It's time to play "Worst Case Scenario"! Here's your host: Beeeee Musings! (that's me!)

I know most of you assume I live my life stumbling around by the seat of my pants and you're not far from the truth but on those rare occasions that I have to make tough decisions, I employ what I call my "Worst Case Scenario" system which prevents me regretting any decisions. What I do is, I ask myself "what is the worst case scenario if I do or don't do ___"

For example"

Marriage— Yay? or Nay?

Yay:

Worst case scenario is that Andy opens his eyes on our 10 year anniversary and realizes he married a bipolar nutjob. Until then, I won't have to take out the stinky garbage cuz I'll have a boy that does it.

Nay:

Worst case scenario, I'll start liking cats.

Since I really think cats are a step up from anal gerbils (ask Richard Gere what I mean because I don't have time to explain), marriage challenge accepted! We are approaching year 9 so we'll see what happens next year.

Let's focus on today's challenging decisions, okay?

It all started at 9:30 AM day of the lord Wednesday January 13th (coincidence that it was the 13th? I think not!). I had just finished off a full bottle of water and needed to go, erm, tinkle and like always, I waited until the very last minute which meant it was GO time! As I was lining the toilet seat with TP (a protected toilet seat is a happy toilet seat) and doing the pee-pee dance ( you know the one, right? where you shuffle from from one foot to the other all the while pinching your legs tightly together?) I was also trying to unbutton my pants at the same time... you know, now that I typed that, I'm thinking 2 things. First off, why do I share so much information and second, I must have looked like a spastic weirdo. Oh well!

Anyway, I must have yanked on my pants too hard (that's what he said!) because PEEWM! there went my button!

[insert chubbo jokes here you jerks!]

Dammit! Now the zipper wouldn't stay up! Should I just pull my blouse down?

Worst Case Scenario:

My blouse doesn't hide the problem so I walk around flashing the unsuspecting elderly.

So I looked down at myself to see how long my blouse was but it wasn't long enough to cover the overexposure. Nope, I didn't want to risk accidental peepage so I had to try something else.

I did the best I could with the zipper and walked out of the bathroom (after I washed my hands, I'm not a barbarian!) where I bumped into Scarecrow. I explained my dilemma and asked her if she had a safety pin.

She gave me one of those jumbo ones people used to secure cloth diapers in the olden days but before I could go back into the bathroom, Scarecrow went in!

Should I wait for her her to come out or just go into the kitchen and face the window so no one I work with will see what I'm doing?

Worst Case Scenario:

A random stranger I may never meet will see me fiddling with my pants while I'm standing in the kitchen.

So I stood in the kitchen and threaded the safety pin through my pants and the space where the button used to be. Nobody walked by the window in the kitchen so my secret is safe.

I went on my merry way and continued my job duties as if I was a normal person. Unfortunately for me, I should have adjusted my daily over-exaggerated body gestures to accommodate a hazardous pokey thing in my pants (that's what he said!)(that's what she said!)(it could go either way, no?) but I completely forgot I was living on the precipice of mortal danger!

Later in the day, when I needed to use the ladies room again, I went to open the safety pin but I couldn't find the other prong thingie. I looked down and there, staring up at me menacingly (I think it was even snarling), was the sharp part of the pin! I was almost killed! With no warning even! It turns out the pin had become bent and crooked so it had popped out of the pin's head!

What do I do now? Should I go home and change? No, because I won't want to come back. Maybe if I just put the safety pin back carefully...

Worst Case Scenario:

Fatal Stabbing!

Well, I certainly didn't want to die by way of safety pin stabbing but what other choice did I have?

I threaded the pin through again. This time I made sure it was more secure. Also, as an added precaution, I took 2 paper towels, folded them and positioned them on the inside of my pants to form a barrier between the pin and my delicate skin.

I thought to myself "Self, just don't use the ladies room too often so that you won't have to go through this hassle each and every time!"

You know what happened? It was as if my bladder decided to take a stand and show me who was boss! I would have a teeny tiny sip of water and BOOM! I had to go to the bathroom! I'd be reading a magazine and an ad would feature  an H2O product BOOM! I had to go to the bathroom!

