I feel like that Asian dude from Gremlins with all the warnings.

So... my brother-in-law Jim has moved in and things are going smoothly so far. Especially because I seemed to have gained an ally for when Andy is being unreasonable which is like 79% of the time.

Since Jim will be home at times when we're not, we had to give him a detailed list of (I don't want to call them instructions because it sounds too bossy so we'll just say they're suggestions) suggestions regarding life at the Beehive. Some are pretty standard:

"Lock the door when you leave"

"Flush the toilet"

"Do not, under any circumstances, eat Andy's snacks!"

Others were more out of concern for his safety:

"DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, EAT ANDY'S SNACKS!!"

"Do not pet Tazz for more than 5 seconds because that is all he allows before he starts eating fingers."

"Do not sit/stand too close to Tazz when he's scratching because he will eventually scratch too hard and then attack the thing nearest to him"

"Do not turn your back on Tazz when you are leaving a room because he loves to use people's calves as chew toys"

"Do not try to save any papers/food/socks/keys/people if Tazz is gnawing on them because he will take you for his replacement."

These are real warnings suggestions! I don't care how cute and innocent he looks.

He'll be licking you and you're all happy because you think it's because he likes but all the while he's trying to figure out if he should eat you with BBQ sauce or hot sauce.

The dog was aptly named after the Tasmanian Devil. The little dude is crazy!

There are more suggestions but we don't want to scare him off too soon. Next week we will discuss my mood swings.if you think Tazz is dangerous, wait till you get a load of me!

John J. Savo, the Authoring Auctioneer, thinks my titles are too long but long is in the eye of the bee-holder. Also, I talk about hairy nipples, guacamole and tequila.

Yesterday morning, while in the shower, I was listening to the morning radio show. They were talking about people who remove their wedding rings for XYZ reasons. They had a woman caller who said she was a waitress and removed hers to get more tips. Eric, the Mix's DJ, asked her if she was married and if so, if her husband minded. She said she was married but her husband didn’t mind that she flirts to get more tips since it helps her bring home extra money. Then we found out she was a topless waitress.

So I became all judgmental “what the fuck kind of career is that? I tell ya’ some people have no decency-“ and then she said she brought home $1,200 every night so then I wondered how much a boob lift would cost (the girls ain’t where they used to be).

Okay, I’m not a prude (I hate it when people say prude because it makes me think of people being constipated) but I don’t think I'd personally like to be served by a guy with no shirt no matter how hunky.

hum una hum una what was I talking about? Oh, right!

I already have nightmares about the people that handle my food from when it’s first, killed, harvested, pickled, assembled at a factory from spare parts, etc to when it’s being stored, cooked and then served. Do I need to have the mental image of some guy’s nipple hair floating at the top of my soup? That would be a big honking NO!

Granted topless women don’t have nipple hair (only they do but it’s peach fuzz)(really)(not me though) but my brain cannot wrap itself around the idea of this chick with giant knockers accidentally getting her nips in my guacamole (somewhere in Expensive Suburbland, Andy’s head exploded at the thought).

Maybe I’m just weird?

::sigh::

Andy just said she’s probably a topless waitress at a bar*, not a restaurant so her nips would be in my tequila which kills all germs. Well la dee da! I stand by my post! (and really it’s because I don’t feel like typing something else)

In other news that does not involve boobies, last night we had the granddaddy of all storms. Thankfully we did not lose power or have to build any kind of ark-like structures but the thunder and lightening shook our house on more than one occasion.

Predicting a restless night because Tazz was being his usual “the thunder is chasing meeeeeeeee because it wants to eat meeeeeeeeee” annoying self, I decided to give him a tranquilizer.

Andy, being the voice of unreason, said it might be dangerous to give him a tranq but I argued that it was more dangerous for Tazz to be wandering the streets at midnight in the middle of a thunderstorm. Andy then said ‘but he’s not wandering— oh.’ he wisely relented so I got out of bed, dipped a tranq in strawberry jelly I was out of raspberry), opened his kennel and gave him the pill. When I got back to bed Andy was already snoring away. Typical!

This is exactly what happened after Tazz had the tranq.

Thunder:
KABOOOM!

Tazz:
OU OU OU OUUUUUUUUUUU!

Kennel:
RATTLE SHAKE RATTLE RATTLE

Thunder:
KABOOOM! KABOOOM! KABOOOM! KABOOOM!

Tazz:
OU OU OU OUUUUUUUUUUU! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHOUUUUUUUU!

Kennel:
RATTLE SHAKE RATTLE RATTLE

Thunder:
KABOOOM! KABOOOM! KABOOOM! KABOOOM!

Tazz & Kennel:
… [silence]

I did get up to check on him just in case he had decided to end his stay on Earth but when I saw his lopsided grin, I was tempted to take one of those bad boy tranqs myself!

