired of calling him an *asshole* because it does not express the magnitude of my disgust for him but I am so limited with my swears (because I am a God fearing short woman). Wait! You are the master of profanity, give me a new one for him!" His response was so vile I am putting it at the end of this post.* Who knew I had the delicate sensibilities of a fragile little hummingbird?

►►◄◄►►◄◄►►◄◄►►◄◄►►◄◄

Do you guys remember the dude I translated for who had an ankle fracture and his main concern was having "relations" with his woman? He came in last week to drop off some insurance paperwork. I had been talking to him for a few minutes when I realized something.

Me: Hey, who drove you here? [as I pointed at his cast and crutches]

Him: I drove myself. My woman doesn't drive. [hmmmm]

Me: Uh, I don't think you should be driving considering your cast is all the way up to your knee.

Him: Oh, I'm okay. Look, I can put weight on my leg now. [stands on leg with the fracture]

Me to him: Don't do that! [to myself "Oh sure, you don't ask permission to drive but you ask for a green light to have sex with your woman!]

 

My head hurts from all the shaking of it.

 

 

 

 

*"You mean like Taint Weasel?" (eep!)

 

 

 

►►◄◄►►◄◄►►◄◄►►◄◄►►◄◄

 

 

My happy place

 

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.

“I don't like compliments, and I don't see why a man should think he is pleasing a woman enormously when he says to her a whole heap of things that he doesn't mean”- Oscar Wilde

I don't know if you know this about me but I hate compliments. Wait. Before you go thinking that I really do like compliments but I'm just trying to fool you with my false modesty you could not be more judgmental and wrong.

I wasn't one of those spoiled people that had constant praise growing up. "Good job going poopsie in the potty, honey!" It was more like threats. "If you don't figure out the toilet ASAP I'm going to be make you change your own diaper!"

Which is cool because that's how I became *Bee the Intimidator* and gives me a license to wear a cape (I don't though because that would be pretentious). It also helped me not become one of those bleeding heart chicks who take offense when somebody tells them they look like Lars Ulrich. Okay, that one did hurt a little but it's only because I wanted to look like James Hetfield instead.

Anyway, now, as a semi-formed adult (who knows how to use the potty), anytime someone says to me "you look nice today" I always respond with "how did I look yesterday that you have to point out I look nice today? was it the lack of make up and drool on my chin? what? tell me!" because that's how you get people to STOP complimenting you on your appearance. Seriously. I have a mirror. I know when I'm looking fiiiine (which is only on like the 7th day of the 7th month at 9:07 am)!

I usually can get away with saying stuff like that to the ladies but I can't respond that way to OZ because he might get a little upset and decide it's time to replace me with a leaky fire hydrant.

A long time ago, he complimented my outfit and I fuckin bowed! A full on, half body bow! Like some ancient spirit of a geisha entered my body and bent me forward to show my appreciation to OZ-san. I was unbelievably embarrassed and I'm sure my face was maroon in it's blushiness but I played it off like 'yeah, man. I'm always bowing like this because I'm cool like that' I then told the story to my family at some gathering or another and I was the butt of jokes for a few days. I knew I had to excise that bizarre reaction from my 'thank you' repartee.

Recently, OZ has gotten it into this weird habit of complimenting me not only on my appearance but character, work habits and all around great attitude (because I do have a great attitude you jerks!). So now, my knee-jerk reaction is to bow but I half stop myself so it looks like I'm nodding my head regally as if to say 'I agree with you, peasant' but I still feel like an asshole.

This is where you come in. What would be an appropriate response when someone gives you a compliment (besides saying 'thank you', I mean) without having to resort to curtseying? I really don't want him to think his compliments make my day either because, in reality, they make me want to go home and burn whatever article of clothing I was wearing and never smile again. It has to be something that would say "umm thanks but Id rather you kept your comments to yourself" with a side of "you arrogant windbag!" I know it's a difficult task I've given you but I have faith in you sarcasm/smartassness.

P.S.
I don't need you to point out how creepy OZ is because I'm not a halfwit and have discovered this fact on my own. Has anyone seen my cape?

Bonus Andyism:
"I hate 'Bing'. Bing! What a stupid name for a search engine! I don't think it's very reliable either because I searched for 'Bee's Musings' and guess what? It didn't come up! So I opened google and typed in 'Bee's Musings' and it came up #1 so obviously Bing sucks monkey ass."