If I walked by a plant— nothing would happen because it's a plant but then I'd notice it needed to be watered and BOOM! off I'd go!

After being tortured every five minutes, I finally took control of my bladder and said "Do your worst!" but by this time it was time to go home and I'm happy I didn't have to find out what the worst case scenario would have been.

And now you know too much about me and my pants!

Married Latina Female.

It is my belief that  life helps us prepare for things we weren't expecting in our paths by giving us small examples of how to deal with any future disappointments, sadness, heartache, homicidal tendencies, etc. I think back to the time I didn't have car insurance and backed into a Cadillac and had to pay the mean bitch out of my own pocket for her "repairs" even though there was nothing wrong with her car. That incident helped me realize any extra money in my wallet attracts evil which is why I try to spend as much of it as I can! Oh, I also learned I needed car insurance.

The reason I'm talking about this semi-enlightenment crap is because life never prepared me for Milton wanting to be my twin. Yep. You heard me right!

She is dressing like me, buying shoes like mine (WITH HEALS EVEN!), wearing gaudy jewelry, cutting her hair short like mine... Oh my lord! I just realized there was a movie just like this a few years ago! It was called Single White Female. Only I'm not single and she's not either. And also she is of the Caucasian persuasion and I'm so obviously of the Latin persuasion. Anyway, it's creeping me out! Now I have to hear about how she goes shopping at my favorite shoe store and to make matters worse, she was wearing a cute pair of red Mary Janes that would have looked awesome on my tootsies!

  (not actual shoe she wore because I would have wrestled them off her feet!)

Her next *Bee* thing? Perfume! She was commenting on how she loves how I leave the office smelling so good. Over Christmas she bought 3 different scents so I could tell her which one was better on her. She asked me what the name of mine was and I lied. I told her it was Exclamat!on which I used to wear when I was like 15 or 16 so I'm hoping she gets the hint.

When she cut her hair, she asked me if she could get away with dying it a dark color, not black but maybe a dark brown. I told her her skin was too fair and her response was "well so is yours but the color looks good on you" and I had to let her down easy by saying that there is a difference between being fair and blushy (me) and fair and cotton-ball-y (her). Thankfully she went with strawberry blonde.

I hope she doesn't try to swap my Andy for her beer-gutted old dude because I will have to introduce her to my little friend:

It's not very humane but I think it'll get my point across!

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

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

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

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

Does anyone else see where this is going?

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

Once upon a time there was a family of ugly globs living in my lungs...

 

It all started on Friday THE THIRTEENTH ooh spoooooky!

I came down with some bug. Last year I was rarely sick but it seems this year will be the year of the Funkyflus for me.

As you may or may not know, you simply cannot be sick while working at the Asylum. People immediately start shielding themselves from you and spraying every area you touch with bleachlike substances. While your hand is still touching the object! I don't know why they treat people like pariahs when they're ill. With the exception of OZ, it's not like we go out licking unsanitary hookers on purpose!

So, I decided to keep my illness (which I believe was passed on to me by that evil OZ!) on the down-low. Unfortunately for me, at the earliest sign of any illness, my voice is the first to go. Added to that, I have this creepy cough that I haven't been able to get rid of for over a month. That cough has irritated my throat and, I'm assuming because I am not a licensed professional, my vocal chords. So instead of my sweet HIGH PITCHED voice OF A NINE YEAR OLD, I sound like a 1920s hustler whose had too many cigarettes, booze and good times. The voice is a little less Mae West and a lot more Elmer Fudd-y. I will call this my alter ego and name her Lullibell. What the hell was I talking about? Oh right! I'm sick.

I went to work and as soon as I said something, everyone pounced on me.

"Are you sick?"
"Sounds like something's cookin'!"
"Your hair looks great!"

I told them I felt fine but I felt a little congested. Immediately Glynda told me to go home. Since I no longer have any more time off left in the season, I told her that I would go home if they paid me for the day. She stared at me blankly and said "No, but I don't want you to give it to us" and that's when I said "This is harassment!" no I actually told her that if she did not get it from kissing OZ's ass, then she wouldn't get it from me.

