This is a picture of a giant pickle.

Maybe it's not a good idea to write a post while running a high fever because I seem to have lost my censoring skills.

I'm not really here right now because I'm still on a brain mending vacation but I needed to enlighten all the womens out there, and some men too I guess, on the benefits of house work.

I have an App on my iPhone called "Lose It!". It asks for your body weight, what your goal weight is and how long you give yourself to reach your goal, then it tells you how many calories you should consume per day in order to meet your goal.

You enter the things you've eaten and it calculates calories, fat, protein etc.

You may also enter the amount of exercise you've had for the day and it guesstimates how many calories you've burned. Since I just started the App on Monday, and haven't joined a gym yet, I counted going to my side job last night for 3 hours (because I was doing some cleaning and heavy lifting) and scrubbing the tub when I got home as part of my exercise. To play it safe, I typed in ONE hour of "housework" instead of 3 and the App told me I had burned about 219 calories.

niiice!

As I was scrolling down to look at their other options for exercise, I saw Darts, Frisbee, Home Repair and a bunch of others but the one that caught my attention was "Sexual Activity".

Strictly out of curiosity, I clicked on it to see what it said.

First it asks you for the intensity "passive, light, kissing" "general, moderate" & "Active, vigorous".

So I tested "passive" and entered an hour-

ERH! ZERO calories burned!

I tried "general" and that gave us-

33 calories burned. Close but no cigar!

I tried "vigorous" and that gave us-

55 calories burned for one hour. Kinda whimpered out there at the end huh?

I'm wondering how they test these things. Do they account for solo acts?

Anyway! Burning 55 calories after some vigorous schtooping versus 219 from house work?

Listen, I'm not one to dismiss scientific data without some careful consideration. And also, we all know an hour of some slap and tickle is only possible in that island we'll call "Yeahrightland"! Perhaps I've said too much?

So the lesson of the day, ladies and gents, is: Stop wasting your time with the kooky nooky and do something productive like scrubbing a tub!

If you run out of things to clean in your home, shoot me an email and I'll let you come over and help me clean my house for free. You read that right, FOR FREE!

And now? The Nyquil awaits me!

It seems trouble and weird older women follow me wherever I go!

So I have officially completed 2 full weeks at Anonymous Clothing Store. It's interesting (probably just to me) how different I feel going from the Asylum to ACS. It's a nice change of pace and I enjoy working with people that are closer to my age and know who Lady Gaga is. I'm not sure but I think I may be the oldest one there. Well, let's call me the most experienced one there and not the oldest one.

That's why I found so much amusement from the following conversation:

(As is tradition on this blog, my coworkers will have code names)

Hilary: If anybody confronts you about your hours, you tell them that it's probably because they're not getting enough people to sign up for the store credit card.

Me [as I was innocently hanging jeans]: What do you mean 'confronts you'?

Hilary: I don't want to bring the drama but some girls resent the fact that you're getting more hours than they are so they may come to you and say something. You're so nice that I don't want them to hurt your feelings.

Me: ... Um, thank you for your concern but you don't have to worry about me. (dying of laughter inside)

Hilary [genuinely concerned and that's why I did my best to remain serious]: Well you just don't let them push you around.

Me: Okay. I won't. (the Bee in my head is almost peeing herself from laughing so hard)

I didn't elaborate and give them examples of conversations I've had with lawyers, egotistical OZ and the bats because I think surprise attacks are better. I mean, would a kick in the groin be as effective if a person yelled out "I'm gonna kick you in the giblets!" right before? I'm sure it'll still hurt but you don't have that shock factor.

Anyway, I'm sure that when the time comes I'll show people how charming I can be.

Here are a couple of stories of the trade.    

Woman in her 50s walks into the store and tells me she's going on vacation so she wants some light t-shirts and khakis. I point her in the right direction and after she's made her selections, I open a dressing room for her.

After a little while I went and asked her how she was doing.

Woman: Do you have this in a slightly larger size? [hands me shirt over door]

Me: Let me check. [I find a larger size] Yes we do. I'll just put it on the--

Woman opens the dressing room door without a shirt on, displaying saggy boobage.

Woman: Thanks! Here, take these. [hands me clothes she doesn't want and so she gets close up I die a thousands deaths] They didn't work. 