A ringing endorsement from my Andy for Google and Bee's Musings.

My trash your treasure + OZ steps out of line and I smack him back!

So, the yard sale went great!

We had wonderful weather... okay, maybe it was a little chilly but it was still enjoyable. We sat in my front yard under the canopy of trees and watched as cheapo people left without buying any of my CRAP treasures.

Milton had a great time. I think she also liked the fact that she was able to bond with the family members I'm constantly talking about (my sister, her girls, my brother Rick, my mom, Maria THE VEGETERIAN and her little daughter Sofia).

She did do a bunch of Milton things like reorganizing the shoes we were selling not once, twice, three times but like 500 times. She claimed somebody must have removed a $2 sticker on one of her items and placed a 50 cent sticker instead.

She also had kittens each time someone asked me what I was selling something for and I would talk myself down. "well, I want $3 but give me $2 and it's yours!"

She stuck to her prices and refused to negotiate which is probably why she's got more Benjamins than I do. The funny thing is that she owned up to her OCD and I have to say I enjoyed her company immensely.

There was one item I regretted putting out as soon as a lady picked it up. It was a gorgeous magazine rack that was almost new but I had put it away because I was abusing its magical powers and stacking too many magazines at one time.    

When she asked me the price, I said $3 and had it in my head that if she thought it was too much, she could go eff herself. She gave me the $3 (in quarters!!!) and drove off with my irreplaceable, priceless magazine rack. I MISS YOU MAGAZINE RACK!!

The downfall of this weekend is that, thanks to Milton, I am now on a first name basis with a lot of my neighbors and their dogs. I now more about their problems than I care too! I swear to Nihm that if any of them so much as smile at me because they *know* me, I will fling poo at them! I liked not knowing anybody but Boomhauer and Wilson. My sanctuary has been trespassed and contaminated!  The dogs were cute though.

I didn't make a lot of money (nope, can't retire yet) but the important thing is that my JUNK treasures are now gathering dust in someone else's house. (MAGAZINE RACK, COME BACK TO ME!!)

Coming back to work today, I had a conference call scheduled where OZ was going to have to man up and scare this guy I had been having a verbal sparring match with for the past couple of weeks. Instead he wimped out and postponed the call for Friday because he didn't have enough "" facts "". It pissed me off but then I remembered it wasn't my company and so I had my rice pudding.

When I went to lunch, OZ stepped into the kitchen and started asking me questions about that same account.

I don't know about you but I don't get paid while I'm at lunch. I also don't like distractions when I'm trying to enjoy my ham samich so I said.

Bee: I didn't bring the chart to lunch with me because I eat lunch at lunch.

OZ: Oh, but I'm sure you have some memory of the account details.

Bee: No, not while I'm at lunch because all I'm thinking about when I'm at lunch is my lunch.

OZ: Well, can you just answer me this one question?

Bee: Suuuuuure! When I get back from lunch.

Staring contest ensues.

OZ [leans against the kitchen sink]: ...

Bee [pats her ham sandwich]: ...

OZ [crosses his arms]: ...

Bee [takes a bite of her sandwich]: ...

OZ: ... I guess I'll buzz you when you get back from lunch.

Bee: I'm staying an extra 5 minutes which is about how long this conversation took. [I wink]

OZ: Okay. Just let me know when you get back.

Bee: You betcha!

 

That's what I'm talking about!!! MOFO interrupting me and my smoked ham sandwich!

Have another bottle!

Andy and I just returned from a  reunion a former boss of mine hosted. Andy was going to finish up the comic strip once we got home but he fell asleep on the sofa and I don't have the heart to wake him up. He worked on the laundry room up until we left for my reunion and was a perfect husband once we got there. I think I may be a little tipsy since I feel like gushing over how awesome he is.

Maybe it's the fact that I was just reminded of a time in my life when my home life and work life were in perfect harmony.

I always boast about the amazing perks I had while working for Bob (former boss)(He also called himself an SOB 'Sweet Ole Bob'). He treated all of his employees with respect and made it apparent to anybody who would listen how he valued each and every one of us. My sister and I joined his company late in his life so he retired a couple of years after we got there. His heir decided he didn't want to continue in his footsteps so the company was sold to a bigger, heartless company who slowly started dismembering all the work he had done over the past 25 years.

