All this *baring of the soul* is making me thirsty!

I learned to ride a bike when I was 7. My first bike was pale blue with a banana seat that boasted a chrome handle on the back of it. It had a little plastic basket on the front and red, white & blue streamers on the handle bars.

I remember waking up Christmas morning, our last Christmas before becoming Jehovah's Witnesses, and seeing this huge gift wrapped box sitting next to our tiny plastic tree and being speechless because I had gotten such a big gift.

I don't remember how long it took my dad to put it together but I remember he refused to put the training wheels on it. He said it was easy to learn and there was no point in wasting time. I find that ironic now because he later went on to weld training wheels he made out of a shopping cart to a motorcycle he owned.

The apartments we lived in had a small side yard that ran the length of the apartments. My first try was riding from our apartment, number 4, to my friend nurselizy's apartment, number 1. My dad guided the bike while running behind me but when he let go, my bike wobbled out of control and I almost crashed into the front fence. I'm sure I must have fallen but I really don't remember. For my second try I went from my friend nurselizy's apartment to mine and wasn't able to stop myself into to miss hitting the clothes lines. I remember that fall because I skinned my knee.

My third try, my dad guided the bike and I made it all the way to the front fence without falling. I thought it was because he hadn't let go but when I
turned around, I saw him standing halfway in between our apartments with a big cheesy grin and clapping. He ran up to me and said we should try again right away while I had this victory momentum. When he went to guide the bike, I told him I could do it alone this time and he let me. I got on the bike, he balanced it for me and then I flew through the yard. I was only seven so I don't think I knew what the names of the feelings I was having were but now I know they were pride, exhilaration, self confidence and just plain happiness. Besides this being one of the best memories I have of my dad, it is also one of the best ones I have about me.

The reason I'm bringing up this 30 year old memory is because I recently found that little girl again. The following post will be like an exorcism of sorts. I know my family members will be shocked to read the words I'm typing. All because I felt like I needed to keep these issues private, that I had to deal with them on my own because otherwise I would show my weaknesses.

For some years now, about 6 or so, I have felt vulnerable, inadequate, sad, angry, confused, repulsive, ashamed . . . and the list goes on and on. I'm sure I've touched on this subject before. Professionally, I'm still an ass kicker but personally? My self esteem in my appearance has been a roller coaster. I would dress up and feel confident, ready to take on the world but then I'd walk by a mirror and it would be as if someone stripped me of all that confidence and replaced it with feelings of repugnance and bitterness.

I've had debilitating bouts of depression that all centered on one specific issue. My body. Each year that goes by I'd feel more and more angry at myself for not being able to have the motivation and self control it would take to maintain a healthy weight. Each year I felt more self loathing than the next. I tried this fad and that fad. I entered weight challenges and nothing worked to keep me on track.

A couple of weeks ago, all my insecurities had regained force and punched me in the face leaving me feeling crushed under waves of inadequacy. Finding humor in anything was an impossibility which is why I needed to take some (quasi) time off from blogging and analyze myself. Sleep eluded me. My mood was so bleak, I felt as if my chest was going to cave in.

Over the past few days, I've wondered why I've let any other forces cloud my judgment. Why I let anyone make me feel inferior. Why (Why not *how* because I know the how) did I become so engrossed in this that or the other that I made it impossible for myself to go one day without this feeling of hatred for myself.

What happened to that chick who would be fearless at parties/clubs? Or the one who, as I think back on it now, WTF was I thinking, would ride on the back of guys motorcycles, speeding through the highway, feeling immortal? What about the woman who attempted skiing, no matter how disastrous the outcome was, I'm still proud to say that I tried. Specifically, what happened to that little girl who confidently told her dad she could ride her bike without his help and succeeded?

I did all these things because I had enough confidence in myself that I had no preconceived notions of failure. I didn't second guess myself, I just fucking did and so I was. Sure some of my choices and adventures weren't the safest but I'm here so lets not dwell on my intelligence, mkay?