Me: ... stutter stutter

I don't know about you guys but I prefer boobs that are young and perky... Wait, I think I just channeled Andy.

Later, I was standing in the front part of the store greeting people and an old lady walked through the door and I did my thing. Let's observe:

Me: hello! Welcome to ACS!

Old lady: Hi! Can you tell me if you still carry these leggings? [points at her legs]

Me: Do you remember when you bought them?

OL: About 2 months ago.

Me: There might be some in the clearance section but we have these new ones right here. Do you remember the style name?

OL: I'm not sure, here take a look.

AND THEN THE OLD LADY DROPPED TROU AND I WAS FACE TO FACE WITH OLD LADY BUTT CRACK!

Let's all observe a moment of silence for my innocence is dead.

Dear Polar Bears, I regret to inform you. . .

I can no longer be responsible for saving your species.

It is with a heavy heart I have made this decision but I need, no, I MUST go back to using my bottled body wash. I know that now my empty bottles will fill the landfills that somehow contribute to your demise but this dry skin of mine is making me miserable. And when I'm miserable, those around me suffer so really it's for the greater good.

I know my pain and discomfort doesn't equal the obstacles you go through on a daily basis just to find one of those nefarious penguins I'm always hearing about so you can have it for din-din but I can't take responsibility for all things on Earth. Maybe I'll concentrate all my efforts on saving the butterflies.

Some people will say it's selfish of me to put my own comfort before that of a whole species but I would have to disagree and call those naysayers pushy-pansy-pants because, who else would be willing to take on the hate mail from people like PETA, Al Gore and Ed Begley Jr? That makes me brave. Brave and beautiful with soft skin. But wait. That doesn't mean you should try to eat me because, even though I may look appetizing, all the chemicals I use make me taste like a burnt out tire.

Since I couldn't bear (get it? BEAR? I crack myself up!) to look you in the eye, or knee caps since I'm so short, I am leaving this letter outside of your tank/cage at Lincoln Park Zoo. Although, now that I think about it, I haven't seen you in months! I'm hoping your extinction didn't come before my letter because that would mean I spent all this time typing out an apology when I could have been doing something more productive like watching my recorded Dick Van Dyke shows or maybe working.

Anyway, good luck to you! I hope you find somebody more worthy to take on your cause! But don't trust anybody with a shotgun and a fork. That's always been my motto.

Sincerely,

Bee

The horrible case of the hypnotizing Michael Bublé. Plus Secret Santa Can Suck It- Part Deux!

So I woke up this morning feeling pretty good about myself until I remembered I had admitted to my sister I liked Michael Bublé. The scary part is that I was sober. Goes to show that even the secrets you think you will take with you to your grave have a way of coming out when you least expect it. Either that or I just have the will power of a hyena.

Anyway, the conversation started off innocently while we were unloading her Christmas tree from her Explorer:

Sister Nancy: Pull it up and I'll shove from my end [in a whisper] I like Michael Bublé. 

Me [in a shocked yell]: ME TOO!

-SILENCE-

We obviously both realized that it would have been better to confess to shoplifting cat food than to confess to the Bublé  thing but it was too late to take it back so we justified by saying:

Me: But just his songs because he's a total dillweed.

Sister Nancy: Yeah and he's ugly too!

Me: Yeah he is!

-MORE SILENCE-

Sister Nancy: But I still want to see him in concert.

Me: Hey, hey! Let's not go too far, okay?

As for me, I started liking the dude when somebody broke into my house and left their Michael Bublé CD behind. First I liked one song then another and then Christmas came along and he covered some Christmas oldies... next thing I knew my iTunes account was loaded with Bublés

::sigh:: I'm not proud of it but at least I know I'm still a badass because if Michael Bublé  and I were to get into a fist fight, I'm confident I can beat him up and make a purse out of his vocal chords.

Oh, don't tell Nancy I told you.

 

Announcements!!

Bee n' Andy Comic Strip is back this coming Sunday! I know, YAY! Confetti!

Also, all you bloggers out there, start preparing for Bee's Musing's second annual Secret Santa Can Suck It!* Woohoo! Yeah! More Confetti! With Gold Sparklies!

I know what you're thinking, "Bee, the economy has me rationing my dog's food. Poor Pudgy now goes by the nickname of Slim."