Nobody knows how old he is because he has kept up with his looks via a very skilled physician, IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN, but don't think I'm mocking him. Not at all. He is my hero. I mean, the man would bring wine for us to drink while we were at work, let us leave at noon on Fridays, took us out for lunch for our birthdays and oh yeah, did I mention the booze?

Because all people I admire tend to have quirks, he is no different. Today, for example, he told my sister and I that he had invited his physician to meet us because she was Mexican and maybe we could brush up on our Spanish. He also asked if we wanted something to drink and I said we'd like something nonalcoholic so he said "Coca? I have some Coca. I keep it for the guys that do my lawn." which translated means his Mexican gardeners. Ha! That may sound a little racist but the man goes out of his way to make people happy.  The kicker? He asked me if I had children and when I told him no, "What? Is there a problem? [points at Andy] Do you need me to step in?" Dirty old man you say? You'd be right but ya' know what? The dude is hilarious!

I felt sad for a minute because his amazing personality is still going strong and I miss so very much the days I would wake up in the morning and head to a place I enjoyed working in. So many memorable things happened during my time there. I got married, the unfortunate events of 9-11 happened, my beautiful Natalia was born all these things affected my life in one way or another. Not to mention this was the everyday view from my office:

In the end I'm thankful I had the opportunity to work for his company. I met some of the greatest people that I still keep in touch with. I also know there are bosses out there, somewhere, who treat their employees like people and not disposable snot rags. (Thanks OZ- you fucking asshole!)(he knows why I'm mad at him)

So I raise my glass to all great bosses out there! Thanks S.O.B.!

And to all the people who work for them? Don't take them for granted because you may never again have the  pleasure of truly loving your job, liking the people you work with and having an amazing employer.

 

And now for a Zen moment.

P.S.

My green shoes looked awesome and practically stole the show!

P.P.S.

Don't tell Andy I was all *Andy crazed* okay? I'm sure I'll be back to my normal self tomorrow so he doesn't need to know.

Brian’s fear of spiders is justified plus stuffing my drawers.

So, did you miss me? Maybe you didn’t even notice I was gone? Niiiice thanks a lot people!

Anyway, more on my vacation later.

Andy holding Big Willy formerly known as The Sears Tower:

Today I’d like to say that I am now on the “Spiders-are-evil-emissaries-of-death!” bandwagon.

My Long Lost Friend and I were enjoying a nice little bonfire on Sunday night. There was a nice breeze, it wasn't too cold or too warm, the memories were flowing- minus the booze...

When the fire started dying down, I got up and went to get some homemade firewood (homemade firewood is wood you grow yourself and then mother nature comes along and decides to rip your wood plants in half) that we had stacked near our fence. It was dark, I couldn’t see very well so I blindly sifted through the wood pile looking for some nice thick pieces.

In that small amount of time, I was apparently being scaled like Mount Everest by ninja spiders because I have about 7 large spider bites on my legs, toes and feet.

Since things in my life can’t ever be of the normal variety, these spider bites are currently bubbling up and a resembling the alps.I get hotter and hotter every day.

I really wish I was exaggerating.

For all you know, these paragraphs may be the last thing I write before foaming at the mouth and going into seizures that will have me biting off my head, or worse, buying a jumpsuit.

It’s funny because, after all the gardening I’ve done over the years, I have never been attacked by the spider militia. Mosquitos, bees, squirrels, angry parents, those I'm used to but not spiders.

Then I went on Bad Spider Bites and talk about scaring the ever lovin crap out of myself! ::shiver!::

Okay I'm going to change the subject now.

I returned to the Asylum today and everybody seemed super happy to see me. That was such a weird feeling. Kind of a cross between drinking warm cider and vinegar. Anyway, later in the day, I got a little hungry. I opened my drawer to pull out the bag of Cheetos I keep in case of emergencies imagine my surprise when it wasn't there.

I asked around but nobody admitted to ransacking my snack drawer. I went to Glynda and asked her too, just in case. Her response "Let me ask OZ. He sometimes snoops in people's drawers" she came back later with $2.

OZ ATE MY CHEETOS!

What kind of mean MOFO does that? Seriously! I can't leave for 2 days without people taking my stuff. I'm gonna load my drawers with tampons and douches... not that I have a problem, okay? I'm just thinking that'll keep him outta my drawers.