That self confidence is to thank for a lot of special memories. I've had guys sing to me, I've had guys fight over me (that was more in my teen years but it still counts), I've had guys bribe my brothers so they could put in a good word for them, I've had men cry for me. Okay, that would need more of an explanation but now is not the time. I've gone into job interviews knowing how lucky they would be to have me. I was always sure of who I was. Now my sad ass shies away from mirrors because I don't need a confirmation on how unattractive I feel. I stopped accompanying Andy to any work gatherings because I was embarrassed on how much I 'let myself go'.

I let myself believe that that reflection in the mirror represented who I was inside. But that's not the case, I may have a different wrapper but I'm still the same person. The same person who believes she can accomplish anything she sets her mind to. One who refuses to sink deeper into this abyss of bitterness and is ready to do something about it.

Unfortunately, because I have had such a wall around me, sometimes people overlook the fact that I do have feelings. While strangers and people who don't matter to me may not penetrate my shell, it was still vulnerable to those I care about. Saying the wrong thing may cause damage no matter how well intended the comments may be. I can't change how people view me but I'll be damned if I continue this body dysmorphia! I know that what I see when I look in a mirror is only in my head and even though I may not be 100% happy with what I see, I still know it's nowhere near as bad as I make myself believe it is.  

I woke up a week ago with this angry need to change my life. Enough with feeling sorry for myself! I wasn't sure what my next step would be but I knew that I needed to regain control of myself. There is no miracle cure, no plastic surgeon is going to offer me thousands of dollars worth of free surgery, I'm not going to sign up for a "Fatty loser" reality show. What I have to do is what I have done my whole life when I really want something, work for it.

The important things I have wanted in life didn't come to me by chance or luck. I've had to work hard to get them so why should this be any different?

I am as of this very moment, putting a stop to any thoughts of shortfalls, failures or any other bullshit that has no right to be in my head. All I can do is change my attitude and strangely enough, people have taken notice of this life altering decision to take control of my self esteem. People have been commenting on how good I look, how young I look, etc. So tell me, my friends, what has changed? I didn't all of a sudden lose 30 pounds. What has made them see me differently? Could it be because I decided that I was done letting anything or anybody have that much control over me?

I know this may seem like another "oh man! I'm gonna change my life!" post but there is something different this time. I don't know how to put into words what's different but it's almost like I woke up and the person I used to be 10 years ago smacked me upside the head and told me to pull it together and regain control of myself. I am pretty sure I know when my self confidence in my body tanked and if my calculations are correct, I have a lot of years to recover for but I have no doubts in my mind I'll be successful this time. I know that I'm doing everything I can to change myself for the right reasons and that is to make myself happy.

Sure, I still have my dark moments but then I flip off my reflection and I tell her to enjoy her time because the happier me is slowly going to take over and then kick her ass. I just have to keep remembering that I am the boss of me and everybody else can go fuck themselves.

Also, I have lost 12 pounds since January so that has also been a great motivator. And, don't let anybody undermine your self confidence. If you need professional help, don't be ashamed to get it.

Bang update! Ummm... Not THAT kind of bang perverts!

So it turns out my bangs look awesome and I've gotten a lot of compliments... Unless they're lying? Nah!

Anyway, I guess the jagged choppiness looks like I paid mega bucks to have it styled that way. My sister also came over with tweezers and coffee Sunday night to fix my eyebrows and pull the stubble the stupid tiny razor left behind!

And! My mom came home after her 3 week vacation so my world is totally harmonious again.

Well, it would be totally harmonious if Andy the warden would stop cracking the bedtime whip! I didn't have to live with this many rules when I was a kid!

P.S.
If anybody would like me to come over with my kitchen shears and tiny eyebrow razor to give you a makeover, just email me.
For you, no charge!

I remember a time when I could drink more than one beer without turning into Moe from the 3 Stooges.

What separates us from animals is our ability to make decisions (I'm sure there are others but work with me here). Animals usually act on instinct. But us? We question, we rationalize, we hem and haw until a beer takes that decision from our very hands. What does that mean? Well let me tell you.