Never fear! This involves absolutely no money at all and the price is as cheap as imagination! Not to imply your imagination is cheap because I know it must cost your employers thousands of dollars while you sit at your desk and imagine yourself rich, sitting next to a model (man or woman, whatever tickles your fancy), drinking rum out of Brad Pitt's bellybutton.

For those of you who weren't around last year, that's when I picked a blogger out of a hat and assigned him/her to another blogger. And then you tell them what you would have gotten them had you the money and/or you know, cared, you post it on your blog and fun ensues. It is Secret Santa so you can't tell the person you got that you got them because then it's not a secret. That's the other part of the fun. Clicking through the list of participants to see who your Secret Santa is.

... I know it sounds complicated but it's really not.

It was a lot of fun last year but sadly some of the people that participated last year are either no longer blogging or I haven't kept in touch sooooooo! If you want to sign up for it, email me at beesmusings@gmail.com with the link to your blog.

If you want to check out how it worked last year, click on the Secret Santa Can Suck It! link at the top of the blogus.

My super cape runeth over and trips me.

As some of you may know, I don't have children... I should clarify and say I don't have children of my own but I am familiar with the species because I see them bouncing off of walls in my house.

Anyway, because I don't have little creatures, of the human variety, I never thought I would have to do things like change diapers (I was wrong!), rush out to the pharmacy to get emergency infants Tylenol (did that last night) and help little ones with homework...

There I was, sittin' on the couch, I had just organized all necessary items in front and beside me to start my post for the evening. Water? Check! Kleenex? Check! TV remote? Check! Laptop on lap? Check and check!! When all of a sudden, my phone rings. My phone that is approximately 100 feet away from where my butt is sitting "curses!" I exclaim but then I shrugged and figured that if it was urgent, they'd call me back. As soon as my phone stops ringing, it starts ringing again. Dang flabbit! Now I have to dig myself out of my little cocoon!

I pick it up and it's my niece Natalia asking for help with her homework. I didn't even hesitate! I picked up my calculator (in case it was math related)(yes she's 6) and ran downstairs to my mom's where she was staying the night.

To my pleasant surprise, she needed help with coming up with sentences for her spelling homework and not the dreaded numbers. Hmmm I hadn't even thought about needing my laptop for spell check purposes.

So I sat down and "helped" this little braniac and didn't even get irritated when she corrected my punctuation (don't forget the period! & Tia Bee, the sentence "I ate too much" needs an exclamation because I want it to say "UGH I ATE TOO MUCH!") and so we finished the third section and then I was informed by little miss sunshine that my services were no longer needed but she would call me when she needed to take her practice test.

I came back upstairs, set my phone next to me and waited patiently.

Half an hour later, I'd paced all over my house and was fighting the urge to call her and see if she still needed me. Would I be rushing her? I finally couldn't stand it any longer so I called my mom. Turns out that, while I was brushing up on my spelling of all words, her daddy had come over to help her. Her daddy who had to get in his car, drive 15 minutes or so in the cold and sleet to come help his little girl do her homework.

Did I hear you guys say "Awwwww!"?? Because seriously that is just Boo! Boo I say!

What am I gonna do with all this extra knowledge??

I went downstairs after I heard Big Tex leave and I confronted her:

Me: Um yeah, I thought you were supposed to call me?

Natalia [trying to look all innocent]: Well, daddy came and he helped me finish and gave me my practice test and everything!

Me: I waited and waited...

Natalia [covering her mouth, probably laughing at me!]: Sorry, Tia Bee. But look! I'm eating the cake you made last night! It's really good!

Me: Don't patronize me!

Natalia [looking at me strangely]: Okaay. I have to go to bed now. Have a good day at work tomorrow.

And then she came and gave me a hug but I know it was just out of pity.

Not cool, people! Not cool at all. 

Clarification, Pontification, Stupefaction. I think.

Just to clarify, my birthday isn't until Wednesday November 11th. Oh joy of joys. 37. 3 more and I get a set of spatulas. I'm registered at Tiffany's.

The picture I posted yesterday was of a bee (get it? because I'm Bee?] hanging from a noose. The Asylum was getting to me until I realized I could either work or play. Guess which one I chose. Also, Andy thought it was a potato.