Well that's about it- OH YEAH! For those of you who follow So You Think You Can Dance, if freakin Kayla/Shayla/Layla whatever the hell her name is doesn't get booted off this week I am going to have a fit! She should have been gone last week but nobody can seem to see her clumsy flopping around the floor when she does her solos. I need to hurry up and finish my mind control machine.

Update on Mistaken Identity of THE WORST KIND.

OZ called in for messages, he is out of the office until Monday (because he has money and a boat and no need to work anymore), and he asked to speak to me. We were all shocked. He never asks to speak to anybody but Glynda because the rest of us only exist when he needs his lunch, coffee, tea, prunes-.

My hand was shaking when I picked up the phone because I was not ready to speak to him so soon after the horrible mental image of someone who looked similar to me hanging out with my boss. He told me the patient had confessed he mistook me for his NIECE and he was sorry if I had been embarrassed. The man did not even stutter.

I told him all was good and let’s please never EVER speak of this again. I, on the other hand, did stutter. I am also upset that my pasty white skin may account for the fact that people think OZ and I are related (BECAUSE WE ARE GOING WITH THE NIECE STORY, PEOPLE!). I need a tan. Or maybe chocolate.

So, let’s all pretend it was his NIECE so that I may be able to sleep at night and not have the recurring nightmare of being chased around the room by Philip Seymour Hoffman* in drag.

*Because OZ and PSH could be identical twins.

p.s.

We were subjected to the pubes on the toilet seat talk again today. I told Glynda it was summertime so maybe people were shedding? Or molting?

STILL SHIVERING!

Mistaken identity of the WORST kind!

Weird encounter with patient I had never met while on my way to the bathroom.

Patient:
Hey there sweetheart! Long time no see!

Bee:
Uh hi. [trying not to appear rude while I start walking towards the front door][then thinking it would be more rude to stand in a puddle]

Patient:
It’s hot out there today. I wonder if it’s going to be like that all summer!

Bee [starting to wiggle]:
Yeah hot summer.

Patient:
Is your father here yet or is he on his way?

Bee [freeze say what??]:
My father? I’m sorry, what?

Patient:
You’re dad is he here yet?

Bee [looking around whahuh?]:
I’m wondering who you think my father is.

Patient:
Isn’t it OZ?

Bee  (:-O :
Oh hell no! I mean nooooo. He’s just my boss.

Patient:
Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you said he was your dad.

Bee:
Honestly sir, I don’t think I’ve ever met you.

Patient:
Sure you’ve met me. At that restaurant? When you were having dinner with OZ?

Bee:
EWWWWWWW! No! You definitely have me confused with somebody else.

Patient:
Oh hey. Maybe we should forget this conversation ever took place.

Bee:
Easy for you to say! I’m now going to have nightmares!

I walked back to my desk and Milton asked me why I looked like I was about to throw up.

This encounter freaked me out for a couple of reasons. One is the fact that I resemble someone OZ was ““having dinner with”” because he only has SONS! The other is the fact that I have an urge to peel my skin right off and then dunk myself in acid. ::shiver::

STILL SHIVERING!

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.

You know what we haven't had in a while? F*ck off Friday on a Saturday!

It's long over due but I need to set OZ straight. I haven't been watching The Godfathers I and II for nothing (three sucks donkey balls)! I've also seen my fair of The Sopranos so I know exactly what to do with dickheads.

Preparing for my Friday meetings is always stressful. It is one of my busiest days since it's the day I relieve the receptionist for lunch and for some reason, every Spanish speaking patient we have is always scheduled for that day. Add to that the fact that we meet at 3, makes a recipe for one very frazzled Bee.

Last year, I told him he could not SHOULD NOT add accounts right before our meeting because this would not give me enough time to prepare them. The rule is no less than 24 hours notice. Three guesses as to what he did.

I had to get them ready anyway because, as we have established, I have a cheese addiction so I really need my job.

HOWEVER!

He pushed my button one to many times during our meeting and I really had no choice but to blow up. It's amusing to see a man a foot taller than you back pedal. He looked at Glynda, held up his hands and said "It's okay. We're all okay here. We're just conversating." at which point he stopped being a jerk and sat there like a meek Philip Seymour Hoffman afraid of the wrath of the beehive.

