Mug Shots

Was today one of those days that had you responding "fuck off!" even when someone was just saying "good morning!"?

No? Was it just me? I must be getting less tolerant in my old age. And so begins my moaning about turning another year older in approximately 31 days!

Anyway.

Sunday was my 5th Anniversary at Arkham Asylum. I remember when I first started here, at the young whipper snapper age of 32 (although soon to be 33), and was still a Bambi (naive with balancing issues) with hopes and dreams and a small coffee cup. After a couple of years, I bought a bigger cup because my escapes from my desk for coffee refills became less and less frequent.

This year, to celebrate the demise of my sense of humor when it comes to the Asylum, I graduated to an Andre the giant sized cup. I stopped kidding myself about being able to leave my desk. Ever.

I know what you're thinking, doesn't this mean more potty breaks? I won't tell anyone if you don't!

Of course this also means I am celebrating 5 years of playing "Fetch OZ's sandwich" which is always nice. Especially because one of my joys in life is walking across a vacant lot, side stepping dog poop landmines, in 4 inch heels for a meatball sandwich that somebody else is going to eat.

Yay me!

And if I happen to be at lunch when his majesty wants *HIS* lunch? Well, Glynda and her CSI skills track my ass down.

Glynda [walks into my office doesn't see me so she asks Milton]: Where's Bee?

Milton: Lunch.

Glynda: I was just in the lunchroom and she's not in there but I noticed the toaster is still warm.

Milton: Maybe she stepped out?

Glynda: But her purse is still here. [points at my chair where I place my purse and then swivel it to face the wall so that I don't get burglared by criminal patients]

Milton [starts fidgeting because now she's faced with a puzzle she cannot solve (no, I wasn't there to see it happen but I know my Milton)]: Um well maybe she walked to the gas station/Subway.

Glynda [dusts my area with special tracking powder]: Her car keys were sitting on this ledge and now they’re gone.

Milton: I-I-I don't know where she could be! [cries]

Glynda [she leaves the business office and is hot on my trail]: The foot pattern in the kitchen indicates she headed to the back door. Tiny miniscule crumbs tell me she left the building. This twig that was lying facing the handicap parking spot is now broken in half with the longer piece pointing east. Aha! She's eating her toasted sandwich in her car!

And then I heard a knock on my car window so I looked up and there, in her 4 foot 9 inch flashy white uniform, stood Glynda.

Glynda: OZ needs a meatball sandwich with cheese and 5 onion slices right now.

Yeah, she must still believe in Santa Claus if she thinks I'm gonna jump like a trained poodle and rush over to fetch his sandwich before I've had my lunch.

Me: Did you bring me money?

Glynda: Uh, no but Milton can get it for you.

Me: Okay, I've got another 15 minutes. I'm sure OZ won't die of starvation before then.

Glynda: Will you go right now if I bring you the money.

Me: No.

Glynda: I'll tell him you're on your way anyway. No sense in upsetting him.

And she waited for me to respond but my brain had already dismissed her.

In the amount of time it took her to track me down, she could have walked over to get his damn sandwich but I guess it wouldn't have tasted as good.

One more year of this silliness before I'm fully vested in our retirement fund!

Andyisms:

We spent the weekend at my in-laws house and woke up before sunrise on Sunday morning. As I was getting ready to go outside so that I could witness the sunrise, I asked Andy if he was going to come outside with me and his response was classic Andy:

"Well of course you sappy bastard!"

He makes my heart SOAR!

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Do you really need your ankle?

Dumbshit.

I don't get paid enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he did.

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you Mom and Pop R.!

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

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

My heart sings for you, my beautiful washer!

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

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

I know I just became cooler in your eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

Well, until the free booze wore off.

Peter picked a pile of pickled hos.

I was sitting at my desk, typing my own business, when Scarecrow came and told me she had a funny story that she knew I would appreciate because I, me, myself am such a great story teller. I cut her off and asked her to please tell me more about how great I am before I let her continue with her ““funny”” story.

Here is what she told me:

The other day I made pickles but I wanted to get them out of my house so I took some to both my mom and my mother-in-law and my minivan smelled like pickles all day even though I bought an air freshener!

[I waited for the punch line]

[I scratched my head and stuck my pinkie in my ear because it was itchy]

[I looked at the time and wondered how many lollipops I could stuff in my mouth without drooling]

[I finally had to ask…]

Is that it?

Scarecrow:
Yeah. Isn’t it funny?

Bee:
Tell ya' what I’m gonna do for you. I am going to overhaul your story so that when you tell it to people, you get a couple of chuckles.  (Yeah, I have that much of an ego.) Ready?

