My "Andy the Electrician" trumps your "Joe the Plumber"!

Okay.

What the fuck??

Joe the plumber gets pulled over for going 15 miles over the speed limit and they let him go because he is JOE THE PLUMBER??

I typed "plumber" in google images and this came up. It did show her butt crack but since my blog is rated PG (WTF??) I decided to cover it up with a picture of Uranus. You're welcome.

I don't give a shit if you're Barney the purple dinosaur, if you get pulled over for speeding, you should get a ticket just like the rest of us!

When I got pulled over for going *cough20cough* miles over the speed limit, I didn't whip out the "I'm a Brown's Chicken worker and have access to tasty entrées and side dishes"!

I'm not saying I'm an angel and follow all the rules of the road (if you are a law enforcement officer in the state of Illinois, of course I follow all laws and rules! I'm just teasin', silly! We good, right? Would you like some tasty entrées or side dishes??) but if I get pulled over for breaking the law, I put on my big girl panties and take my lumps (uh, how about we leave this one alone and not make any overly suggestive remarks?). I personally don't think they should have let him go just because he's Joe the plumber.

If Andy ever gets pulled over (in the name of all good, evil and wishy-washy gray matter that can't make up its mind what side its on, may this never happen), I'm gonna tell him to pull the "But I'm Andy the Electrician!" if they don't let him go with a warning, so help me I'll raise the dead from all the screaming I'll be doing!

I encourage you all to do the same. If you get pulled over say "But I'm Brian the Mathematician!" or "But I'm jean knee the Fertile Queen!" or "But I'm Larissa the Musician Mommy!" or "But I'm Tracy the owner of Rambling Acres!"

If they don't let you guys go, give me a jingle and I'll come to your rescue.

***Disclaimer, only valid in the US since rules in the land of those who made us might be different. Also, Bee's Musings does not encourage you to break the law. Please drive with caution and on the defensive. But not like the Chicago Bear's defense because they suck.

P.S.
I love my new haircut. I really do. There is only one drawback. Or should I say six? Every single one of the bats had to touch my hair because I didn't straighten it, just left it curly to see how it looked (yup, my hair is naturally curly, I know you're jealous too but there's nothing I can do about your raging jealousy so let's not mention it again, okay?). They had to come over and touch it because it "looks so soft" HAVE WE NOT LEARNED ANYTHING FROM MY SPACE INVADERS POST???

P.P.S.
What do you guys think of me live blogging my birthday?? It's on Tuesday so I'll be at work but it might be interesting... maybe??

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Kids, mimes, clowns, pimples, paparazzi... THINGS THAT SCARE BEE!

Does anybody else hate being the designated candy giver? I don't know how you yourself are with Halloweeners but I personally can't fake the "oh, you look so cute!" which is the mandatory exclamation when kids come to your house trick or treating. Usually, it's my sister who "oohs and ahs" over the kids as she gives out the candy but this year, she had to prepare for a road trip to Texas so she was all "Sorry Bee. I have to pack and get the girls ready for a cross country trip so I won't be able to help you."

I know! How selfish of her!

So there I am, handing out candy to little people in costumes. I don't know who was more frightened, the kids because they were being subjected to a silent house frau or me who was confronted with that that I fear the most, children.

A few teenagers showed up at my house with their "costumes" consisting of black and white paint on their faces, regular clothes and pillow cases for their candy. That was fine and good until they tried to dig their hands into the candy bowl. I had to lay the smack down a few different times and tell them to mind their fookin manners! You don't go to another person's house and manhandle their candy dish! What is wrong with the teenagers of today? They have no respect for anybody.

Anyway, at about 8:45, I decided to close up shop and put a blanket over the window panels on my front door. If there were any teenage stragglers coming for treats, they wouldn't be able to see me laugh as I ate the last few Reese's peanut butter cups.


Saturday night, Andy dragged me to the grocery store. He said I couldn't be
left alone or I might just wind up locking myself in the bathroom again.
Usually, I stomp through the aisles and complain about how long it's taking but this time I needed 2 very important things that only I new how to buy (seriously). OXY (the pimple cream) for the stupid pimples that are now marking their territory on my face and lotion for the extra dry skin that comes with old age.

What does it say about me that I was ecstatic when I found out OXY was buy one get one free??
How pathetic is it that I "woohoo'd" in the middle of the anti-wrinkle/blemish aisle causing one lady to grab her cart and roll away from me?

Then!

My euphoria committed suicide when I saw my special anti-itch-extra-dry-skin-old-lady lotion was -------- wait for it -------- TWELVE DOLLARS!

Did they ground up baby seals and snow leopards into my lotion? I could probably feed a family of 6 (dogs) with $12. And have $2 leftover for ice cream (dogs can't eat ice cream so it would obviously be for me).

While we were waiting to pay, I saw this picture of Jennifer Aniston with the following caption:

"Jen looks pregnant. Is that why she got back together with John Mayer?"
And then they circled her tummy (because if they circled her leg, we would all
be confused).

<--They call that a pooch??


Maybe she'd just eaten a big burrito!

That's another reason why I can never become a movie star. The paparazzi would be all over me every month and I would have a perpetual circle around my stomach with captions like "When will she ever give birth?" "Is she expecting twins?" "How much for that doggy in the window?"