It all started when I made a delightful dinner of Fettuccine Alfredo and baked chicken legs which I was going to eat ALONE (and we've established that I need to be supervised at all times) because my Andy was at brother Dan's house doing the magical thing he does with electricity.

I set my place setting for one, enjoying the solitude, when I made the decision to forgo my vanilla coke for a beer. Caution to the wind baby! After dinner, I was cleaning up the kitchen and my bangs kept getting in my eyes irritating the ever loving crap out of me! That's when the beer gave me the brilliant idea to trim them a little.

I went to my bathroom and rummaged through the drawers but I couldn't find any scissors. That's when the beer told me to go into the kitchen and grab my kitchen scissors. The ginourmous ones that can cut chicken legs with one snap. The ones I use to cut ninja stars and pennies and anything else that pisses me off!

So I took the scissors into the bathroom with me and as I was brushing my hair, I noticed my eyebrows were a little too bushy. That's when the beer suggested I look for my tiny eyebrow razor and clean them up a little. I removed my glasses, because they were in my way (who needs to see when shaving/cutting?), and I lightly went feep feep with the razor (I have never used) then brushed my hair down and took the SERRATED heavy duty scissors and *trimmed* my bangs.

::sigh::

When I put my glasses back on, OH HOLY BABY SPINACH! One eyebrow looked like I was questioning my sanity (which, hello! I think I should) and my bangs looked like I had let Mocha and Tazz take turns at chewing them off!

That's when the beer told me to do the logical thing and even them both out. Listen, I don't need to tell you there is no happy ending to this story.

I now have crooked bangs the size of eyelashes and receding eyebrows. I'm thinking my only solution is to spike them both and pretend I did it on purpose.

Sadly, this is not the first time I've rocked the the choppy bangs.

Conversation Andy and I had when I told him about my bangs.

Andy: Oh, it can't be that bad.

Me: ...

Andy: Let me see-- ooch! Eets! Wow! Well, it could have been worse. I guess?

 

Oh boy.

P.S.

We are currently having creative differences with our scanner so that is why "Bee n' Andy" has been on hiatus. It refuses to communicate with my laptop and instead wants to be an expensive paperweight-slash-mail-holder. Hopefully, I'll be able to hit the right sequence of buttons and fix it soon.

Randumbness

So... while kids were out looking for treats this Halloween, I was finding my own treats hidden in my pots.

The squirrels are going to be so pissed when they go digging for their winter snacks and oops! All gone!

What? You gonna cry for the squirrels now?

There is no mercy in this DOJO!

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I had a doctor's appointment early on Saturday. For those of you keeping score, that's like the 100th appointment this year. She's still trying to iron out my kinks. I think it took Dr. Frankenstein less time to create his monster. Anyway, she was checking this and that when she asked me how I cleaned my ears. The question shouldn't have shocked me I guess but it did. I am very meticulous about my pre-check-up preparations so I thought maybe she wanted to get some tips from me?

Me: Well, I take the Q-tip and put it in my ear... I only use Q-Tip brand Q-tips though because the other ones are too flimsy-

Doc: No! Don't use Q-Tips. All they do is push the wax in deeper. You need to use drops!

Me: What are you saying?? [puts hands over ears]

Doc: Don't worry. I see this all he time. I'll write down the name of the drops for you-

And then she was distracted by a wailing kid who just had its ears pierced so she didn't write the name down for me. No, my doctor doesn't practice out of a Claire's.

I've been alive for almost 37 years and I've just learned I've been cleaning my ears wrong! If anybody knows what kind of drops I'm supposed to be using please let me know. I can barely hear over here!

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I dyed my hair today. I went with Black but not because I'm having an identity crisis and am going for the goth look. I just like black hair. Unfortunately, the dye left what looks like a 5 o'clock shadow on both sides of my face giving me the appearance of sideburns. I'm gonna have to own them so that I don't look like an ass when I go in to work tomorrow.

 

"Thank you! Thank you verrry much!"

