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 thought peer pressure was in my past but here I am, a 36 year old chick (albeit a cool chick), being pressured into trying icky things.

You know how sometimes your spouse/significant other/pet pig tells you to try something new and you're all like "hmmmm I don't know. That sounds icky." and their rebuttal is "come on! You'll never know unless you try it!" and then you hesitate and he sees you weakening and so he uses the "if you loved me you'd try it!" and since you really want to please him because that is your number one goal in this here life, you try this new thing against your better judgement and then you're left spitting, with an awful taste in your mouth??

That's exactly what happened to me the other day when HE, torturer of wife (I was gonna say 'torturer of wiVES' but he only tortures me -and not the good kind of torture either- so I had to go with the singular) conned me into trying butterscotch pudding!

I know what your thinking.

You're asking yourselves how us two middle agers could be eating pudding since pudding is for babies and old people with no teeth. Well, pudding is yummy and if I try hard enough, I'm sure I could find reasons why it's good for you too. But not butterscotch because it tastes like it came from the devil's loins. I know, ewww! The color should have been an indicator of the nauseating moments to come. 

(I haven't changed many diapers but for some reason I'm having a flashback!)

Give me the old fashioned vanilla-chocolate swirl in a crystal wine glass* and I'm a happy girl.

*vanilla-chocolate swirl will also taste good in a regular cup/glass but I like to eat it in style. It's less fattening that way*. Tell your friends.

*If I'm wrong about it being less fattening, it's okay because maybe I'll get to meet this guy so he could SHAPE ME UP!

(It's like he's calling my name.)

Jessie Pavelka from Lifetime's DietTribe.

Now it's time to play "What's that smeeeeeell?" Here's your hostess, Bee Liciciouuuuuuuus!

You know how sometimes you get in your car and your sense of smell is assaulted by the rotting corpse in your trunk? How the stench hits you like Joe Pesci standing on a stool with a shovel? No? Is it just me?

Thursday morning I was getting ready for work, late as per usual, gathering all the necessary junk that makes my life at work a little more bearable, mix CD, banana, whip, so I was not really focusing on any one thing until I unlocked my car and opened the door. The smell almost made me fall to my knees and whimper "sweet baby spinach!" but being the tough chick I am, I talked myself into getting in the car thinking maybe there was something in the air and I just assumed my car was the culprit.

After I drove a block, I realized that, nope! The car stunk like a 17th century slaughterhouse. I couldn't figure out why "Had I stepped in dog poop?" No, the smell was worse. "Did I accidentally run over an already flattened skunk?" No, the smell was coming from inside the car.

I had all my windows rolled down, my sunroof was open, I was driving 30 miles over the speed limit so that the wind would gush in (just kidding coppers), I was breathing through my mouth but nothing helped. After five agonizing minutes of near hyperventilation, I finally got to work. I was shuddering as I closed the windows and I leapt out of the car before the engine even stopped running.

I bumped into Cowardly Lion on my way into the office and I asked.  "Hey, can you sniff me and tell me if I smell like rotting corpse?" and she got this weird look on her face that I interpreted as "Sure! I've been dying to sniff you!" She said I smelled like rainbows and cinnamon which is good, I guess.

All day I thought about that putrid smell. It reminded me of the time we went to a museum to see The Mummies of Guanajuato which is an exhibit of dead people on display in the city of Guanajuato. They were in glass cases but one of those cases had a small opening at the corner which, if you stood extremely close, you could get a whiff of the body. Why would you want to, right? Ask my brother Sergio who stuck his nose in the opening, took a deep breath and now gags every time we bring it up. Ewwwww!

Anyway, unlucky for me, Thursday was a warm day so whatever was marinating in my car was going to get worse by the time I left work. Sure enough, the smell was a little bit more menacing than it had been at 8:15 in the morning. Kinda like Al Pacino putting a gun to your head and trying to make you watch one of his new movies. Yep. That bad.

I was puzzled.