Andy [from his dungeon]: Is that a potato? 

Me: What? Is what a potato?? [as I'm trying to make fajitas for 8 without setting fire to my cabinets. You know, again]

Andy: The picture on your blog, is it a potato?

Me: Nooooo. It's a bee.

Andy: I don't get it.

Me: It's a bee hanging from a noose. Because I was stressed at work?

Andy: Oh, I hadn't seen the noose.

Me: ... [hot oil splashing on my face]

Andy: I still think it looks like a potato.

Because he loves to torture me.

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Regarding OZ being an asswipe. Instead of feeling sympathy for the error in my bank account, he interrogated me because I asked for a copy of my cashed paycheck and treated me like a sneaky criminal who was capable of funneling money from his account to my account via my paycheck. Oh wait. That's not criminal at all, right? I mean, if I perform a service for, let's say, a person who hires me, shouldn't I expect payment? It's not like I can cash the same check twice and to make matters more complicated, the second time I cash the check it will be via a photocopy. I know I'm a genius but even I have my limitations.

For some reason he didn't believe the bank teller had deposited my check into the wrong account. He also found it hard to believe that Andy knew our account number by heart and then he suggested I no longer do a manual deposit slip, did I know that the bank could generate some with our account number already on them? I asked him if he treated accident patients the same way. "When a guy on a motorcycle gets hit by a car, do you berate them for not knowing the car was going to hit them?" It wasn't our fault the cashier decided to guess as to what number was on the deposit slip and didn't bother to check the name on the account with the name on the deposit slip.

I said to Andy, 'you know, I grow tired of calling him an *asshole* because it does not express the magnitude of my disgust for him but I am so limited with my swears (because I am a God fearing short woman). Wait! You are the master of profanity, give me a new one for him!" His response was so vile I am putting it at the end of this post.* Who knew I had the delicate sensibilities of a fragile little hummingbird?

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Do you guys remember the dude I translated for who had an ankle fracture and his main concern was having "relations" with his woman? He came in last week to drop off some insurance paperwork. I had been talking to him for a few minutes when I realized something.

Me: Hey, who drove you here? [as I pointed at his cast and crutches]

Him: I drove myself. My woman doesn't drive. [hmmmm]

Me: Uh, I don't think you should be driving considering your cast is all the way up to your knee.

Him: Oh, I'm okay. Look, I can put weight on my leg now. [stands on leg with the fracture]

Me to him: Don't do that! [to myself "Oh sure, you don't ask permission to drive but you ask for a green light to have sex with your woman!]

 

My head hurts from all the shaking of it.

 

 

 

 

*"You mean like Taint Weasel?" (eep!)

 

 

 

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My happy place

 

Randumbness

So... while kids were out looking for treats this Halloween, I was finding my own treats hidden in my pots.

The squirrels are going to be so pissed when they go digging for their winter snacks and oops! All gone!

What? You gonna cry for the squirrels now?

There is no mercy in this DOJO!

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I had a doctor's appointment early on Saturday. For those of you keeping score, that's like the 100th appointment this year. She's still trying to iron out my kinks. I think it took Dr. Frankenstein less time to create his monster. Anyway, she was checking this and that when she asked me how I cleaned my ears. The question shouldn't have shocked me I guess but it did. I am very meticulous about my pre-check-up preparations so I thought maybe she wanted to get some tips from me?

Me: Well, I take the Q-tip and put it in my ear... I only use Q-Tip brand Q-tips though because the other ones are too flimsy-

Doc: No! Don't use Q-Tips. All they do is push the wax in deeper. You need to use drops!

Me: What are you saying?? [puts hands over ears]

Doc: Don't worry. I see this all he time. I'll write down the name of the drops for you-

And then she was distracted by a wailing kid who just had its ears pierced so she didn't write the name down for me. No, my doctor doesn't practice out of a Claire's.

I've been alive for almost 37 years and I've just learned I've been cleaning my ears wrong! If anybody knows what kind of drops I'm supposed to be using please let me know. I can barely hear over here!

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I dyed my hair today. I went with Black but not because I'm having an identity crisis and am going for the goth look. I just like black hair. Unfortunately, the dye left what looks like a 5 o'clock shadow on both sides of my face giving me the appearance of sideburns. I'm gonna have to own them so that I don't look like an ass when I go in to work tomorrow.