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I'd like to thank everybody who entered to win Mercury Falls. I was unable to read the book yet therefore have not sent Diesel aka Robert Kroese my interview questions so I'll hopefully announce the winner on Friday at the bottom of my interview. Way at the bottom. This will force you to read the whole interview and not just pop in, see if you won or not and then go have pizza.

Do you remember when you were a little kid and you promised yourself that when you grew up you'd eat candy all the time because you wouldn't have a mean old parent telling you not to?? Well! My tummy is all achey now from all the left over candy. Now I'm sad and wish I could beat up 11 year old stupid me.

The end.

Nyquil Flashback + witness my rockin 90s style.

Me: ::laughing;:

Andy: What's so funny?

Me: I was remembering a scene on Glee when the "Acafellas" were singing "Poison". We were laughing so hard!

Andy: ?? Who were you watching it with?

Me: What?

Andy: You said "we were laughing so hard" I thought you watched it alone.

Me: Oh um yeah. I think. Wait. Who was I talking to?

Andy: Bee, I think you have a Nyquil problem.

Me: No. I'm sure I was talking to somebody!

Andy: Sure you were, babe. Where's your stash?

 

I have no freakin clue why I remember laughing with someone while watching Glee. If I was chatting with you or on the phone with you, please let me know because I need to convince Andy and "it's driving me out of my mind!"

"Acafellas"

 

Here's the Bell Biv Devoe video. The dancing was cheesy but... I cannot believe I used to dress like that! I used to go to "Rave" and buy like 6 of those hoochie stretch skirts for about five dollas.

Old school stylin!

There are very few pictures of me in that era and for that I'm grateful. The humiliation would be too much to bare. However! I did find this little gem which I'm posting because my brain cells are still swimming in medicine and I would never dream of opening that door of shame if I was lucid but you know what? I find the humor in this picture right now.

I have no idea WHY I was ""posing"" (super models of the world, you may breathe easy) but I blame it on the Southern Comfort. Also, why I didn't get closer to the chair so that it wouldn't look as awkward escapes me. I tried cropping it but then it looked like I was floating and that made me laugh and Tazz started barking. I'm assuming he was trying to talk sense into me.

::groan:: It was New Year's Eve so give the shawty a break!

Like those women who can't hold their liquor and then wake up to find they brought home the ugliest guy in the club, I'm sure I'll regret this in the morning.

This is what happens when I cook dinner:

I turned on the oven without bothering to move a couple of metal containers I had set on top of the stove. Unfortunately, my dumbass didn't think about the plastic lids on top of those metal containers!

This to me is a sure sign as to why I shouldn't cook. Andy says I just need to try harder since I'm becoming less dangerous each time and he uses the kitchen fire as an example.

I told him I was going to start a "Stop Bee now before she burns the Earth down!" petition. Who's with me??

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.

When a marriage clears the 7 year itch milestone, isn't it time to throw out the anti-fungal ointment?

So… no comic today. I know I know we suck but it's just that Andy and I are having a small uh disagreeeement so we did not prepare anything because, in the time honored tradition of all arguments in the Cor-Rut household, we are each too stubborn to back down. Nothing major. No need to worry. We'll probably just wind up having a dance off to declare a winner.

It all started with Andy asking if I was going to clean out the fridge and me asking if he owned me and then him saying something about no iPhone for me and so I jumped up and said I was just kidding and haha he fell for it because that's exactly what I was going to do today because hello! I allotted all this extra time and even bought rubber gloves for the occasion. Ay-ay-ay. ::twitches nervously::

Everything was going well, moldy grapes- trashed. Mysterious stuff in Tupperware container- garbage! Container and all! All these things were approved by his highness to be disposed of... then we hit a glitch. When it was time to reorganize the freezer, I came across a plastic bag.

As some of you may remember, my Andy and I did not have a traditional wedding. We tied the knot and then a couple of months later had our backyard party. However, thanks to my awesome mother-in-law, we did have a beautiful cake.

Having never been married before and blocking out all weddings I’d ever attended, I was not aware that there was a peculiar tradition to save a piece of cake and then eat it at the one year anniversary mark but people were assuring me it would bring us good luck and a long, happy marriage. Some of these same people were divorced and on their second marriages but who am I to judge?