Scarecrow:
Okay.

Bee:
— I made some pickles this weekend only to realize I had more than my husband and children would ever eat, I don’t like pickles you see, so I decided to give some to my mom and mother-in-law. Despite the forecast for cool weather, the day was hot n’ humid and as a result they were particularly eh… pungent. Okay lets be honest they STUNK like a $4 dollar hooker with a hangover on a summer day!

[wait for snickers here]

I opened my windows and drove merrily singing to Dr. Dre's’ “Nuthin' But A 'G' Thang"—

Scarecrow:
What song is that?

Bee:
It doesn’t have to be that song but pick one that would be bizarre hearing you sing.

— Even though the smell was overpowering, I imagined the pleasure my moms would have when eating their pickles so I tried to breathe through my mouth. Besides, once I delivered them, the smell would leave my car, right? WRONG!

The scent clung to every fiber of my minivan with the tenacity of a koala bear on peyote.—

Scarecrow:
Koala Bear?

Bee:
It doesn’t have to make sense.

— I stopped at a nearby Walgreen’s and bought a piña colada air freshener in the hopes that the coconut would drive the smell away but the only thing it did was have me daydreaming of rum.

[wait for applause here]

Scarecrow:
I didn’t know you didn’t like pickles!

Bee:
::sigh:: I love pickles but I know YOU don’t like pickles and you have to make people aware of that fact so they know why the smell of them would drive you insane.

Scarecrow:
Oh. I don’t think I can remember all that but I’ll try it.

[later in the day]

Scarecrow [to PD]:
I bought a piña colada air freshener because my minivan smelled like a hooker covered in pickle juice!

And that, my friends, made me laugh.

So there we were, sitting on the patio enjoying the afternoon WHEN ALL OF A SUDDEN...

... I saw a frog leaping happily from hither to tither! Everybody was absolutely fascinated with the little creature and we were all oohing and ahing because it jumped right into Andy's hands!

(the bruises on Andy's arm are not from me... maybe)

I'm not into frogs or anything but that was the cutest little croaker I've ever seen!

  awwwwww

All the hardened 30 year olds (and a couple of of hardened 20 something year olds) turned into little kids who wanted to look at it, pet it and hug it and then there were suggestions of keeping it as a pet. I had to shoot down that idea because our fish population is now down to one sad little chromis. Killing stuff just isn't as fun as it used to be.

We also debated whether we should walk it to the river and let it find some new buddies but somebody argued that its family could be somewhere near here and we'd probably launch the next version of Finding Nemo. Only I named the froggie Richard because it had spots. Because then we could nickname it Spotted Dick. So the title of the movie would be Finding Spotted Dick which I guess could be misinterpreted somehow.

Instead Andy set it free in our yard so it could go wherever it was headed before the humans interfered, again! After Andy let Spotted Dick go, I realized I have a lot of frogs in my garden. hmmmm

Anyway, I've been pretty busy beautifying my garden and I think I'm finally at the point where I'm satisfied with my beginner's attempt at landscaping. Unfortunately, the nights have been cold here in Chi-townland so some of my flowers aren't blooming as I'd hoped but I'm sure they'll be okay once the sun finds us again.

Here are pictures of what I've been doing while neglecting my bloglife.

Here is the grass.

Here is the grass with edgers.

Here is the grass minus grass.

Here is the grass with plants minus grass.

Now, I don't know if you know this about me but when I become obsessed with something, I generally don't half-ass it. No, anything that catches my fancy deserves the full attention of my ass in its entirety. I have studied up on what plants would be best for my region. I've wrinkled my brow in thought, made notes while tapping my pen, consulted nursery specialists, tasted the soil, hugged the earth to my bosom... Okay, I may be exaggerating a bit but I did do as much research as I could before selecting the perennials I planted.

Some will attract butterflies and humming birds. Some will be fragrant and others will be colorful but more importantly, some will grow along my fence so that I don't have to look at my neighbor Wilson's makeshift dumpster everyday!

I've never understood why people amass unusable junk. Are you saving the broken toys for spare parts in case you need to build Crapenstein? Is that also why you keep bleach bottles full of what might be blood and urine? And you think the holey tarps will protect your "" treasure ""???

For a couple of summers I had to put up with his grankids peeing on the side of their house, but they stopped when they realized we would laugh hysterically every time they started peeing. Cruel? Do they now probably have issues peeing in public urinals because they are now traumatized? Maybe but this here is war!

Well, that's about it for today.