Does facilitating my dog with narcotics make me a bad pet owner? Maybe but who asked you?

*I do not know what bar so don't ask!

"Bee n' Andy: Married and sometimes, still in love..."- Save the Electrician first!

 

 

You guys may have recognized this story from when I posted it under the disguise of "How to start a kitchen fire in 5 easy steps.". You know, when Andy tried to let me burn while he headed for safety? I mean, it wasn't enough that I had just saved him from Tazzer the Carnivorous or that I was trying to cook him dinner!

P.S.

No, that picture on the "5 easy steps" post is not my kitchen. I was more worried about saving my house than taking a picture of the fire that was about to consume my cabinets.

P.P.S.

Yes, this cartoon Bee got a haircut.

P.P.P.S.

When I asked him why he drew my boobies!! me so dangerously close to the stove, he said that is how close they are in real life. So, me being me, I went and stood by the stove and yes indeedy, my bazoombas were in fact in mortal danger that day. AND I NEVER EVEN REALIZED IT! You'd figure he would have wanted to save those at least.

Humor-Blogs

Tazz and Mocha Speak

So... Nooter The Dog tagged me with a scent meme. I'm to list 5 good smells and 5 bad smells. I decided to let Tazz and Mocha take this Meme and run with it. And then come back and leave it at my feet so I could throw it again and then they'll fight over the meme and Tazz will growl and Mocha will pee then expose her belly as a sign of submission. That's how Andy and I are... only he's Mocha ;o)

Tazz:

Okay Mocha we are supposed to list five smells we don't like and five we do. Mocha? MOCHA!

Mocha:

What?? I was trying to eat that squirrel that sits on the fence but I kept crashing into an invincible force field!

Tazz:

It's called a window, airhead!

Mocha:

Whatever stank breath! And that is one of the smells I don't like, your bad breath. (1)

Tazz:

Oh yeah? What about that time you threw up and rolled in it? That wasn't pleasant at all! (2)

Mocha:

Look who's talking! You bathe once a month because you hate water! You always smell like cheesy fritos! ... But I like that smell. (1)

Tazz:

Remember the time the dorky man left his sausages where I could reach them and started yelling when he found out I ate them?? Those smelled really good but tasted better! (2)

Mocha:

I wouldn't know since you always bite my legs when I try to sniff the food. I like to smell pretty lady's hair. (3)

Tazz:

Me too! I used to like smelling dorky man's fingers when he came home from work. I think it was because of those thin sticks that were hot at the tip that would make him blow smoke from his mouth. I was sad when he stopped buying those. That's why I tried to escape that one year, so I could go to the neighbor whose mouth is always smoking. (4)

Mocha:

Blech! I hated that smell! (3) He would come pet me and I would make this noise :kkkhrrmmm: :kkkhrrmmm: I was pretending I was going to throw up and he'd leave me alone. Not such an airhead now am I frito butt!

Tazz:

Remember that time you got into the recycle bin and drank the leftover booze? You were walking into walls, more than usual, and asking for your mommy. ha ha ha I hate the smell of booze! (4)

Mocha:

No, instead you like to sniff the cleaning products! The smell of bleach makes my eyes go googly and I hate it. (5)

Tazz:

I have to say that my all time favorite smell is coffee. Pretty lady once got distracted and left a garbage bag with coffee grinds that drove me to chew a hole at the bottom and inhale the grinds right into my system. The best score EVER! (5) AND CHEESE CAKE!

Mocha:

You are so weird. Hey! I smell Blue Cheese!

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Thanks to everybody who has joined the Secret Santa Can Suck It! we have about 38 people so far and it is going to be great! I'll email everyone Monday evening with their respective uh, people. Remember it's a secret so once I tell you, don't go over to the person and say "Hey I'm your secret Santa Booga Booga!".

No. No. Don't do it. I'd like everybody's "gift" to be up on Thursday 12/11 (of 2008) so we can all laugh together. The way I figured to do it, is to post a links with everybody's Site name where you go looking for your "gift". Does that sound good?

Suggestions are always welcome! Mostly.

P.S.

Does anybody else mess up when spelling Santa and keep typing Satan? Or is it just me?

Humor-Blogs

My body is trying to kill me! What a bitch!

You know how sometimes you're in bed and your house is cold so you're cuddled up to your George (a 21 year old teddy bear) and your blankies are up to your chin and your mouth is probably doing that sucking on a bottle OF TEQUILA thing?