Since Andy and I hadn’t followed too many of the marriage traditions, we decided to follow this one. We did have a big piece of cake left, besides getting violent diarrhea, what could it hurt?

Exactly one year (and some months) later (shhh! we forgot on the anniversary and didn’t remember until we were making room in the freezer for yummy ribs) we opened up the freezer baggie, unfolded the paper it had been wrapped in and proceeded to sink our teeth into some tasteless saw dust. Mmmm

We each only had a small bite and decided that was enough to hopefully get us to our 30th wedding anniversary. We’d reevaluate our relationship after that. I grabbed the cake, baggy and all, and walked over to the garbage can to throw it out when Andy decided to voice his disagreement.

[conversation not from actual memory but I'm sure it went something like this because it sounds right in my head]

Andy:

What are you doing?

Bee:

Uh making cupcakes?

Andy:

Why are you going to throw the cake out? Shouldn’t we save it?

Bee:

For what? You want to age it like cheese and try it again next year?

Andy:

No, I just don’t think it would be good luck to throw it out.

Bee:

Would you like me to flush it down the toilet? That way we can fool the gods into thinking we ate it?

Andy:

Stop being a smart ass. Just put it back in the freezer.

So I did because we all know I do everything my Andy tells me to. That was SEVEN YEARS AGO!

And so ladies and gents, we are reliving that same argument. I say it's been long enough but Andy’s delicate sensibilities insist we keep it. He says I should take my heart out of the jar I keep it in and use it every once in a while.

Who has an argument over 8 year old cake? I told him maybe we should use this as material for the comic but he gave me the stink eye and walked away.

Did anybody else save their cake this long? More importantly, does anybody want some? And by some I mean ALL OF IT.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mom:
I don’t know, it just is.

Then Andy.

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

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

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

My hair looks awesome by the way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Being a Mexican American PPVO (Post Pig Virus Outbreak).

I tell ya’ guys, I’m afraid to get sick. Not because I think my lungs will fill up with mucus and I’ll die face down in my sleep. No, that doesn't keep me up at night but if I walk in with a hoarse voice (HOARSE not WHORE'S) the ladies are on my case about going to the doctor to get myself checked.

I have to tell them that they are the only people I’ve come in contact with and it’s not like there’s a gene we, the Aztec people, carry in our DNA! It’s a fucking flu.

I don’t know if they seriously think that if I get a run of the mill cold, it will mutate into the dreaded porky germs or what but they are working the reserve of nerves I keep for emergency situations. Like, for example, the time Andy came home late for lunch when he knew we were hosting his parents and we’d only been living together a couple of months and instead he went for lunch and drinks with his buddy (we will call him Peter) Peter after their field trip to some museum of electricity during his apprentice years, and then lied to me about where he had been and I didn’t find out until our first year anniversary when he accidentally goofed by knowing his way around a restaurant we’ve supposedly never been to (damn you cheesecake factory!) and I was so mad I nearly speared him with the little sword from my Piña Colada. I know you think it wouldn’t have been too painful for him because those things are tiny and plastic but believe me, the surgeons would have needed sedatives for themselves to assist in the removal of said sword from his left testicle. --- Okay, I guess I’m still mad about it. But now you know why I need that extra reserve of nerves. My Andy uses them up like they were Kleenexes.

Speaking of stuff to wipe yourselves with. We went to Costco, post blueberry muffin catastrophe SO WE DID NOT BUY MORE MUFFINS, and you know how they have stations of samples they give out? I am against sampling stuff because I don’t know what’s flying around Costco. Maybe somebody’s kid has the dreaded Feline Flu that will kill us all I don’t know but anyway there was a lady giving samples of, get this, TOILET PAPER!

Andy and I walked by, did a double take and I said “I’m gonna go over there and take a sample then tell her I’ll come back to let her know how it was.” he stopped me because he always ruins my fun. Also, she was only giving out 2 squares and it may be enough for Sheryl Crow but I need a little bit more to ensure freshness.