I struggled the whole day to appear healthy but once I got home that evening, my bravado evaporated. I sat on the sofa coughing and whimpering, waiting for Tom Cruise to come heal me. Bastard never showed.

I managed to run some errands on Saturday but on Sunday all I did was wallow in self pity, vowing to make the world a bitter place if I came out of this alive.

On Monday, I called in sick because I had trouble sleeping and I knew I would look like a zombie on meth and therefore be judged by the bats because even though looking like zombies on meth is their permanent look, it's unacceptable for me to come down with any illness. I decided to stay home and rest. I slept until 2pm. TWO PM! It was almost dinner time! I felt better, still a little cough-y but the headache and lightheadedness were gone.

Join me in the present day, Tuesday, where I'm driving to work and practicing my 'good mornings' because I don't want my voice to sound all scratchy when I greet Glynda.

First, I sounded like Lurch  "Good morning!" nope try again "GOOD MORNING!" that sounded like Jack McFarland on helium. Bring it down a few notches "Good morning!" now I'm Oscar the freaking Grouch! Good, I'm getting closer! I would be able to fool people into thinking I was 100% better and they wouldn't irritate me with their obnoxious insinuations of me infecting the whole office thereby taking years off their lives. I high fived myself in the rear view mirror and that's when I realized . . .

My life? Pathetic.

Aliens, Julia Childs, Nemo*! Movies that are polar opposites!

**This post is brought to you from under my blankies while I'm valiantly fighting off what I'm hoping isn't the flu but it feels very flu-y to me which sucks and my beloved Nyquil seems to be too far for me to reach which only leaves me the option to call out for Andy but that just takes too much energy so instead I'm gonna try and devise a rope toss fashioned out of toilet paper and hope it's strong enough to pull it to my my side. Or maybe I'll just sleep. Anyway, I decided to raid my draft folder for post that didn't quite make the cut so if they suck you know why. Like always, I absolve myself of any actual blame for being mediocre. God! I feel like an alien is trying to claw his way out of my throat! If I survive, and I'm not amongst the 30-90,000 predicted victims of the swine flu (relax, I don't really think I have the swine flu just a plain old regular phlem producing flu but the flu is the flu no matter what fancy name you give it. kinda like a rose I guess), I'll see you guys next week.**

Last Monday, Labor Day, Andy and I went to a double feature. Let's step back for a second so we may discuss the meaning of a *double feature*. In the olden days, days of poodle skirts, sock hops, the ability to disguise hickies via a kicky polka dot scarf and girls who would go away to visit aunts in other states for about 8-9 months and come back all weepy and smoking cigarettes, a double feature was something you paid oh I don't know, a nickel, to see two movies.

It was usually at the drive-in (and you would really only see one because you were typically too involved doing other things, like knitting) and you had those metal box thingies you'd attach to your window (the last time I went to a drive-in, Before-Andy, we had to tune our radio to a certain station and what fun is that? I used to love forgetting to remove the metal speaker thing and then remember when I couldn't put my window up while driving on the highway!) (by the way, I know I went to see Wolf with Jack Nicholson but I can't remember what the second movie was. . .).

In the year 2009, we did not pay a nickel to see 2 movies and instead paid $14 to see one movie (matinee), went home and then came back to pay $18 for the second movie.

The first movie we saw was District 9, totally Andy's pick. I liked it well enough but I wouldn't recommend it to everybody. For example, I'd tell my brothers Rick and Sergio to go see it but I'd discourage my brother Dan and sister Nancy from seeing it. Because of their delicate sensibilities.

The movie left me with more questions than I care to live with after seeing a movie but I don't want to voice those questions for 2 reasons. One, you wouldn't know what I'm talking about and two, I don't feel like ruining it for other people. Maybe tomorrow.

We left the theater and went home to feed the dogs, feed fish, and load clothes in the washer (BECAUSE I NOW HAVE THAT OPTION).

We went back to the movie theater to see Julie and Julia. I learned a few things about myself that day.

The first was that I can simultaneously make fun of old men who sit in yellow corvette convertibles while parked in a handicapped section and jamming to Barry White's "can't get enough of your love baby" all the while I'm dry heaving.