So, OZ? You can fuck off!

In other news, I am now the proud owner of a gorgeous water fountain (which we were out buying while a torrent of water was pouring into my house because of course the rain can't wait until we finish with the repairs that will prevent us from having ugly mermaids* splashing away in my mom's living room) :

How can I afford such a magnificent water fountain in these times of cat food for dinner you ask. Well I had to save my allowance for a few weeks (at the time I thought I was saving it to buy Andy a new dresser but then he pissed me off 1,456,741 times so I thought "you know what? he can just stack his clothes in that hollowed out drawerless old dresser he has until it regenerates") and then we took advantage of a very lucky sale. Now, if only I knew of an electrician who could hook a power thingie outside. Otherwise it'll be a beautiful non running water fountain. If anybody has any suggestions or knows of ANYBODY please let me know.

Don't forget! Tomorrow is "Bee n' Andy: Married and sometimes, still in love...". Be there or be square.

And since I'm announcing posts. Here are a couple of upcoming ones you might find interesting.

Tuesday:

From the same people that loved reading Interview with a Vampire, Bee’s Musings presents: Interview with a Vegetarian.

Thursday:

Brian's music review (with my reHEADbuttal).

Now wish us luck. Andy and I are taking Tazz to the veterinarian. One of us (probably Andy) might not come back.

*Of course the mermaids would be ugly! Do you think I would have beautiful big busted half-women in my home??)

Sometimes, my meetings with OZ are all about bloodsucking ethereal creatures.

Last Friday, I had my usual meeting with OZ. Well, it wasn't really *usual* because for some reason, the topic of vampires came up.

He found out I had seen Twilight and he asked me what I thought. I gave him my movie review and then he started asking me all kinds of weird questions about vampires in general.

OZ: "Do they posses super human strength?"

Bee: Yes

OZ: "They can sense things we can't, right?"

Bee: Usually, since they have super heightened senses.

OZ: "Do they read minds?"

Bee: Uhm, depends on what book you're reading.

OZ: "Can they travel through time?"

Bee: Well, not that I know of…

OZ: "Can they fly?"

Then Glynda chimed in: If they turn in to bats and fly off.

OZ: "Don't be ridiculous! That's a myth, Glynda!"

Bee: Uh well back to so-and-so's account—

OZ: "That's a myth about the bats, right?"

Bee: I think so? In the Vampire Chronicles, Lestat didn't fly, he kind of just went really fast so it looked like he was flying.

Then about their weaknesses

OZ: "Does Holy water burn them?"

Bee: Ummm I can't remember.

OZ: "They can't come out in daylight, right?"

Bee: Well, in Blade they did only they wore sunblock SPF 5000

Then he asked me how to kill a vampire

OZ: "Do you burn them?"

Bee: If you get close enough you'll probably be dead in no time.

OZ: "You'd have to chop their heads off right?"

Bee: Not me, I'm all squeamish when it comes to blood.

OZ: "What about their bodies? Wouldn't their bodies come after you?"

Bee: Poke the eyes out of the head that way they can't see wear you ran off to.

OZ: "I heard the stake through the heart was a myth"

Bee: You do know that VAMPIRES aren't real, right?

But now I'm wondering if he knows something I don't know. Is he secretly hiding a vampire in his basement? It would be just like him to have something cool he doesn't want to share with the world!

Anyway, I'm hoping we don't talk about Zombies this coming Friday because not only do I not know anything about them but those bitches scare me!

Also, now you see why I call this place Arkham Asylum, the leader is the head loon.

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

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

Can I hire TWO hotties??

After my Friday boxing match meeting with OZ, (where he wondered why certain accounts are not being worked on and I responded by saying that the cloning machine was defective, it did not produce 20 Bees like I had hoped but it did clear up my complexion) he has now given me authorization to hire my summer assistant.

At first, I was a little upset because this would mean I’d have to dedicate valuable time to training a newbie in the art of Office Bat Mocking… I just don’t have the energy for it.

Then, I became angry because it would totally cut into my blog reading and we all know this is what keeps me, in a harmonious balance nobody alive would benefit by shifting, both sane and insane. Can you imagine me sane? Neither can I.

After listing the pros and cons, I’ve decided to be happy for the chance of corrupting another young mind.

Here is a small list of duties I came up with:

Get here on time to sign me in (where he will wait half an hour for me to arrive but that’s okay because he can make coffee while waiting).