Were the evil squirrels declaring war by sticking a fallen comrade into my tailpipe (not to be confused with the Richard Gere rodent tailpipe fiasco)? They were my prime suspects because I had just sprayed my garden with fox urine so that they would stay the hell out (never mind how I got the fox urine). I've known they were up to something for weeks now because I've been under constant surveillance.

at the botanic gardens

  on my way to Baskin Robins the gym.

Anyway, I drove home and called Andy so he could help me try to solve this foul mystery.

Bee: Come out here and help me solve this foul mystery.

Andy: It can't be that bad.

Bee: I almost threw up on my way home.

Andy: "Bee the Exaggerator".

Bee: I dare you to get in the car with the windows rolled up and sit in there for 30 seconds.

Andy: Pffft! I'll do a full minute! [opens door] [spins violently around and around] Uh. Wow. Never mind.

Bee: Coming from a guy with no sense of smell, it must be really bad.

Rick (from his upstairs window): What are you two weirdoes doing?

Bee: Trying to solve a foul mystery.

Andy: How many times are you gonna say that?

Bee: It builds suspense?

Andy: No, it just makes you sound retarded.

Rick: It can't be that bad.

Bee: Come down here and say that with your nose in the car.

Andy: Pop the hood. Maybe a squirrel was trying to hide his nuts in there.

Bee: I hope the motor tore his nuts right off. [Pops hood and trunk (or bonnet and boot in British speak)]

While Andy was checking the hood, I went around to the trunk and lifted it up. . .

My mom used my car on Monday to run some errands. She stopped at Shop n Save and picked up some things. Butter, tortillas, oil, soda, chicken breasts.

These are the things she carried into the house on Monday after her trip to the store:

Butter

tortillas

oil

soda

What I discovered on Thursday, after a few days of 80 degree weather, was that she had forgotten the chicken breasts in my trunk.

All 3 of us groaned then Rick laughed and Andy yelled "Get them the fuck out of here!" and so I had to walk what seemed like a mile to the garbage can in the garage with a package of chicken boobs in my hand and my gag reflex on high alert. I bumped into Boomhauer and mentioned the chicken breasts because I didn't want him to think it was my lack of hygiene that was stinking up the place. "My mom left a package of chicken breast in the trunk of my car on Monday"

Boomhauer: Hahahaha! I bet those are ready to eat!

Sick bastard.

Maria (THE VEGETERIAN) walked by me having just gotten home from work, she looked at me strangely as she made her way down the driveway. I told her about the boobs and she said "oh! I was wondering what that smell was!"

Bee: You sure you don't want to try some yummy meat?

Maria: [Rolls her eyes, pinches her nose] Positive.

Bee: It's not like broccoli smells like roses, you know.

Maria: [runs away]

I have that effect on people.

I walked back to my car and had to explain to Andy why I had put the fetid breasts in the garbage can. According to him, I was now contaminating his garbage can. Well you know what? I'd rather the maggots grow in a contained environment as opposed to the trunk of my car where they can come out and say 'hi!' on a whim.

And so, our foul mystery was solved. Sadly, my car still smells like animal carcass.

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.

Update on Mistaken Identity of THE WORST KIND.

OZ called in for messages, he is out of the office until Monday (because he has money and a boat and no need to work anymore), and he asked to speak to me. We were all shocked. He never asks to speak to anybody but Glynda because the rest of us only exist when he needs his lunch, coffee, tea, prunes-.

My hand was shaking when I picked up the phone because I was not ready to speak to him so soon after the horrible mental image of someone who looked similar to me hanging out with my boss. He told me the patient had confessed he mistook me for his NIECE and he was sorry if I had been embarrassed. The man did not even stutter.

I told him all was good and let’s please never EVER speak of this again. I, on the other hand, did stutter. I am also upset that my pasty white skin may account for the fact that people think OZ and I are related (BECAUSE WE ARE GOING WITH THE NIECE STORY, PEOPLE!). I need a tan. Or maybe chocolate.

So, let’s all pretend it was his NIECE so that I may be able to sleep at night and not have the recurring nightmare of being chased around the room by Philip Seymour Hoffman* in drag.

*Because OZ and PSH could be identical twins.

p.s.