The second is that I hate watching people eat in movies. In real life too but I don't really have an option if I'm to socialize with others but in movies I want to throw things at the screen. But not my nachos. People in movies love to chew and talk. Chew, talk, then pick up their drinks and attempt to do all 3 things at once. Why? Do directors think that the entire population was raised by Brad Pitt's character in Kalifornia (he picked his feet on the kitchen table while eating, if I remember correctly).

The third is that I hate watching people kiss. In real life too but I usually just spray them with toilet water but in the movies I get all sorts of the ickies. Especially when those kissing are people in their senior years (because now they're also kissing to "can't get enough of your love baby" in my head). Sorry, I don't mean to sound like an age-ist but that's how I feel and the last I heard I had the right to feel icked out at whatever I wanted.

Also, if anybody has seen that movie, do you remember the part where that Julie chick is saying "Bon Appetite" over and over then her husband says it like 3 times and then starts mauling her and the last time he says it he practically throws his junk in her face? How boorish right? He was all "Bon Appetite, here's my crotch!" I whispered that to Andy and he sprayed the old ladies in front of us with soda.

True Story.

*If you're wondering where Nemo comes into the whole story because he was in the title, he doesn't. I think Nemo's dead. Tell your children.

**I just read this and now I know why I didn't hit publish but you know what? I'm sweating right now and cold at the same time so I'm going to hit publish anyway. Tazz keeps crying. Can dogs predict the future? Is he trying to tell me something?**

You know, there is a lot to be said for the couple that trusts each other implicitly with all things sacred. Even though you panic and cry the whole time.

Did I forget to mention Andy dyed my hair the weekend of my reunion??

Let me take you back to Saturday day of the lord August 22, 2009.

I was looking at my hair in the mirror and wondering how it was possible that the maroon/red highlight I paid $150 for only lasted 3 weeks leaving behind a brassy orangey pukey color. I made the decision that I would NOT go to my reunion looking like the Hamburglar's less fortunate sister. I looked through my cabinets and found an awesome dye I had from last year.

Here was my dilemma. I have never dyed my own hair. Or anyone else's for that matter. I went to the only other person who was home, ready to plead my case.

Bee: Will you dye my hair?

Andy [without looking away from the computer (before it went Kapluey)]: Sure.

Ahh that is love for you right there! Your heart is feeling all warm and fuzzy...

Until.

Until minuets later. When you're frantically squirming because you're sure he is applying the dye incorrectly and he's patting your head with his big paws, massaging the dye so hard you're sure you're scalp looks like this:

Bee: Dude! You're taking too long in one spot! Don't swirl my hair like that because it'll get tangled! It's not lathering! My hair doesn't even feel wet!

Andy: Settle down! It's fine! Bee! It's fine!!!

He squirted another miniscule drop of dye on the same spot he'd been working for 10 minutes and then shoved my head this way and that with his ginormas panda hands all the while I was stomping my feet because I knew my new nickname would be Streaky Sheila.

Andy: Stop fidgeting you big baby!

Bee: No! No! Stop! You're going to mess up my hair! Oh lord oh lord oh lord!!

Andy [jumping up and down]: You're freaking me out!

Bee [stands up]: Just give me the bottle! Give me the bottle!! I'll finish it! Oh man! I am so screwed holy crap!

We walk to the bathroom.

Andy [frenzied]: What was I doing wrong? I followed the instructions!

Bee: This should be quick Andy! It's not your fault, I blame myself!

Both of us hopping. I'm serious.

Andy [pacing]: Don't ask me next time okay?? Just don't!

Bee: No way am I going to this reunion. No way!

And of course the love I mentioned earlier turns to culpability.

Bee: If you had only applied the color to my hair and not my scalp, I wouldn't be freaking out!

Andy: If you wouldn't leave things to the last minute we wouldn't be having these issues! What do I know about dying hair?

Bee: Get out of the bathroom!! Get out get out!!

Andy: JERK!!

As I'm hysterically applying the rest of the dye and almost passing out from the noxious fumes, I can't decide if I'm angry at Andy or not. On the one hand he was trying to help and on the other hand he was too obstinate to relinquish control once I told him to stop.