Dust my desk (you’re probably thinking this is an easy task but he would have to move all my junk meticulous files and then put them back exactly where they were)

Once I arrive, get my coffee. (I’d do it myself but I’d already be running late)

Heat up my lunch.

Take Mocha to the groomers.

Take my clothes to the dry-cleaners.

Pick it up when it’s ready.

...

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼

Uh, this is all I have for now. I would like to add that I’m hoping the following people apply for this coveted position:
.
Brad Pitt
Orlando Bloom
Ryan Reynolds

BRAD PITT
David Beckham
Any other hot actors/musicians/sports dudes

If you know any of them and think they would be willing to work for minimum wage and doing menial tasks, let them know to fax their résumés with a picture of themselves in provocative poses to my attention.
.
Maybe somebody over at Humor-Blogs would like to apply to be my whipping boy?

P.S.
I’m just kidding. They wouldn’t have to get my coffee. Everybody knows I’m very particular about how I drink my coffee.
.

P.S.S.

An added bonus is that I am a very cool boss. Very cool. And fun.

.

.

I am a tad impatient.

The day I met a guy with soft Soft SOFT hands.

Okay. I don’t know when this affliction started I really don’t. I don’t remember having issues in my teens but maybe my brain hadn’t completely lost its path to saneness. Naw, who am I kiddin’ I’ve always been this SPECIAL.

Anyway, last week, an attorney decided he wanted to meet the legend that is *I* in person. He asked if we could schedule a lunch —neutral territory I’m assuming— so we may discuss his request on reducing our fees by 20%.

That doesn’t sound like allot right? 20%? Well, that would reduce our fees by $24,000 and we were offering a very generous $12,000. I stuck to my guns for a few weeks so this was his desperate attempt to talk some *sense* into me.

I had to refuse the offer of lunch (we try not to leave work during the day so as not to scare the normal folk) but I spoke to OZ who told me to invite him on over to the asylum.

By some evil prank played by the devil himself! I forgot all about it and wore regular business casual clothes (with a small bleach stain on the butt which I didn’t notice until I took off my pants later that day!) (I took off my pants to put on a pair of shorts WHEN I WAS HOME I don't want you thinking those thoughts in my presence) and not my usual showered, slicked-out, lacquered-up, killer-shoes, very businessy attire I wear when meeting with OZ and/or other dangerous people.

CL called me as soon as the attorney arrived. I went out to greet him and he ::shudder:: extended his hand ::gag:: and I took it ::bugh:: and it was super smooth and SOFT ::blech::!

Listen, I don’t want to come off looking like a Soft-ist in your eyes. I have nothing against men having baby smooth hands, I just don’t want them touching me.

I AM GETTING ALL TWITCHY JUST THINKING ABOUT IT!

And not the good kind of twitchy.

As soon as I let go, I wanted desperately to scrub my hand on the side of my pants! It was itchy and I could have sworn little bumps were forming on my palm!

When OZ, Glynda and I excused ourselves to discuss our negotiation, OZ asked me what I thought about the attorney, he seemed like a nice guy should we go ahead and accept his offer?

What do I say? I want the guy to leave because he’s giving me the heebie jeebies!

No! I must maintain my objectivity and professionalism but I found myself blurting:

“Give it to him! Sign whatever he wants!”

The moral of the story here is, yelling at me will not convince me you're right. Having soft hands, besides making me want to hurl, will get you further in the negotiations game.

I'm just telling you please don't tell anybody else! Well, you can tell all the people over at Humor-Blogs or maybe you can click on it anyway.

P.S.

If you are a man with soft hands, I wasn't trying to insult you... maybe just a little bit. You can always use a cheese grater to fix the problem. That's just a suggestion so don't sue me if it hurts or you pass out due to loss of blood.

Close encounter of the idiot kind.

-Day 84.




Mondays SUCK! If you don’t agree with me, I will go and shave “Bee rocks!” on your head. Are we in agreement? Good!

Anyway, Mondays usually find me hung-over (even though I don’t drink, I still wake up with a fuzzy tongue- I know you want to make THAT joke but if you value your life... nah. Go ahead, pull the trigger.) unwilling to get up, debating whether I NEED to take a shower (the answer is always "YES" by the way), bemoaning my lack of millions of dollars so that I can hire valets that will put all my body parts back together again.