We were subjected to the pubes on the toilet seat talk again today. I told Glynda it was summertime so maybe people were shedding? Or molting?

STILL SHIVERING!

Mistaken identity of the WORST kind!

Weird encounter with patient I had never met while on my way to the bathroom.

Patient:
Hey there sweetheart! Long time no see!

Bee:
Uh hi. [trying not to appear rude while I start walking towards the front door][then thinking it would be more rude to stand in a puddle]

Patient:
It’s hot out there today. I wonder if it’s going to be like that all summer!

Bee [starting to wiggle]:
Yeah hot summer.

Patient:
Is your father here yet or is he on his way?

Bee [freeze say what??]:
My father? I’m sorry, what?

Patient:
You’re dad is he here yet?

Bee [looking around whahuh?]:
I’m wondering who you think my father is.

Patient:
Isn’t it OZ?

Bee  (:-O :
Oh hell no! I mean nooooo. He’s just my boss.

Patient:
Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you said he was your dad.

Bee:
Honestly sir, I don’t think I’ve ever met you.

Patient:
Sure you’ve met me. At that restaurant? When you were having dinner with OZ?

Bee:
EWWWWWWW! No! You definitely have me confused with somebody else.

Patient:
Oh hey. Maybe we should forget this conversation ever took place.

Bee:
Easy for you to say! I’m now going to have nightmares!

I walked back to my desk and Milton asked me why I looked like I was about to throw up.

This encounter freaked me out for a couple of reasons. One is the fact that I resemble someone OZ was ““having dinner with”” because he only has SONS! The other is the fact that I have an urge to peel my skin right off and then dunk myself in acid. ::shiver::

STILL SHIVERING!

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.

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!!!!

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

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

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

Then!

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

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

First up, kinky grandmas at the movies:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sweeeeeeeet! That is one cool granny.

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

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

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

Subject: wondering who you are?
Is this Bianca?

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

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

The mysterious shedding at Arkham Asylum:

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

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

[GASP!]

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

Office Staff:
[silence]

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

Office Staff:
[still silent]

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

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

Bee:
What? It’s not true?

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

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

Bee:
What’d I say?

Glynda & Office Staff:
[silently walk away]

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

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

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

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

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

Milton:
Oh! I hadn’t thought of that!

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

eek!

Weekend, you didn't get here soon enough!

The Fromunda Cheese Experiment

So... as I said yesterday, I was going to bring in Queso Fresco and pass it off as the infamous Fromunda cheese. I was having second thoughts but you know what? Once I started, it was hilarious because only I knew how dirty their comments were. To me anyway.

My experiment began first thing in the morning. I announced at meeting that I had brought a new kind of cheese for them to taste. Since I didn't want to get in trouble by tricking Glynda, I ain't no fool, I said I wanted them to try it before I told them what kind of cheese it was. As we were walking to the kitchen, because we all walk there together while holding hands, I whispered to Scarecrow that I'm sure she was the only one that knew it was Fromunda cheese. She didn't disappoint because she answered "I recognized it immediately when I was getting my tea."

Of course you did Scarecrow.

Remember, this is the definition for Fromunda cheese as per Urban Dictionary:

fromunda :Slimy residue commonly found under a nut sac.

Me:You want some fromunda cheese?
Bob: Whats that?
Me: Cheese fromunda my nuts
Bob: Why yes, yes I do - from Urban Dictionary.

Here are my test results:

Scarecrow took a piece and then had to tell me that the Fromunda cheese she buys has a tarter flavor. She couldn't detect a scent on this one and the other one has a more pungent smell. She then declared to Toto and Purple Dino-Sour that this cheese must be of lesser quality since I bought it at my local food market and not in a store that specializes in imported cheeses.

I responded that yeah, I got this specific fromunda cheese from the deli guy at Shop and Save so he was the one to blame for it's lack of pungency and quality. Bastard must have showered.

Toto said she didn't like it. According to her, the consistency is too creamy and it leaves a weird film on her teeth.

Good to know.

Purple Dino-Sour did like it. She said it had a nice nutty flavor and she liked that it was a little salty.

Salty nuts = yum I guess?

