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.

Apparently spiders and ants have had the same Sensei in the ancient art of THE NINJA (said in reverent whisper).

We've had an ant problem at the Asylum for quite some time. These aren't the cute and cuddly little red ants either. They're the big ugly black ones. People would just brush them off the table, wall, shoulder, SANDWICH and shrug as if to say "meh, I've had worse disease ridden/riddled creatures on my tuna fish!" Me? I'm not so blasé so you would typically hear my cries of "Die you exoskeleton shit eater!", some mad stomping and then my coffee would kick in.

The dramaedy didn't reach its drama until someone found an ant walking around the toilet seat (I'm hoping before they lowered their dra'ws to sit on said seat) then all hell broke loose! All of a sudden it was imperative an exterminator came and uh exterminated the ants! We are not just talking about tuna fish anymore people! Now we have them attacking us were they can do the most damage!

So we called Norm.

Norm:

Where are these alleged ants?

Us:

Everywhere.

Norm:

Well, can you tell me where you've seen them?

Us:

EvErYwHeRe!

Norm:

So not just in the kitchen??

Bee:

For shitake's sake Norm! EVERYWHERE!!

Norm:

Language young lady!-- Did you say *shitake*? Okay, I'll have an exterminator out today.

And so he was true to his word and we had an emergency visit from the bug killer. I didn't see what the dude did because it was Friday and I left at THREE ON THE DOT, after telling OZ I was not going to have our weekly Friday meeting because he had the pig virus and I'd rather he keep it to himself, but when I came in on Monday morning, I asked if he had left little invitations for all ants and their distant relatives inviting them over for a nice cup of tea. Why? Because the ants TRIPLED!

I don't know about you but to me the word "exterminate" means to destroy!, eliminate!, eradicate!, that which bugs you. Clearly there had been a misunderstanding!

After I Michael Jacksoned my way out of the kitchen, it was decided Mr. Ex-Terminator-he-ain't (head roll, finger snap) would have to come back for another once over (or as I like to call it "do your effing job and kill those suckers before they start hitching rides in my clothes!)

I suggested buying a big vat of chocolate and putting a sign on the table that said "Get your chocolate covered ants here!" but the women just wrinkled their noses at me. Yeaaah! I'm the gross one!

When the exterminator dude showed up I thought, "no wonder the ants aren't afraid of this shorts, Hawaiian shirt, tanning lotion wearing parrot head!". He walked in (announcing his presence to everybody in the waiting room) and asked us where we had seen the ants.

All together now:

Everywhere!

He was carrying a paper bag and pulled out a couple of these:

I heard tiny, mocking laughter.

This makes me wonder if exterminators need proper training and credentialing because really I could just slap on a sticker on the ass of my car that says "Bee, exterminator to the stars" and then walk around dropping these little things everywhere I go like a fumigating angel of death. Where did Norm find this guy? Cheech and Chong play Magnum PI casting rejects? Okay, I know that's mean and he must be a very nice pot smoking/Jimmy Buffet fan and I may be just lashing out because I'm tired of squirming and battling things on my face that are just wisps of my hair!

For now, I think it's safest to eat with a lunch buddy. That way, if any ninja ants are making their way towards my Lean Cuisine, there will be 4 eyes keeping vigil. Well, 8 if you count our glasses.

Out of context

“I think I just parked over a chicken bone”

“ Bee: I can smell through my mouth.

Andy: YOU should donate your body to science! ”

“Two-ply don’t bother me. Two-ply don’t bother me”

“The sun is blinding me so right now I'm just driving by memory of the road.”

“Nutter butter sounds like another name for Fromunda cheese”

“I wonder how big her hole is”

“I seriously doubt all the letters make an appearance in alphabet soup”

“My head isn’t a toy, Andy!”

“That lady looks like an orange”

“My need for crushing heads is equal to your need for correcting me.”

“Well then I guess I’ll have to type while dripping mango juice!”

“Bah! One potato won’t kill me! It would take at least 10 to take me down!”

“Yes. Yes. She is tall and skinny but wearing only a tank top and stripper shoes benefits nobody, right Andy? Andy? ANDY!!”

“When a wife beats up her husband because of *errant eyes* nobody wins. Except maybe the wife because she gets that nice afterglow.”

Okay, those last two were not so much out of context as they were telling a true tale of jealousy and mayhem.

be back tomorrow with a *real* post.

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.

If I ever find a new job, I'm taking Norm with me.

Do you guys remember Norm? The Building Manager? That I “” interviewed “” a little bit ago?

Well I was on my way to the ladies room when I noticed he was leaning against the wall near the ladies room door. Being the NOSEY curious person I am and also knowing a bunch of old people comments, I asked “What are ya’? Holding up the wall?” he laughed and waved me over.

Norm:
Some women have complained that they’ve caught a guy standing right outside the bathroom when they leave and he pretends he’s putting something in the mailbox.

Bee:
Uh weird.

Norm:
You haven’t seen him, have you?

Bee:
Nope. I would have smashed his face. Is that why you’re standing there? To see if you see him?

Norm:
Yeah I figured I’d revert to my cop days and have a mini stake out.