I’m the female, new-age version of Humpty Dumpty. Only my name is Hairy Dumpy. Yeah, I LIKE IT! ***Observation. Word agreed with my spelling of “Humpty” but disagreed with the spelling of “Dumpty” and didn’t give me a spelling alternative, don’t these two go together??

So… where the hell was I? Oh yeah! Mondays.
These are the days my mood is, how shall I put it? At it's most dangerous or SEVERELY UNFRIENDLY. I’m snarly until at least 11:59 pm AT LEAST.

Most people know this and stay away. Some people think they’re from the cat family and keep testing their 9 lives theory. So far, 2 dead 1 confirmed catperson.

I walked into the office, turned on my computer, then went to the kitchen to make coffee.

Scarecrow walks in, obviously knowing I hadn’t had my coffee since I was in the process of making it, not a good sign. I'm even less pleasant, IF POSSIBLE, before my coffee.

Scarecrow: [hovering]
Have you seen Patient X’s chart?

Bee: [maintaining my patience]
Doesn’t sound familiar.

Scarecrow: [not very good at reading warning signs]
I think you had it last.

Bee: [in a half snarl]
HAD would probably be your first clue that I don’t have it NOW.

Scarecrow: [dense head]
I did look on your desk and didn’t find it…

Bee: [looking at her encouragingly]
Okay. Maybe you should try plan “B” and look somewhere else?

Scarecrow: [I've known doorknobs with more intelligence]
I could have sworn you had it.

Bee: [explaining to this middle aged child]
Work with me here, isn’t HAD the past tense of TO HAVE?

Scarecrow: [beginning to sweat]
I was just hoping you put it somewhere else.

Bee: [big eyes, clown face]
Like where? In my car? On a plane? On a train? In a box? With 3 locks?

Scarecrow: [huffy]
Fine. I’ll look somewhere else!

Bee: [singsong voice, arms outstretched, total ham]
In a field of clovers? With a dog named rover?

Scarecrow: [baring her teeth or um... gums]
Forget it.

Bee: [twirling]
In a junkyard? Crap! What rhymes with yard?-

OZ: [Wheezing FROM HIS OFFICE THAT'S NEXT TO THE KITCHEN]
LARD!

Bee: [a little startled that the boss is participating but taking it in stride]
In a junkyard? With a tub of lard?

Scarecrow walks out bumps into OZ as he's walking.

OZ: [shaking his head, wheeze laughing]
No, "In a junkyard? While burying lard?" Sounds better.

Bee: [blushing cuz I'm such a dumbass]
Who buries lard?

OZ: [still laughing]
You can’t dump that stuff down the drain! The lard would clog it!

Here's my question, isn't mine better? A tub of lard instead of burying lard?

I wonder if OZ was always a wise ass or if he got corrupted my lil' ole me.

Well, at least my day got get batter after that.

P.S.

Andy came by the office to pick something up, --looking super hawt in his scruffy electrical wear--, and he had this observation "The receptionist lady (AKA Cowardly Lion) doesn't seem to be too happy with you."

That's probably because I've restricted her peeing to when I deem it is appropriate. To dictate, is to love.

Do you have the feeling February lasted longer than you thought!?!?!

-Day 60. Being without you, was all a big mistake. Instead of getting any easier, it's the hardest thing to take. I'm addicted to you, baby. You're a hard habit to break-Chicago Lyrics for "Hard Habit to Break"

Did ya miss me? What? No?

Fine! I'm leaving!

Weeeeell, since I have stuff to say...

On with the show! [Part One]

After battling back and forth with an irritated attorney because I would not let him talk with OZ until he sent me an agreement in writing:
.
Attorney:
Can I ask for your credentials?
.
I have to admit to being shocked by this question. This didn’t stop me from having an answer.
.
Bee:
I am the resident negotiator/translator and gate keeper. (well I am.)
.
Attorney:
No, I meant your title or degree.
.
Bee:
What should matter to you, is that OZ will only negotiate with people I tell him are decent. Mistreating his staff usually makes him angry. (Damn! Now he sounds like the Hulk.)
.
I told OZ at our Friday meeting just in case the attorney ratted me out and his responses never disappoint.
.
OZ: [Philip Seymour Hoffman cheeks red and puffy with anger]
Next time one of the leeches asks, you say OZ has appointed you General Shit Kicker! Is General the highest rank?