 

"Thank you! Thank you verrry much!"

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I'd like to thank everybody who entered to win Mercury Falls. I was unable to read the book yet therefore have not sent Diesel aka Robert Kroese my interview questions so I'll hopefully announce the winner on Friday at the bottom of my interview. Way at the bottom. This will force you to read the whole interview and not just pop in, see if you won or not and then go have pizza.

Do you remember when you were a little kid and you promised yourself that when you grew up you'd eat candy all the time because you wouldn't have a mean old parent telling you not to?? Well! My tummy is all achey now from all the left over candy. Now I'm sad and wish I could beat up 11 year old stupid me.

The end.

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.

The true test of intelligence is finding a way to cheat by just stumbling upon it blindly. Yes it is!

As a way to help our home economics, I have been looking for a part time job.
Andy is dead set against it because I will not be at his bellow and call ("Bee! I can't find my slippers!" while he's wearing said slippers)  but I look at it as a way to push ourselves over that little slump. He finally said he'd stop giving me crap about it but suggested I look for something I liked. I told him I liked buying shoes but I doubted there was anybody out there willing to pay me to buy myself shoes.
I decided to just put as many applications out in the hopes of getting a few nibbles. I think any job would do because I don't feel like anything is *beneath me*. Except being a hooker. I draw the line at that.
In this day and age, applications are mostly taken online. I applied to most of the retail giants and then decided to apply to a couple of places near me, one of them being a craft store with locations all over the US.
To be honest, I don't know the difference between lace and tulle but I thought I could BS my way through the application. See example answer to the question "why do you love crafts":
"I love crafts because it gives me the opportunity to bond with my 6 y/o niece over something productive!"
It sounds like something I would say, right?
However! I did not count on the online application consisting of 3 parts. 3 parts! To work in a place that sells googly eyes.
DO THEY KNOW WHO I AM? I WORK AT ARKHAM ASYLUM!
This application was more time consuming than the one I had just completed for a drugstore that sells, you know, DRUGS!
Here are the 3 parts.
Personal:
Where they ask you for your address, work experience and if it's okay to do a credit and background check.
Mmm okay? I promise to pay off those boots once I get the job and I'm pretty sure I was cleared of the library incident where I "accidentally" walked out with a book in my bag when I was 9 .
That was the easy part and only took about 2 minutes to fill out.
Next we have:
Common Sense/Problem Solving/Intelligence:
This test/questionnaire had 60 questions with a disclaimer that read "we know you won't be able to answer all the questions in the allotted time of 10 minutes, do your best"
I shook my head in disbelief because I have always hated taking tests and here I was taking one for a job I didn't really want where the employees, from prior experiences, are not, by any stretch of the imagination, Mensa candidates (which, by the way, Mensa in Spanish means dumb girl).
Anyway, back to the quiz. I did what any mediocre great  blogger would do and highlighted the questionnaire so I may copy and paste it on word to show you guys and my family.
Guess what? Once I highlighted it, it gave me all the answers! You all know how much I love to cheat so . . . Score!! I will be classified as a genius that finished the 60 question test with a perfect score under 10 minutes. Take THAT Mensa!

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Solve the following problem and click the option box that contains the correct answer.
A box can hold 4 books.  How many books can 5 boxes hold?
a) 9   b) 10   c) 20   d) 30
√ Answer: You should have selected 20.

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Read the following definition and choose the first letter of the word that best fits it.
An open area free of woods and buildings
E
F
G
Q
√ Answer: The word is FIELD.  The letter F is selected because it is the first letter of the word FIELD.

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I mean, these seemed to be swiped form Mensa's website under the category they call ""FUN TEST""! I know some people like to test their brain power but I just need my brain to get me to the pot of coffee in the morning and then home at 5 o'clock. See examples:

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1. Sally likes 225 but not 224; she likes 900 but not 800; she likes 144 but not 145. Which does she like?
a) 1600    b) 1700
Answer: Sally is a gold digger.

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2. If two typists can type two pages in two minutes, how many typists will it take to type 18 pages in six minutes?
a) 3   b) 4   c) 6   d) 12   e) 36
Answer: Trick question. The truth lies in the butterfly.