There you are, warm, snuggling your teddy bear, probably dreaming of half naked Brad Pitts dancing around just for you when ALL OF A SUDDEN your leg decides it is tired of living and tries to commit harakiri 腹切り (only without the cutting of the stomach part)(don't get technical with me okay? I know that is the definition for harakiri but the last thing I need is for somebody else correcting me) in the most painful way imaginable by taking your calf muscles and twisting them until they look like this: 

This is what some call a Charley Horse and I call why-not-just-pull-my-heart-out-through-my-nose-you-rotten-bastard-that-way-I-will-die-faster. Both terms are acceptable.

Anyway, once you get the dreaded Charley Horse (I will use this term since the other one takes up too much space) you go from sound asleep to literally jumping straight out of bed and fighting the tentacles of your spouse/significant other/torturer frantically trying to straighten your leg and end the misery.

In the narrow space you have between your side of the bed and the wall, you start doing yoga poses, something you've never done while awake or sober, and you beg for the pain to go away. All this while your spouse/significant other/torturer/jerk laughs at the fact that you shot up 3ft in the air and did an amazing vault that deserved a 10 from the gymnast judges. He laughs and laughs and you swear at him that his pubic hair will be pulled out one by one without the benefits of anesthesia.

The pain is such that your mouth has an after taste unlike anything you've ever tasted. I mean, you'd remember if you had sucked on a tailpipe, right?

Then, just when you think the danger is over, you start to sit back on the bed and make the mistake of trying to get your leg to accompany the rest of your body. WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING??? This sends your spouse/significant other/torturer/jerk/jackass into uncontrollable laughter so you go looking for the tweezers to make good on your threat but then you notice walking is making it better.

You walk around for a little bit until you think the knot in your leg won't commit another act of treason. You go back to bed and your spouse/significant other/torturer/jerk/jackass/maggot offers to give you a (mocking)massage but you know any pressure will just make you cry blood so you politely tell him to go find a spoon and dig his eyeball out of his head.

You get in bed, assume the fetal position and drift into sleep. No longer is Brad Pitt in your dreams. Now you are just having all kinds of nightmares because your subconscious is telling you not to straighten your leg. This manifest itself by showing you images of mannequin legs sticking out of a dumpster. You wake up sore and realize you will have to torture yourself a little more by wearing your 4 inch stilettos to work because it's Friday and therefore your meeting day with OZ, or whatever your boss' name is.

You slip your sad foot into your shoe and wait for the stabbing pain that will stem from your deformed leg... but... NOTHING! The shoes are as comfortable now as they have been the previous times you've worn them. This means you must go out and buy another 10 pairs of the same exact shoe!

Uhm, so yeah. Drink water and eat bananas. That's what my trainer Ovi said will keep Charley Horses at bay.

Also? This did NOT happen to me. Allegedly.

Aww what the fuck! I saw Moulin Rouge on the cable guide only to be denied because it's the 1952 version! I was tricked! Bastards. Did you know that Colette Marchand (the Nicole Kidman of the 50s) had (maybe she's still alive and I'm killing her?) a lazy eye? And what is with the brutal kisses in old movies?? Did the director think it would make a movie sexier if it looked like the guy was trying to eat his lover's mouth?? Did they not get the memo that ravishing and ravenous are two different things???

 

P.S.

Today, I added the word *fuck* to my Live Writer dictionary. Champagne for everyone! Except Andy.

P.P.S.

My dog Tazz has been playing my nieces piano and I think he's pissed that he sucks because he keeps growling while he does it. Or maybe he's singing? I tell ya that I live in a nuthouse!

 

Humor-Blogs

I tried to make my dog go to rehab and he said...

... well, he didn't say anything because he's a dog but he did look at me funny.


Do they even have doggy rehabs centers??

I discovered that Tazz is a huffer. Whenever I'm cleaning the bathroom, he likes to follow me in and snort/lick the air. This forces me to close the door so he won't get sick but now I'm inhaling the toxic fumes and making myself see brightly colored mosquitoes strumming their guitars. I'd be okay with that if they weren't singing country songs. COUNTRY SONGS for craps sake!! I don't need that in my crazy world!

Anyway, I've learned to live with Tazz's idiosyncrasies like him trying to rearrange the floor before he lays (lies?) down. How he feels only he can defend you from the forces of evil and tries to make you stay home by tearing a piece of your calf.

But when he shoves me out of the way so he could snort at the bug spray I spray on my patio? That is just too much!

Tazz mid attack.

There was a lady I worked with who would sometimes want to eat chalk. She said it was because her system lacked petroleum or magnesium or sulfur not sure which but she claimed that was why she would sometimes chomp down on sidewalk chalk. Hey, I don't judge (much) but what could Tazz possibly be lacking that he wants to eat toxic chemicals??

Why can't I have normal pets?

Humor-Blogs

Thunderstorms and the fearless dog,

Have I ever talked about Tazz here on this blogus?? Yes?