A couple of weeks ago, when I went with my sister, some lady bitched because my sister stopped in the middle of the aisle. The lady asked the girl she was with “why do people have to stop in the middle of the aisle??” (apparently the little girl must be some sort of mind reader?) I turned around and gave her a nasty look since my sister had stopped because other people were blocking the aisle she was trying to turn into. I guess she could have run them over but then there would be an accident report to fill out and I’m not sure auto insurance covers shopping carts.

Later, while looking for my Advil, I bumped into the lady again. To be mean, I started following her, at a safe distance where it could seem like I was shopping and it was just a coincidence, she kept looking back at me and then she started sprinting down the aisles while I calmly followed each turn she made. At the end of one of the aisles, she was blocked by a lady who was just standing there with her cart. The stalkee says “Excuse me!” and the stander says “go around me!” and then I laughed and let her get away. My sister said I was insane but she was the one to cause the lady’s wrath so she’s not an innocent party in this story.

Karma being the bitch that she is, when I went back to Costco today (I'm the KM at work this week so I went to get a veggie tray and some chocolate muffins), the dude that was ringing me up took my Costco membership card, looked at my picture then looked at me then looked at my picture then looked at me until I finally had to say "yeah, it's me" because my picture is that bad! It's a cross between a teletubby and an albino cricket. I know, frightening!

Uh, anyway, I got distracted. What I was trying to say is that my throat hurts (but this will not keep me from singing at the top of my lungs m'kay) and I’ve been sneezing (okay I just sneezed mid bite into my muffin and a small piece went through my windpipe OUCHY!) and coughing a lot. But don’t worry. No need to come over here wearing a hazmat suit. I was out all weekend without a sweater because I mistook the sun being out to mean it was also warm but it was definitely too cold to be so bold.

If the bats so much as hint at me being infected, I will give them a close up of my left foot followed rapidly by my right.

I'm taking a mini vacation to do fun things like helping my mom move back downstairs (Yay!) dusting, re-organizing my life and LAUNDRY so I won't be around this weekend. Yeah, I know it makes you sad and you're probably wondering what you'll do without me until Tuesday. Don't worry, you'll be okay. Maybe.

 

Have a safe Memorial Day and in Brian's case, a safe Bank Holiday!

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.

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

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

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

Then!

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

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

First up, kinky grandmas at the movies:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sweeeeeeeet! That is one cool granny.

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

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

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

Subject: wondering who you are?
Is this Bianca?

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

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

The mysterious shedding at Arkham Asylum:

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

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

[GASP!]

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

Office Staff:
[silence]

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

Office Staff:
[still silent]

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

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

Bee:
What? It’s not true?

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

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

Bee:
What’d I say?

Glynda & Office Staff:
[silently walk away]

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

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

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

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

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

Milton:
Oh! I hadn’t thought of that!

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

eek!

Weekend, you didn't get here soon enough!

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.

So there I sat, holding my urine sample while a little boy stared at me in wide eyed wonder...*

Yeah so I went to the doctor and I have awesome news for you guys (me too I guess). I will not be dying any time soon. Well, let's hope I can still out run those ninja assassins. I was also given the great news that I am not pregnant which I already knew but it's always good to hear over and over and especially coming from a licensed professional.

My doctor is an old school little polish lady who believes babies cure all. Why would I say that, you ask. Well she asked me if there were any babies in my future and I said I'm sure there will be but hopefully the stork will bypass my house and drop them off at my sister's or brothers' houses and she said "Deese health problems you have because you have no babies. A baby will change your body and you see everything be better. Babies are the answer to all problems!"

Say hhhwat??

I guess we've been taking the wrong approach to things like the economy, war and bacon. You heard or, erm, read it here first people! Go out and have yourself a baby and your problems will evaporate!