Men are lucky! When they're bloated, nobody assumes they'll be dropping a litter in a few weeks.

ΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘ

On a different kind of note.

I've noticed people have been de-linking me from their blogrolls. I don't know if it's because of my foul language or because I now have short hair and they're anti-short-hair-ites but it hurts, people. It cuts deep into places of my soul I only visit when I'm feeling holy. Watch me squeeze out a tear... okay...... here.... it.... comes.....

Alright, I'm just kidding. I understand how it would be impossible to keep up with the awesome that is me.

If somebody has me on their blogroll and I don't have you on mine, please leave your link in comments so that I may add it now. I'm going to be making two separate pages. One showcasing my many many many awards and another one with my lengthy blogroll kind of like how Marie from Memarie Lane has hers. With a little snippet as to why people should stalk your blogs.

P.S.
Not to sound too demanding but... if you're wondering what to get me for my birthday, I want a baby seal and a snow leopard. Andy won't get them for me. Something about dangerous blah blah but he's always been a killjoy.

P.P.S.
To those of you who asked why I had my cellphone in the bathroom with me when I took a shower, what if there's an emergency?? It's also my clock/alarm and it goes off every 10 minutes reminding me I have to go to work.

I carry my phone wherever I go.

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Unlike Samson, cutting my hair makes me stronger, smarter, faster... colder.

*Other title for this post that was discarded due to a disagreement as to what it would actually mean was "The antonym for Samson is Bee. "

So... I went to get my haircut Saturday morning.Since Charlize Theron's hairdo won by 43% and was also given a big thumbs up by my 5 year old niece, I packed up my magazine, water, cellphone and Kleenex (in case I cried) and headed on over to my stylist guy.

I've said before how the place I go to isn't a fancy salon. It's usually me and about 20 guys, which would be a nice fantasy but I think the majority of the characters there are of the dangerous variety.

Even so, I go there because A) I'm not afraid of anybody B) My hairstylist, Freddy, does an awesome job and C) If I stopped going he would hunt me down, shave my head and then slice and dice my scalp. (I know I just said I'm not afraid of anybody but Freddy is not just anybody! He has sharp scissors that are usually inches from my carotid artery and my eyeballs)

Anyway, I arrived and Freddy was styling some chicks hair with a blow dryer. When I told him what I was going to do with my hair, he shut the dryer off and asked "Que tu estas loca m'ija??"
Which is the same exact thing the other stylist guy said to me earlier this year when I told him I wanted blood red streaks.

I showed Freddy the picture of Charliez, he said okay.
A few minutes later, he showed me a picture of some random chick and asked what I thought. I said "oh, that looks pretty" but I didn't think twice about it after that.

I think some of you might already know what's coming. Even though I was giving him specific instructions on how I wanted my hair throughout the whole process, he did what he usually does. He did whatever the fuck he wanted!

This could have turned into a tragic story ladies and gents but it just so happened I loved the style, Freddy the Omnipotent, gave me.

So, in one year I've gone from:

To:

And:


To the most recent and final:

No more pony tails for me, they are definitely more like pig tails.

I've had long hair for years so it took a hefty dose of balls to say "Cut it all".

Even knowing my hair grows fast, I still felt a little faint when the scissors made their little kweek noise after he removed the first few inches. Then.... the experience became cathartic (and not in the icky, emptying of bowels sort of way, well maybe a little).

I don't know what it is about a great haircut that makes us feel like we have the power to remove obstacles from our path or crush those that are stupid enough to not move on their own.

I had a blow out fuckin fight with OZ (my boss, the orthopaedic surgeon) and I basically told him, TO HIS FACE, that I wasn't going to take his shit any more.

And I did that before the haircut so I'm thinking that we're in for some fun shit now that I've discovered the power of invincibility.

One of my favorite exchanges from my Friday meeting with OZ:

OZ:
Wow! Is this how you are with the attorneys? I'm glad you're on my side!

SICK OF ALL THE BULLSHIT BEE:
Beware because I'm not always on your side.

BURN ASSHOLE BURN!

The look on his face was priceless and I wish I had my trusty Scarlett to snap a picture for future bulls-eye and dartboard backgrounds.

Right after my venom exploded all over his shirt, we continued our meeting the way it should always be.

He listened when I spoke, didn't interrupt me and just sat there with his tail between his legs.
I still say he looks like Phillip Seymour Hoffman so here is what he kind of looked like:

ΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘΘ
Moving on, the winner of my Pass It Forward thingie is..........

I promise you I didn't cheat, you might not believe me but the name Andy pulled was.......

TRACY'S!!

I debated whether Andy should pick another name but then I thought "Hey! I'm the boss of me!"

So Tracy, I already have your address so I will be sending you a little something something later in the week.

P.S.
If you're thinking I should fire my hairstylist because he always does whatever the fuck he wants, I was thinking the same thing too. I might have to go into witness protection though so please look for my blog under the new name of "Mee's Busings".

P.P.S.
As I type this, my in-laws and Andy are watching the sucky Bears play what some call football but I call torture to the eyes, ears, nose and VAGINA!

The current score is Lions: 23 Bears: 20

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