Okay, then you know he is a little monster when it comes to people. He would sooner make your eyes into appetizers than lick you. HE is my secret weapon against all earthly evils and I love his ferocious little psychoness. We are, after all, very similar in personalities.

But!

Just like I have some weaknesses-eses, so does he. He is terrified of Fourth of July and thunderstorms. He doesn’t fear the Fourth of July because he’s unhappy we liberated ourselves from those crazy British people who don’t think I’m a lady, no, he hates the fireworks and the loud BANG!s.

A couple of years ago, I put him and Mocha out so they could do their business doggy style (and by doggy style, I mean pee/poop in the great wild yonder, NOT the other kind). When I went to go get them 2 minutes later, only Mocha sat by our back porch stoop looking sad and forlorn (or maybe she was gassy, you can’t really tell with her). I called out for Tazz but there was no response. (yes, he responds, usually by either running to the back porch stoop if he's done or by running out, ears flapping, looking at me, then running back to whatever he's doing, this is his way of telling me he's not done)

Since it was about 9:30 pm, our backyard was pitch black. I went inside to get a flashlight to see if he was under one of the pine trees or hiding behind the garage. No way could he have gotten out because our fence is solid wood with no slabs he could go through.

That’s when I saw it. The huge hole he dug IN TWO MINUTES to exit his torturous life of dog treats, ear scratches, SHELTER, and appreciation for his biting style. That’s how the ingrate repaid us, he escaped! To further prove to us how smart he can be, he dug the hole under the fence that's in our side yard thereby giving immediate access to freedom. Any other place he would have ended up in one of our neighbors yards.

I rang the alarm and had all our peeps looking for him. I was terrified since we live ONE block away from a forest preserve WITH A RIVER. Not just any river, a river that joins others into making the Illinois River which in turn is a tributary of the great old M-eye-crooked-letter-crooked-letter-eye-crooked-letter-crooked-letter-eye-hump-back-hump-back-eye (Mississippi) which in turn yadda yadda Gulf of Mexico.
I was picturing my little Tazzy wazzy surfacing, eating a couple of fisherman, then being hunted by a tribe of Nahuas.

Luckily, he was found by Wilson’s daughter. The dog was in such shock, she was carrying him with her arms still intact!

Uh, anyway! See what you do just by asking me why he feared the Fourth of July??

To make a long story, LONGER, last night we had thunderstorms the likes we hadn’t seen since… Saturday. They came at a most inconvenient time, bedtime.

I was tired so I went to bed at 10, you know, before my mandatory bedtime of 10:30 and for TWO HOURS Tazz was in his kennel trying to dig another tunnel to freedom. Throughout those 2 hours, this is what you heard if you were sitting outside our bedroom window (we’ll come back to WHY you were sitting outside my bedroom window later):

KABOOM!! PEWOOGH!! (my interpretation of thunder)

scratch scratch, dog whining, scratch, kennel door rattling violently

Bee:
TAAAAAZZ!

KABOOM!! PEWOOGH!!
scratch scratch, dog whining, scratch, kennel door rattling violently

Andy:
TAZZ YOU FUCKING IGNORANT DOUCHE!! SHUT UP!!

KABOOM!! PEWOOGH!!

scratch scratch, dog whining, scratch, kennel door rattling violently

KABOOM!! PEWOOGH!!

Bee:
OMG!! TAAAZZ! I SWEAR I’M GOING TO PUT YOU OUTSIDE IN THAT ‘EFFING KENNEL AND TURN YOU UPSIDE DOWN!!

Andy:
No, he’d drown if you turned him upside down.

Bee:
I wasn’t really going to take him outside Andy, I can barely lift that freakin’ kennel ever since I was diagnosed with Rusty-old-shoulder syndrome. I was hoping my threat would scare him enough to shut up.

Andy:
I think it worked since he stopped-

KABOOM!! PEWUGH!! KABOOM!! PEWUGH!! KABOOM!! PEWUGH!!

SCRATCH SCRATCH DOG HOWLING HAOOOOO MEWHOOOOO

Bee and Andy:
TAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAZZ!!!!!!!!!!!!

I finally got up to threaten his little ass face to face and was shocked to find his kennel was halfway to the front door! I dragged his kennel and put it in the darkest place of the house, Andy's dungeon. I put him under Andy's desk with his chair blocking him from trying to escape again.

If you think that was very cruel of me, shows how much YOU know! That son of bitch finally fell asleep!

Where was Mocha?, you ask. Well, she was sleeping soundly already being used to all the loud barking from Tazz, Andy and myself.



If you click on Humor-Blogs for me, you will accomplish 2 things.
1) You'll keep the boogey man away.
2) You'll keep me in the middle of the ranks.

And the hidden bonus third thing, you'll feel better about yourself for having made me a happier person.