.

Bee:
No, I believe the highest rank is President.

.

OZ:
[BWAHAHA] Okay President Shit Kicker! [BWAHAHAHA!] Bianca Cor. P.S.K. [snort] Tell them you have punky red hair that'll scare him! [bwahaha snort]
.
I have the luck of the Irish when it comes to comical characters in my life as a registered shit kicker. I just can't decide if I like my new title.

.

I stress about the bats and my meetings on Fridays but I love that I can be all I can be with insurance companies and attorneys. Life is sweet!

.

[Part two]

.

I was tagged for a Meme by Somegirl @ Hiding in Public. Here is some more Bee trivia for your scrapbook.

.

1. What is your occupation?
Idiot tamer by day/referee of 2 dogs and a husband by night
2. What color are your socks right now?
Plain ole white.
3. What are you listening to right now?"
Regina Spektor "Hotel" (A little bag of co-caine a little bag of co-caine).
4. What was the last thing that you ate?
Club sandwich and some of Natalia's unwanted fries
5. Can you drive a stick shift?
Yes. No. No.
6. If you were a crayon, what color would you be?
Puke Orange. Nobody ever wants to be puke orange. So sad.
7. Last person you spoke to on the phone?
Andy, he's on his way home.
8. Do you like the person who sent this to you?
Yes, she is my fellow Lost fan.
9. Favorite drink?
Boring plain water. Yup.
10. What is your favorite sport to watch?
My favorite what now??
11. Have you ever dyed your hair?
Just a little.
12. Pets?
Tazzer the Destroyer, Mocha the Shrilly Barker, Chilli Palmer (Live Chilli Palmer, live!) Krusty the Clown Fish the II, Millhouse the Blue Chromis.
13. Favorite food?
MOM'S ENCHILADAS.mmmmm
14. Last movie you watched?
Definitely Maybe
15. Favorite Day of the year?
3/1/08

16. What do you do to vent anger?
Bitch 'n moan, blog about bitching and moaning. Yell at people. Make fun of their clothes.
17. What was your favorite toy as a child?
I really don't remember one. I had a leather tooled purse I loved and have since bought 10 similar ones off of ebay.
18. What is your favorite, fall or spring?
Nope. Refuse to answer that on the grounds of I don't want to pick one.
19. Hugs or kisses?
High fives and thumbs ups. So what if these weren't the choices, I make my own rules here in Beeland.
20. What kind of pie?
The inside is not important it's the crust I like. I HATE apple pie though.
21. Do you want your friends to email you back?
when I ask a question, they better!
22. Who is most likely to respond?
If I call, everyone comes arunnin'
23. Who is least likely to respond?
For fear of death...
24. Living arrangements?
Living arguments? Yeah, I do all my arguing while A-live.
25. When was the last time you cried?
What's with all the personal bizness questions??
26. What is on the floor of your closet?
::blushing:: You wouldn't believe me if I told you.
27. Who is the friend you have had the longest that you are tagging?
Brian HA! Too bad but you are the oldest blog friend! BWAHAHAHAHA!
28. The friend you have known the shortest amount of time that you are tagging?
Tracy, she just joined the crew. The cool crew. Too cool for school crew.
29. Favorite smell?
Cinnamon
30. What inspires you?
Music
31. What are you afraid of?
Babies with guns. (what? there's one behind me??!!!!)
32. Plain, cheese or spicy hamburgers?
Cheeeeeeeeese please!
33. Favorite car?
My Mini Tank Hyundai Sonata
34. Favorite cat breed?
Bat eating Tigers
35. Number of keys on your key ring?
I have the key to the Emerald City. That's all I need.
36. How many years at your current job?
2 going on too many.
37. Favorite day of the week?
Saturday. (what? you wantta say something?)
38. How many provinces have you lived in?
I'm sorry, are you asking if I'm promiscuous?? Why would you ask that? Because of the gap in my teeth?!?!
39. How many countries have you been to?
2...
.
I'm also tagging brother Dan just because. No mushy stuff Dan!
.
Please click on Humor-Blogs for me. Please. I know you didn't do it yesterday cuz I was watching you. Yes I was. I saw you lick those crumbs off your keyboard. You're lucky I'm still speaking to you.