Bee:
Norm, it won’t work if he sees you! Maybe you should borrow a tall plant and stand behind that?

Norm:
Don’t be silly! I have the general description and images from the security camera so I’m hoping I’ll recognize him if he walks by. He usually stands by the door for a few minutes then leaves the building.

Bee:
What are you gonna do? Tackle him? Can I help? I have some pent up aggression—

Norm:
Someone’s coming! Go into the bathroom!

I ran over to the door, fumbled with the key and went in. All my urgency to pee was gone. I heard Norm talking to someone but then nothing so I came out to see if he needed any help.

Norm:
False alarm.

Bee:
Well now I can’t go.

Norm:
Why don’t you use the bathroom in your office.

Bee:
LONG STORY! What does the guy do? Can you see him clearly in the security camera?

Norm:
The pervert just stands really close to the door.  I don’t even want to know what he’s doing!

Bee:
I still don’t think he’ll make an appearance if he knows you’re here. Why don’t you stand in the stairway? (the stairway door and the bathroom door are across from each other)

Norm:
Look, I don’t want to get any closer to that door than need be. Next thing you know people are going to be complaining about me!

Bee:
I have to go back to work. [I was really sad and disappointed] Can you tell me if you catch the perp?

Norm:
No. You already know too much. Why are you so interested anyway? [he looks at me suspiciously]

Bee:
I'm thinking of writing a book.

Norm:
[rolls eyes] Skedaddle already!

 

Some people have all the fun! And also, I will now be holding it (by it I mean IT!) until I get home.

 

Side Milton Story:

Milton:
That’s a pretty banana you’re eating.

Bee:
Milton, that sounded obscene.

Milton:
(giggles) Sorry. Where did you buy them?

Bee:
Jewel or Shop-n-save I think.

Milton:
I bought some pears at shop-n-save this weekend and I noticed yesterday they overcharged me for them. The pound was 89¢ and they charged me 99¢. I went over there and it took me an hour to get an adjustment!

Bee:
How many pounds did you buy?

Milton:
One pound. I know a dime isn’t a lot but it’s the principle.

Bee:
Yesterday was Earth day and you drove 20 minutes round trip and argued for an hour for 10¢? You’re killing the planet! 

Sure she fishes toilet paper rolls out of the garbage to recycle them but the ozone can suck it I guess.

My vacation attire would get me banned from all 5 star, 4 star, 3 star, 2 star resorts.

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Men, Laundromat, Arm Pits.

I have a question, how does your unconscious body know when you’re mad at your significant other?

THE HUSBAND and I had a... disagreeeeeeement last night (I know, I know yesterday I declared my deluded love for him and not 24 hours later we were in a cage match but what can I say? We’re not perfect. Or, you know, he isn’t.) so he stayed in his corner and I stayed in mine the whole night. How do we know not to let our arms wander over and seek out the sleep-hug?

I have to admit though that I slept like a baby since I wasn't being tortured by his iron tentacles without freedom to stretch however/wherever I wanted. So. There.

In other life threatening news.

What is wrong with this picture?

You see that white basket there? That. Is not. My basket!
The very bad stranger man decided he would just use my table, the one I had just cleaned for my folding purposes, and put his crappy basket on it while he put his mismatched orange and purple clothes in the washer.

Me to myself: ‘Okay. Breathe. I can deal. As long as he moves it when he’s done… nope he’s leaving it there. He just sat down! Okay. Relax. Don’t cause any(more) scenes. I’m sure that when all my clothes comes out of the drier and he sees I need the whole table to fold my laundry he’ll move his basket. WTF! He’s not moving his basket and is now staring vacantly at the wall!’

I know you probably think I was overreacting but there is a strict code of conduct when at the Laundromat and this guy was breaking the rules all over the place!

Me to him “I need you to move your basket.”

Me to myself again: ‘okay, he moved his basket but now he’s just staring at me. Hey what if he’s a mobster doing his laundry after a hit? Man, I wish I would have been nicer to him and maybe smiled when I told him to move his basket. Unless he might think I was hitting on him? Oh man, what if he follows us?’

What was Andy doing during the turmoil going on in those few minutes of my life? Why, playing with his phone of course! But that’s not why we got into a fight.

In other critical news:
I am now going to share a little bit more than I usually do but it’s for the sake of the rest of the femmes out there who need to be aware of a very important crap product discovery.

I recently bought a new type of deodorant. It’s called Secret Clinical Strength (1.6 oz) and it cost $8. My usual one (I forgot what my usual one is called I think it starts with an “M”)(but it's not Maury) only costs about $4 for over 2 oz and sometimes they’re on sale buy one get one free. I wanted to try the Secret one out to see if in fact it did the job the little box claimed.
Here is my review:

Don’t buy it.

The deodorant comes out in sloppy little clumps and it doesn’t roll on as smoothly as every other deodorant I have ever used in my entire life. As a matter of fact, a clump fell on my foot which pissed me off to no end because, in my mind, I just threw out a dollar. It also burned me a little but that’s probably because I have delicate skin.

The protection was okay but I think it’s the same as my regular deodorant. In conclusion, clinical-almost-prescription my ass.

And so ends my post for today.