I paced for 25 minutes and then took a shower to wash the dye off. As I was brushing my hair later, I couldn't bring myself to look in a mirror. Logically I knew it couldn't be that bad because the hairdresser dyed my hair black and nothing will alter black unless you bleach it out so I guess I don't know why I was in near tears. Lucky for me, everything turned out okay. My hair didn't fall out and it looked awesome. 

Stay tuned for the illustrated version on Sunday.

Man + Woman + his and hers computers = Harmony.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Worked out well I'd say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Blah Blah Blah football."

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

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

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

Another point for Karma

I must have been one of those witches that lived in the mountains, who only came down to the village to have their dinner which consisted of new born babies, in a previous life. Or maybe it's because of my recent guffawing at a patient's diagnosis which read "open wound, buttocks"? How else would you explain Karma's enthusiasm in riding my ass?

My punishment happened just a few minutes ago. I was chewing my gum, rather energetically as I do when I'm on edge, when I accidentally bit down hard on the inside of my bottom lip!

You know what taste good mingled with gum? Your blood and a piece of your flesh mmmmm!

Does that make me a cannibal or a vampire?

Karma? I promise not to dine on newborns and/or make fun of people's butt problems. Are we square?







you mean bitch

A mile in my shoes.

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

You're welcome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I finally snapped out of it on Friday.

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

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

a) in my size
b) affordable

and the most important

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

P.P.S.

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

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

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.

A dirty hole is nothing to be ashamed of.

I know I promised reruns but I had a quickie (not to brag or nuthin’) so I had to come over and share. I’m not really here. At this moment I'm probably sitting in a corner wondering where two curtain panels disappeared to. I blame the laundromat people because that is when I last saw them. Bastards.

I bought a shelving unit over the weekend (MADE IN THE USA baby!) to organize all the miscellaneous items in my life that I need to keep because I know I will use them at some point during my lifetime and because now that we shop at Costco, we have massive amounts of detergent, paper towels and enough toilet paper to survive The 40 Year Poop War I’m predicting.

Anyway, I got mad at Andy because he yelled at me for asking him to help me get it into the house. He said “Why do you need MY help if YOU yourself got it into the shopping cart and then into the car?? If you could do that, why wouldn’t you go that extra mile and get it in the house by yourself??” okay, so he didn’t say that exactly but I can read between the lines!

I had interrupted an important rescue-mission/battle/nut-gathering thing, you see and we all know this is likened to an act of treason! I calmly asked him why he couldn’t just tell me he’d get it after he conquered a new world instead of being an unreasonable butthead. He argues that I always want everything NOW NOW NOW! He said it in a manner that implied that was a bad thing.

Of course now I was angry so I decided to build the Shelving Unit of Discord myself. Who needs a man? Not this semi intelligent semi fashionable semi hungry chick! I have my own tools! (I bought them on sale because they came in a cute little black and red case.) (I got a set for my mom too.)

I was disappointed to learn I only needed a hammer.

I struggled with the damn Shelving Unit of Discord for 3 hours. At one point Andy came out of the dungeon, he must have left someone he trusted in charge of the safety of the galaxy, and he brought me a long screw driver so that I may “clean up the holes because it’ll be easier”. I don’t know if you know this about me but when I’m pissed I’m poisonous. I told him to go away before I cleaned up his hole and he said something about my mouth hole and went back to the important task of saving the Earth or you know, its ugly brother, Fantasy-troll-land.

Back to me.

I swore, I sweated, I sliced my delicate hands with the sharp edges so I swore some more but louder and with more feeling so that the neighbors would know without a doubt how much my soul was suffering. In the end I was proud at what I had accomplished. I had a nice, sturdy, shelving unit that could hold the weight of 4 miniature ponies juggling bowling balls.

I liked it so much I wanted another one. Trying to exit the doghouse, Andy offered to pick one up on his way home from work. He had it put together in 10 minutes TEN MINUTES!! He didn’t gloat though because he was happy to be back on my good side and he also knew I wouldn’t share the dinner my poor, sliced up hands made (pasta shells in Alfredo sauce with broccoli and lemon pepper chicken) if he so much as uttered a single little ‘I told you so’.