Glynda came up to me later in the day and said she liked the white cheese I brought in and where could she buy it. I told her the truth because I need this job to pay for my cheese addiction.

Milton said it was light and had a mild taste to it. She said she could sit there and eat it all day and not feel too stuffed or guilty for gorging herself on cheese.

I then overheard Scarecrow telling CL that her son absolutely loves Fromunda cheese and she will sometimes buy a ¼ of a pound just for him since the High Quality Fromunda cheese is very expensive. CL was in on the joke since we told her about our prank ages ago so she just tried her hardest not to laugh. I butted in and asked where she got her cheese and she said she had a gourmet cheese shop in her area. Then, the kicker:

Scarecrow:

I don't mean to sound like a snob but there are some things where money is no object and Gourmet Fromunda cheese is one of them.

Well! That sure told me!

And so ends the fromunda cheese experiment. I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I did.

Fromunda is the new Colby Jack.

So... I was watching Road House tonight and I came to the conclusion that I could have easily played the Patrick Swayze roll with no problems. I mean, the bad guys obviously wait for the punches and miss on purpose. I'm sure I'd be fine.

Have I ever told you guys about the infamous Fromunda cheese prank? I'm sure Brian knows all about it but I'd like to give you a quick recap.

Some time ago, my assistant at the time (BD) and I played a prank on Scarecrow. Since she claims to know everything and has done everything twice we asked her if she had ever tried fromunda cheese making it seem like it was regular cheese you buy at a store and might eat with crackers. She hesitated and then said "oh yeah... I have" little did she know fromunda is slang for:

Slimy residue commonly found under a nut sac.

Me:You want some fromunda cheese?
Bob: Whats that?
Me: Cheese fromunda my nuts
Bob: Why yes, yes I do - from Urban Dictionary.

(I just gagged a little)

Tomorrow is Treat Day Thursday and I'm the lucky chump who gets to bring them in. I went to the store and bought some Queso Fresco which is the stuff you see sprinkled on top of your average sope, enchilada etc. It's super yum!

I decided to cut it up into nice little slices and pass it off as... FROMUNDA CHEESE.

You know, I went through all that trouble and now I feel kind of "meh" about this whole social experiment. Oh well. I'll still catalog the whole thing.

By the way, I wanted to clear up a couple of things for DAN'S sake who did not "get" the Sunday Comic strip and said nobody did and you guys were just being nice. The joke was that I did not unclog the drain even though I told Andy I had just so he could stand in his own filth while he showered as a punishment for rushing me. Happy now Dan?? Also, to those that remarked on my football player physique, what can I say? I am no fragile flower. Wantta arm wrestle?

P.S.

I'm digging the new blogger tool that lets you have thumbprintsNAILS on the blog roll. I see a picture and I immediately want to click to see what the fuck you wacky loons are posting about. Except Dan cuz he's on time out!

How does that song start? A lady swallowed a spider then a bird...??

So, I have an awesome terrarium where a spider used to live and eat the little gnats. I think I accidentally killed it by moving a statue because its webs are still full of those petrified little gnat bodies.

I found another one in one of my plants so I went to make a transfer. I had it on a stick and went to blow but I inhaled first. I think I swallowed it!
What do I have to swallow next?

I also wanted to clear up a couple of misunderstandings. No, I am not really mad at Diesel. And! I set up accounts under my friends and family with their permission. jean knee feeling violated was a total coincidence.

Seriously though my throat feels scratchy!
Nancy stop laughing!

"Bee n' Andy: Married and sometimes, still in love…" -Miscommunication.

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P.S.

Remember what MY DRAWING looked like? How awesome does my Andy draw? Also, I think he should have given me bigger boobs. It's only fair.

This is a completely made up story. It is not real AT ALL!!

Okay, lets say there's this chick and she works at a doctor's office. Her main duty is to recoup money from slackjaw insurance companies (and other companies who are keeping money from her grubby hands) but every once in a while, she will also help out with translating for patients who do not speak THE ENGLISH. Remember, this is a fictional character so therefore the situation I'm about to relate is also fictional. DO WE UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER? Okay.