It also turns out my blood pressure was way over what anybody would call ""normal"" it was over what anybody would call ""abnormal"" so I got the famous speech of "eat right, exercise, stop-killing-people-with-your-mind" etc. I tried explaining to her that I had just had a very stressful day and maybe that's why they were getting a TNT reading and you can't really tell me those automated blood pressure machines are infallible. This didn't stop them from trying to get a better reading oh no no no. That automated sucker just kept puffing up and squeezing the hell out of my arm until my hand was purple and beginning to lose feeling. My upper arm now has little red blood marks from where the stupid machine was trying to drain my soul.

But otherwise, my doctor and her staff are nice people and if it weren't for the fact that they've come at me with needles and made me pee into things, I might consider asking them over for dinner.

Anyway, I didn't go in to work because I was still achey-in-the-kidney and my Andy being the lovable guy he is decided to bring me a gift:

Some women like flowers and candy but not this chick!

*True story.

You know that question parents ask their kids "If your friends jumped off a bridge, would you do it too?" How many of you said yes? I jumped off a high mountain, does that count?

So the other day I went to say 'hi' to NCS on her blog and she was all bragging about her skiing abilities. I misquote "I'm awesome at skiing because I have awesome balancing skills and great hair, don't even try to be better at skiing than me because you will FAIL."

I told her my goal was to be the worst, laziest skier on the planet so the joke was on her. Then I told her I'd tell my skiing story after I ate my spider pie.

Here it is ladies and gents, the sordid, embarrassingly sad, details:

Back when I was a cool and happenin' disco (as Brian and jean knee say)(that's what they call clubs) chick, my friend Brenda thought it was a good idea to introduce me to the magical wonderland that is Skiing or as I refer to it "why in the hell would you want to freeze your ass off when there is a perfectly good lodge with hot guys and booze right over there?"

Being from California, skiing was just not something I ever thought about doing. She encouraged me by saying "you'll be fine, it's just a matter of balance!" uh I'd like to state for the record that, yes, my balance was good enough to keep me upright and helped in my learning to walk days but I never attempted to walk on slippery surfaces with butter-knives attached to my tootsies.

But hey! I was about 21-22 so I thought I was immortal why not try skiing?? Sonny Bono hadn't died yet so I had no idea how dangerous it could be.

We went to the local sports store and loaded up on cute outfits, warm socks, a ski jacket (just made sense to buy an expensive jacket for a first time adventure) and a polar bear. How did I pay for all that on my Chicken Joint salary? I had just gotten a new credit card in the mail and I had to pay for all that crap in the years to come. Bastards.

My dear friend Brenda and her friend Leslutty decided to teach me on the "bunny slope". Listen, if that fuckin thing was a bunny slope, my butt is really the same size it was in high school. That was an Elephant slope as far as I was concerned.

These were their instructions to me. AND I AM NOT KIDDING.

Brenda:

If you want to go left, you go like this [moves body to the left] if you want to go right you go like this [moves body to the right] and if you want to stop you go like this [extends arms, digs weird pole things into snow and crosses her skis].

Leslutty:

Yeah. Totally. [exhales a cloud of toxic smoke in my direction. Bitch.]

Me:

Oh, okay. What can go wrong with those easy instructions?

Lets stop right there and examine that statement m'mkay?

Just because instructions are easy, doesn't mean:

A) they are right

B) they should be followed

C) you won't need hip/face/back replacement surgery when you're done

and the hidden

D) you shouldn't have your fuckin head examined for having friends who want to kill you. In public! In front of children!

So I peer down the Elephant slope and Brenda says "ready? Go!" and because I always do as I'm told… down I went.

Now you will hear my inner thoughts because I remember exactly what I was thinking as if it were yesterday.

"Cool! Man, I must be doing about 30 miles an hour! Yeah! I am so balanced and look how straight I'm going with the proper knee bendyness! Wow looks like I'm headed for those pine trees! Uh, what did she say if I wanted to stop? Oh yeah. Cross skis. … How do I cross my skis they are just not cooperating. Where's the brake lever?? Ummm danger Will Robinson?? Danger. DANGER!!! OH HOLY FUCKIN SHIT! HOW DO I STOP??"

My friend Brenda, who is an excellent skier and I hate her, appeared alongside of me yelling stuff which I interpreted as "keep going you're doing great!" but in reality was "why the fuck aren't you stopping?".