(can also be converted into 2 separate 2 shelf units which is what I did)

Now you’re probably thinking that Andy is a master craftsman and I should have left the building of things to a MAN but I’d have to hit you over the head with a led pipe and disagree. You see, when I moved MY shelving unit, I did so easily without having pieces fall apart in my sliced up little hands. Andy’s, however, came apart easily because you could only lift it, awkwardly may I add, from the bars holding the shelves and not the shelves themselves.

The difference? My shelves were forced into their slot holes by a woman determined to fit a half inch bracket into a ¼ inch hole but Andy “cleaned up the holes” so the shelves were all loose and wiggly (loose and wiggly- your nickname in High School?).

Woman 1,452,151 Man -7,487,778

(don’t do the math, Brian)(I typed in ‘don’t do the mEth, Brian’ but the top half of my eagle eye caught the error but I still think it’s good advice. Do not do the math OR the meth, Brian!)

The moral of the story?

Sometimes it’s okay to have a dirty hole.

P.S.

Brother Dan finally posted and he says he did so to take up my slack which I thought was nice of him and then I remembered he owed because he hates my dogs. He knows what I mean.

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

Andy:
Michael who?

-Lengthy explanation followed-

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

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

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

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

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

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

In other news.

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

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

Yesterday, while gardening, I realized it was hard to be the creator.

I was digging up patches of grass yesterday and as I was pulling it up piece by piece, I found out why it had begun to brown. Our side yard is infested with grubs. I would post a picture but those damn things are the ugliest looking insects I have ever seen. They are the Benicio del Toro of bugs.

As I was throwing the diseased grass into a container for future storage (to throw at my enemies when they piss me off more than usual), I thought about how the rest of the insects were going to suffer because I was removing their habitat. The poor earth worms I was accidentally chopping in half due to my shovel. There was one in particular that made me think about the injustice that is nature (survival of the fittest- or in my case, survival of those with bigger digging apparatuses).

I had just lifted a big chunk of grass when I noticed the poor little worm trying to move the other half of its body. Unfortunately, I must have smashed it when I inserted the shovel to get better leverage because the other half was just not moving.

It kept lifting itself up and it almost seemed like it was looking back at its limp tail(?) and wondering what the hell was going on. So I stood with my shovel debating if I should put it out of its misery or just leave it be. What do I know about worm injuries? Will it live on to be 200 in worm years without the use of its full body?

Then I started wondering if it too was asking why this was happening. I was basically ending the world as it knew it and making it suffer because of some stupid grubs that spoiled it for the rest of them. The grass was no more and in its stead were barren pieces of dirt because a destructive species abused the natural resources and decided to suck the life out of the lawn which was home to so many creepy crawlies.

Creepy crawlies that love climbing up women who stand around pondering too much. Creepy Crawlies that are slimy and icky... BAM! I cut the sucker in half and good riddance!

As vengeance for my version of the apocalypse, when I went to bed, every time I closed my eyes I saw an army of worms, spiders and ants coming at me. It was scary-gross but a little awesome because they did look cute in their army hats.

P.S.

We have treated some of our lawn with grub killer but I'm removing chunks so that I may expand my garden. I'm telling you this so that I don't get a comment that says "Uh why are you removing your grass one blade at a time when you can just kill the little bastards, you dumbass??" and really that's uncalled for.

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

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

Well...

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

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

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

I fear there is no turning back.

Just for you, Orion. "The Moth and the Bee (with some guest appearances by crazy hyenas)."

It was an average night in Chicagoland. The heroine of the story had just taken her dogs out for the last time and was standing in her kitchen singing to Bon Jovi's “Bad medicine” (and maybe MAYBE doing some crazy dance but we cannot confirm that information) when she decided to have a bowl of Rice Krispies.

She remembered back to Monday when she had bought the box of Rice Krispies from Mernards because it was $2, a bargain in this economy to be sure. She hadn’t had this particular cereal since about 1993 because she had outgrown the need for cereal with a little milk and a lot of sugar and was more into things that rhyme with gooze (booze, in case you were wondering). Well, she’d had them in the form of Rice Krispies treats but they cease to be cereal once you’ve added melted butter and marshmallows.