So there she is, sitting at her desk looking gorgeous like always (this part would be fact if the character were real), when the nurse comes and says she's needed for translating. She gets up, adjusts her clothes to make sure there is no excessive cleavage on display (also fact), checks a mirror to make sure she doesn't have a coffee mustache and she's ready to go into the exam room.

Dr.:
Hello Bia-uh Fictional Gorgeous Chick, this is Pretend Patient. He seems to have hurt his back and shoulder but we're having difficulties understanding how.

Bia-uh Fictional Gorgeous Chick:
Spanish Speak for How did it happen?

Pretend Patient:
Spanish Speak for I'm embarrassed to say…

Bia-uh Fictional Gorgeous Chick:
SS for Well, the doc needs to know so he can add that to your office notes and it will help him determine which muscles you might have hurt.

Pretend Patient:
SS for I was ::whispers:: in the bathroom ::/whispers:: and I had to ::whispers:: wipe ::/whispers:: so I turned like this [shows me upper body half turn with left arm twisted in an awkward angle and DOES A WIPING MOTION] and I felt a sharp tug on my back and a pop on my shoulder.

Oh My GOD! NOW I HAVE TO TRANSLATE THIS!! I mean uh, SHE, the fictional character that is.

Bia-uh Fictional Gorgeous Chick translates VERBATIM in English Speak.

Doctor, who is a 14 year old in a fifty-something year old body (who am I kidding, I barely held it together but I did because I AM A PROEFSSIONAL!)(dammit! I mean SHE THE FICTIONAL CHARACTER!), reacts with one of those faces where you are trying hard not to sneeze but it bubbles to the surface and you hear a weird wheezing noise. His face gets all red but his lips and nose are white at the edges from trying not to burst out in laughter. He reaches into his pocket, says he's being paged and will return in a minute, as he's walking rigidly out of the room with his butt cheeks clenched (clear as day).THERE IS NO PAGE. How do I know? Uh, I mean SHE. Because when he is being paged, you can hear a loud BEEP BEEP BEEP from his pager also known as a BEEPer.

So now this beautiful little angel is left alone with this Pretend Patient who is mortified because he would have to be blind not to understand exactly what happened.

What does she say? "I apologize but he has the urge to pass gas at odd times."

Yup. Defused that bomb. So to speak.

Turns out the patient is right handed but he had an injury on his right hand so he had to go left.
My sides hurt from laughing so hard. I mean HER- SHE-- Allegedly!

::SIGH::

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Listen, I've said before how I do not want to be known as a GOOD housewife but...

I made split pea soup for the first time in my life and it came out de- wait for it -licious!

Okay, it does look like baby poop fresh from the source but it was mighty tasty! In all the years of me hosting Thanksgiving and making a ham along with the turkey, I had never thought to do anything with the ham bone except whack Andy over the head with it but when I saw the recipe and noticed I had all but one ingredient (the split peas which are essential for split pea soup, so I hear), well that was just too easy to pass up. Plus I didn't know what I was going to make for dinner.

Winter has officially hit the best city in the world so this is just what we needed on a cold and slushy evening.

Unfortunately!! Little did I know it would make about 5 gallons of soup! Me? I can eat about 2 or 3 bowlfuls in the next week or so and Andy will eat what I give him (or else!) but there is no way we can eat all that soup.

No. Way.

I mean, I get enough searches to my blog looking for answers to their green poop dilemmas and here I'll have some of my own.

The next thought I had was to freeze it and give it away to those I want to punish love "Merry Christmas Family! Pea Soup Just For You!" with tiny hearts on the card to show how much I care but Andy said the plan might backfire (pun?). He said we might walk out of Christmas wearing pea soup and that would be worse than eating it everyday.

I do have some casserole dishes to return to my mother-in law and to my sister so they will definitely get a visit from the Pea Soup Fairy!

Anyway, this marks the last day of NaBloPoMONoDoFoSho (posting every day in November)! I only missed 2 days woohoo!

Talk to you guys later and let me know if you'd like me to send you a special green package.

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P.S.