So, I did the thing that I do best. I took matters into my own hands and threw my body backwards. So that I may fall and therefore stopping me from hurting the beautiful pine trees.

Now, I'm not sure if you are familiar with physics and I have to admit to only learning what I needed to to graduate and then replacing those things with images of Brad Pitt, but when you are going at a high velocity and you decide to throw your body on the slippery ground, this means you will be dragged around like a rag doll until:

A) You hit a big boulder

B) Hit a big tree

C) Hit another skier

D) run out of ground and just plummet off the face of the earth

but really it was

E) My ass was just too heavy to be dragged any further.

When I finally came to a stop, and was able to detach my legs from my ears, I dusted myself off. Stared at the long way I had gone and said to my friend Brenda "yeah, that was fun but you know what's more fun? Shooting rockets out of nose! How about I wait for you guys in the BAR WHILE TAKING SHOTS OF TEQUILA TO MAKE ME FORGET lodge?"

Now, you'd think the story would end there, right?

People, you would be so wrong.

Brenda:

Okay but why don't you go up the ski lift with us and then just come back down the lift?

Well hell! What a great idea!! I can have a nice view of the tops of the pine trees and watch people going down the mountain!!! Brilliant!

So we get on the ski lift, "ooh, pretty" "ahh peaceful" the next thing I know, I feel the chair jerk, see my "friends" on the slopes and then the lift completely stops.

In case you hadn't caught on by now, a person that goes up the ski lift must EXIT the ski lift at the TOP. There are no "ifs ands or buts" about it. Those are the rules. Would you like to know where my skis were? Why sitting right next to me of course! Why would they be on my feet if I'm not going to ski anymore! Silly rabbit!

To my horror, amidst cries of "what the hell are you doing? jump!" from the people in the chairs behind me, out of the little control shed comes this gorgeous, and do I mean drop-dead-knock-out-we-should-give-his-mother-a-standing-ovation-for-producing-such-a-mouth-watering-man, muscular guy in just a sweater and jeans who asks me to throw my skis on the ground and jump into his arms. Because I'm about 7 feet off the ground.

I hesitate since I don't want to be the one responsible for squishing the life out of this magnificent creature. He extends his arms and says "I'll catch you" ::dreamy sigh:: so I jump. Talk about trusting someone with your life. Talk about being a modern day Hercules. Talk about how red my face must have been!

He caught me, gently put me down, grabbed my skis, asked me if I was okay, left me with the mountain police (2 guys about my age) and then went back into his sparkly castle. ::dreamy sigh #2::

The mountain police were okay to look at but they were no match for the guy who held me in his arms. No match.

Anyway, there were only 3 ways off that mountain. You skied down it, out of the fuckin question. You rolled down it, I obviously didn't have a good rolling chance, maybe now but not back then. You WALKED down it. In ginormous ski boots. With drifts up to my waist.

Oh yeah, I forgot to talk about the ski boots. I am 5'2 and at that time was a way smaller size than I am now. Not telling you what size I am now since it's really none of your business and has no relevance to this story. The boots were up to my knees (rented thank god because I would have beat myself if I had bought a pair) and I felt like I was hauling around giant iron beams.

As I was being escorted down the side of the mountain, my two body guards were telling me I should get new friends. That was the best idea I'd heard all day. They also asked me where I lived, did I have a boyfriend and all that other stuff but you don't need to hear about that.

I waited for my "friends" in the lodge and had already made quick friends with the bartender and a few other people by the time they came inside, I also had a lot less brain cells IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. Did I mention it was night skiing?

There you have it NCS. Next time you are swooshing down the mountain, think of me having a Kahlua and cream mmmmm while sitting in front of a nice warm fireplace. Minus the hot guys. Now I only have one hot guy. You know, in my memories. ;o) (kidding babe, you know I meant you)

P.S.

Don't forget about coming over for our Sunday Comics "Bee n' Andy: Married and sometimes, still in love..." completely illustrated by Andy.

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