She took a red ladybug bowl from her cabinet and prepared her cereal. She then debated whether she should sit at the table like a normal human being or if she should sit on the sofa like a philistine.

As she was setting up the pillows so she may sit cross-legged on the sofa, might as well be as unladylike as possible, she hoped she would be able to balance the bowlful of cereal and milk and she shooed the dogs that were waiting for the tiniest of spills in order for them to descend like hyenas.

So she sat, watched TV, ate, mocked the dogs, admired her terrarium, when all of a sudden! She noticed 2 moths doing air acrobatics near her terrarium. “OH NO!” she thought, “If Andy sees them he’ll for sure think we’re breeding them in the house just to torture him!” She valiantly stood up and chased after those pesky moths determined to end their existence! She ran around her living room, cereal bowl in hand, and tried to cup them with her free hand. She was able to grab one and she shmooshed it and flung it to the floor where the hyenas waited.

After she did her happy dance, still careful not to spill her precious Rice Krispies, she looked high and low for the other moth but she finally admitted defeat when she couldn’t find it. She took one last look in her terrarium and didn’t see the little pest so then she stood and wondered when she had last watered her cacti (snicker). She scooped a spoonful of cereal and opened her mouth wide— only to have the moth do a kamikaze suicidal revenge mission into her mouth!

As she inhaled to yell for help, all was lost.

[killer moth photo from rickastro.com] 

The surprise attack took her by, well um surprise, so she jerked around like a hillbilly with new shoes thereby spilling all contents of the bowl on herself and the awaiting hyenas.

And so ends the sad tale of a Bee, a moth, some hyenas and snap, crackle and pop.

Thanks Orion! For making me relive that horror!!!!

Holy crap! Who knew being ill would not stop me from rambling on and on and on and on? ♫♪Hey Mr. Dj—♫♪

Okay my brain still has the acumen of applesauce (and the same consistency) in that neither could form a thought to save itself from being eaten by toddlers... I really don’t know what that means.

I want to thank you guys for being so nice to me and wishing me health. If I sound shocked it’s because I am. In fact, I was so shocked I was thinking about you while I was in the bathroom debating whether I should leave the door unlocked in case I keeled over so that Andy wouldn’t have to break the door down. Don’t ask me why that thought popped into my head but it did and I’m all about sharing.

Anyway, on Friday OZ let us leave at 1pm. That was awesome for many reasons but the main one was that I would be able to take niece Natalia to the movies to see Hannah Montana (totally against my will, you understand) earlier than planned. I had called my mom and told her of the possibility of me getting home early so I asked her to make sure Natalia was ready to leave. When I got home she was still in her froggy pajamas (my niece, not my mom)! So I had to wait and wait while she diva’d herself up.

I’m sure all of you have intelligent children and/or nieces/nephews etc but I have to say that my niece is way smarter than all those kids you know. Sorry but it’s true. As she was strapping herself into her booster seat, she was questioning my logic in getting to the movies so early because hello? we would have to wait longer and then she might have to go to the potty and “you hate public restrooms, Tia Bee”. I told her there would probably be a long line of teeny little girls just like her waiting to see the movie and we must MUST get a good a seat! Then she distracted me by asking “I don’t suppose you’d want to buy me a blue icee, right?” Her wish is my command.

Now, call me naïve if you want but I thought since it was early in the day, the throng of obsessed little girls would wait until the later shows… DEHN! I was so wrong. I did get approval from my 6 year old niece though when she said “hmmm you were right in us getting here early. Look at all these little girls!” I bought our tickets and then felt a little jealous when they gave her some Hannah Montana cards but I got nuthin’! How about something for the adults, Disney? Maybe a Shirtless Stud cards? I'm just sayin'.

While we were waiting in the roped out area (and she was slurping away on her blue icee, sticking her tongue out at me and being all wiggly), there were moms leaving their daughters standing in line while they went to get snacks. All the little girls had a friend with them and I felt bad because my niece was just stuck with me. I guess I could have asked her to bring a friend but I’m not very good with other people’s children. I’d probably forget about them and they’d be sitting in my car while I was enjoying my nachos.