You're lucky I am writing this and not relating this to you in person because, for some reason, I keep calling it SPIT PEA SOUP and really, who wants to hear that?? Or be spit on by me? Except for Andy but that's another story.

P.P.S.

I did not go by the traditional recipe for Split Pea Soup because I have taste buds and like my food to have more spices than the bland ones I found online. If you have one you swear by, let me know.

Tighty Whities Should Be Outlawed Under Penalty of No More Fun For Your Goody Bits!

Hey!

Quick reminder.


I, Bee Lastname, am NOT a doctor, nurse, physician's assistant, physical therapist, radiologist, candy striper (or Candy the Stripper who moonlights as a hooker) or any other titled profession you can think of that needs to see you without pants.



I am simply an overworked business office chick who demands money from insurance companies and lawyers. Just because I have the dual language thing going for me that gives me the extreme pleasure of translating for my non English speaking paisanos, this little skill does not -DOES NOT- give you the right to flash your saggy tighty whities in my face while showing off your chicken legs. No!

Grab the back of the gown and be ashamed of your body like the rest of us!

Now I need to go bleach out my eyes.






Unless... you're a really hot guy (same rule applies as the boob grabbing)(remember the boob grabber??) and let's be real here people! When, oh when, would I ever be that lucky?

Here's something else I found out yesterday. People like squirrels!!! Don't you know how vicious they are? Sure, they can look all cute and cuddly but I can tell you with certainty because I live in a forest-like area, they are horrible little creatures that would snack on your eyes if you fall asleep on a hammock.




If that doesn't scare you, how about if they took your BEER???


It's for the good of humanity!

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The exhaler stood a whole foot taller than me. I was at a complete disadvantage.

So the exhaler of the offensive snot was…….. drum roll please……

The semi retired doctor Mr. Rogers! ::shiver::

He is in his 70s and one of the nicest people I have ever met. He was kindly inquiring about the condition of my house. I was standing there (right there) going on and on and must of said something that made him laugh because he kind of snorted and BOOM! or SPLAT it landed on my black sweater.

Do not read on if you’re eating, have asthma or have mushrooms in your fridge.

I stopped talking and asked him politely if he could remove the dry mucus off my sweater so that I may go dunk myself in a gigantic tub of bleach –CLOTHES AND ALL—!

He was very embarrassed but then he did something even grosser, he took out his hankie, looked for a “clean” spot and then picked it off with enough force to make it crumble, and little bits became embedded in the fabric of my former sweater.

Above my left boob.

I didn’t think twice about him feeling me up since I was more preoccupied with getting to the bathroom and taking off what was now a contaminated-never-to-wear-again sweater.

Now, I have been in the exam rooms (for translating purposes) where OZ is suturing open wounds, I've been there when he's inspecting recent amputations, I've been in the hospital where he's told people they will be losing a foot/finger/hand, ME, a person who can't stand the sight of anybody else's blood (weirdly, mine doesn't bother me) and yet this is what made me want to guacjarackagag!

I almost projectile vomited 35 years of stored up bile (I know I'll need it one day)(kinda like those weird fish that spit out poison) right at Mr. Rogers which would have made us even in my opinion.

Gross.

I feel better now that I've shared my gruesome experience.

And yes, I went to the bathroom, removed my sweater and walked around in my hoodie.

In other news, I had to erase all my recorded "So You Think You can Dance" episodes because they were taking up 80% of my memory (on the recorder Brian, not my head) so now I don't know where I'm going to get my pretend exercise. I used to do a little upper body jam while my legs flailed around but now I got nuthin'! Just another thing to be pissed about I guess.

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§§§§§§§§
Tomorrow, I will put up a very important text box on top of the posts.
It's not about me and it will be serious. I ask that those of you living in the states, please read it and take action. I was going to do it today but it deserves more attention and respect than my usual nonsense. Please do not leave a comment regarding the subject because I have some emotional issues about it that I prefer the door remain closed. It will mean a lot to me if you come back to read it tomorrow. I'll put it up at 2:00 pm CST.

The day a booger was exhaled from someone else’s nose onto my sweater. I don’t think it was on purpose…

I know what you’re asking yourself ‘why are you wearing a sweater?’ it’s cold here in Beeland.

What is the proper etiquette for when a bear is dislodged from its cave and comes flying at ya’ at about 30 miles an hour? You have no time to duck. Besides, if you do duck, it might hit you somewhere more grodie, like your face! Ewww.

Seriously. If you are talking to someone and they unwillingly fling a dinosaur at you, do you keep talking as if nothing happened? Do you jump up and down yelling “Ewww! Ewww! EWWWWWWW!!” What do you do?

Can you guess what I did? Seeing as how you know me so well by now, I’d be interested to hear what you guys can come up with.

P.S.
The first person who says ‘ate it!’ will get their ass kicked over the interwebs!

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Awwww, you guys look after my butt as if it was a precious little kitten!

So…

While I was sitting at work, trying to find the answer to “why the fuck do I get to be the one who works with all these morons??” and at the same time harass Brian (that is a full work day), I was laughing at the comments you guys and gals left regarding the toilet situation.

There were some that suggested jet packs, some that suggested my boss might have rubbed his ass on my chopping board, some who couldn’t remember the penis, others who wanted to invent the Cone, some who had the anti-cootie vaccine, a few that peed in the sink or suggested I pee in the sink (note to you guys, I’m short, I can barely reach the sink to wash my hands), others who used disinfectant wiped and then lined (I’d have a river at my feet if I did all that which would be okay but I really REALLY like all my shoes), some who seem to be obsessed with their hineys, others grossed me out even MORE, others are shawtys like me, some of you felt my pain, others bragged about their penis(es, peni?), one of you suggested toilet seat covers which I do have but they're expensiv-o, Suzy calls the pigs out (my kinda girl) but the majority of you were hoverers.
Larissa, Jenboglass, Leigh, Maureen, Sarah, Meg (or squatter in her case), Kirsten, Lainey-Paney, Deb, Tracy, NCS and FADKOG who can compete in the Olympics!

Holy crap! I can’t hover without toppling!

I usually am wearing something like this:

My ankles would probably buckle underneath me and my ass would be in the pit of cooties! In. THE. PIT!

Anyway, as always, you guys crack me up!

And Larissa? Been there done that in skeevy bars/clubs. We used to go to this place called Bedrock (no longer open), you'd figure with a cheery Flintstones town name it would be cool right? Nope! It had THE most disgusting bathrooms WITH NO DOORS!
Unfortunately, with the amount of beverages I used to consume... let's just say I used to forget all the cooties and hug it like it was my long lost sister. ::shiver!::

But! The drinks were cheap-cheap-cheap!

Ah! My life before marriage!
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A very serious post about touching your bare ass to a stranger's.

Winter has descended upon the magical land of Chicago. Okay, it's not freezing yet but the evenings are now 45 degrees. For some reason, during cold weather, my trips to the bathroom are more frequent. Probably because I still drink a lot of water and wear my sassy open toe shoes.

Anyway, I held it too long today (no, I didn't pee on myself!) and commented how I hoped I could line the seat with TP before I had an accident.

I then entered that strange place that makes you forget everything... EVEN THE NEED TO PEE!

The ladies (women I work with) looked at me like I had lost my mind and asked me WHY I would line the seat...

Because I don't want anybody else's cooties?

Is everybody else okay with sharing dead skin cells from someone else's butt?

If you enter the bathroom right after your boss, and he's seen walking out with a magazine under his arm, it would be like touching your bare butt to your boss’ bare ass. Is that okay with you?

How about bumping bare buttocks with some random stranger who only showers on the 29th of February?

What if someone peed all over the seat and then cleaned it, do you think the germys disinfected themselves?

Why? Why wouldn't you take an extra few seconds to treat your butt with the pampering it needs?

I am seriously disturbed people! (I am not saying I'm a disturbed individual, I'm saying the toilet thing disturbs me.)

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P.S.
I realize that I just might have given you too much information about my peeing habits. No need to send me an email to complain about mental pictures.
If you still want to...
seriouslywhogivesacrap@gmail.com