One little girl cracked me up. Her mom and some other lady were making stupid jokes. Saying stuff like “I hope I don’t lose control and start singing!” and “Ooh! We should have brought our Hannah scarves!” when they went to go get snacks the little girls says to her friend “my mom is such a dork! I don’t know why she thinks she’s being cool since Hannah is for young people and she’s so old!” friend asks “How old is she?” daughter answers “I don’t know like 50 or 30? She has a blog though so she thinks she’s cool”

The hell you say little girl!

INTERMISSION!

If you’re bored, go on down to the Announcement portion of this post. I won’t get mad.

And we're back!

Once we settled into our seats (let me remind you of my perfectly thought out seating plan of being directly in the middle of the row in case people have to use the bathroom or need another soda, they either go to the left of me or to the right but never have to walk in front of me because that wouldn’t make any sense) I found out my niece has no nacho-eating-etiquette for you see, little miss thing does not like cheese on her nachos.

While I argued that nachos were all about THE CHEESE she diplomatically said “I’m not telling you HOW to eat your nachos. I’m just asking you to keep the cheese in the cup and not spread it all over the chips. How do you know you don’t like dipping the chips in the cheese unless you try it first?” ahhh sooooo, the student becomes a big pain in the butt.

I refuse to admit to liking this way better!

After waiting half an hour for the show to start and the theater slowly getting to a deafening pitch, I looked around and then I broke out in a cold sweat. The amount of kids in there were enough to make me have a panic attack but wors was suddenly realizing that if Natalia had to go to the bathroom, there would be no one to save our seats and then we would be the ones stepping on people as we walked along our row. I almost asked her if she needed to make a quick pit stop before the movie started but then I was afraid that power of suggestion would be my worst enemy so I kept my mouth shut.

The movie was good but the best part was watching her sit at the edge of her seat and then take control of the arm rest while a chick in her 20s lost. THAT is my little girl! I didn’t get to see the last little blurb of the movie while the credits were rolling because she had to go to the potty. While we fought our way out of the theater and made our way to the bathrooms, where I beat an older lady to a stall so Natalia could go in, I was glad it was just she and I for I proved I could survive preteen Hannahmania and not have a mental breakdown in the middle of it.

Natalia survived too, even though she didn’t want to share her Hannah Montana cards.

Announcements!

There will be no "Brian reviews…" on Thursday because it is Andy’s anniversary of the day he got lucky enough to make me his wife so I will post his interview then.

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Apparently BlogHer is meeting in Chicago in July and I must have been living under a rock because I didn’t know. I am now getting bombarded (not really) with people wanting to meet me in THE FACE TO FACE which I am still debating because I’m all about mystery. I might be persuaded to make an appearance if say, they buy me some Mojitos, Piña Coladas and a maid. My brother Rick just said he'd go and pretend to be me. I told him it would kind of work only people might notice because he has a penis. Besides, I have way more facial hair.

○○○○○○○○○○○○

Also, Easter was postponed due to my illness so I will be having it on Sunday but nobody is invited. Jesus would want it that way.

Ahhh the beauty of having severe pain!

Bee (calling primary care physician):
Hi, I was wondering if I could make an appointment.

Magda (nice polish woman who works for my doctor):
Sure, first appointment is for the 21st of March.

Bee:
Oh okay.

Magda:
Is it a well exam?

Bee:
No, my kidneys hurt.

Magda:
We will see you tomorrow! What’s the matter why you not tell me first!

Bee:
Because I’m not feeling well. I’m also lightheaded.

Magda:
How long you feel this way?

Bee:
Well, lightheaded is an everyday thing for me Magda. I didn’t think it was cause for alarm.

Magda:
I would pull your ears off. Doctor just left otherwise you’d come TODAY.

Bee:
If you pull my ears off you better not bill me to fix them.

Magda:
Hahahahaha! Don’t drive yourself understand??

Bee:
My insurance doesn’t cover chauffeurs. Or maids.

Magda:
Hahahahhaha! I look forward to taking your blood.

And so she wins that one.

Don’t forget, tomorrow is Brian’s Music review (where I might punch him in the kidneys!)(just kidding)(maybe).