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3. If it were two hours later, it would be half as long until midnight as it would be if it were an hour later. What time is it now?
a) 18:30    b) 20:00   c) 21:00   d) 22:00   e) 23:30
Answer: Somebody better tell me what time it is! If I miss The Office, I'll be pissed!

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Even though I had a perfect score in the *smarter than a stump* part of the test, I could not get through the last portion of the application which was a 12 part questionnaire with a varying number of questions:
Mental Health/Personality:
Q: If a customer asks you an obvious question, would you help them and not convey your annoyance via facial expressions or verbal abuse such as "Really? You need to know where the fabric is? The giant cardboard roll of fabric right next to you isn't a clue?"
In other words, they want polite, friendly people.
I find this interesting because of an incident that happened when my mom and I were in there. I think I was looking for fake snow for my Christmas village and my mom was browsing in the fake flower section. She stumbled across a vase with a beautiful arrangement, she touched one of the fake flowers when all of a sudden a little Asian lady comes out of nowhere and starts yelling at my mom, telling her not to remove flowers from the display. I immediately make my way to them so that I may add her to my key chain collection of "people I have bitch slapped for being mean to my mom" when I realized my mom had it under control. She looked the woman in the eye and said "Shut up!". The Asian lady, stunned, walked away, shoulders hunched over in defeat.
Who was sleeping at the gate when they employed that dud?
Next question:
Q: If you see Bob hit a coworker over the head with a fake Christmas tree would you,
a) help your defenseless coworker
b) help Bob
c) hide and call the police
Well, it all depends on what that coworker did to Bob. Did he/she eat Bob's skittles? Because then I would hold him/her down while Bob went to town. And maybe would thrown in a couple of kicks myself. Some people need physical encouragement to behave.
I gave up on this part because there are only so many times I can answer the same question, worded differently, over and over again without tripping up and showing my true, blood thirsty, colors.
So screw you Craft Store. You missed out on one extraordinary employee! An employee that would bring you joy, booze and gentle mocking. An employee that would be late for work 55% of the time and early to leave 100% of the time. Not to mention my brute strength and ability to control "Bob's" psychotic outbursts. Your loss.

The flush heard around the world.

You know how some people suffer from shy bladders? Not me! I'm never self conscious when I use a public bathroom. I go in there, do my bizness and then exit stage left as quick as I can. However, on Monday day of the lord October 5th, I had a couple of weird bathroom encounters (not like George Michael's bathroom encounters, okay?) that shook my confidence to its core. I know it's hard to imagine me trembling in a corner while pulling out my eyebrows but there you have it.

Usually, when I use the public ladies-room, it's empty and I don't have to compete with anyone for the primo first stall. On Monday, I walked in and went to push the door so I could go in but there was something odd about the door. I couldn't quite figure out what because my brain stopped functioning at this strange change to my routine.

I stood in front of the door, what must have only been about 3 seconds, but I'm sure to the person inside the stall, with their pants down, it probably seemed an eternity.

When the old wheezing hamster that resides in my brain finally sent the message that it was locked because somebody was inside, I took that extra step and opened the handicapped stall.

I couldn't help but wonder what my neighbor was thinking. Would she walk out and report me to Norm? As I sat with my feet dangling, the handicapped toilet is way higher than the regular one which doesn't make any sense because people who typically use the handicapped stall ARE HANDICAPPED, wouldn't they have a harder time than I, with my semi functioning limbs, to get on that toilet, I wondered why my brain reacted so slowly. Sure, it was Monday and Mondays are famous for their torturing of innocents but I still should have been able to walk into the bathroom and registered the new door development without so much as pause. Meh. I shrugged and decided to not ponder too much so early in the morning. (I know it seems like I must have been in there a long time but I "think" REALLY fast)

Later in the day, I went back into the bathroom and sighed with relief because the first stall was empty. I couldn't have been in there for more than 30 seconds when the main door to the bathroom opened. I peeked through the crack (uhhh the crack on the stall's wall) and my gaze collided with an eyeball!

Damn pervert! But then I decided to let bygones because it may have been an accidental peek (maybe she too couldn't believe someone was in the first stall).

I heard the other stall door open and then I heard a groan. I thought 'what a weirdo!' and then finished up by bidness. When I opened my stall door, there was the eyeball attached to a whole person. Standing right outside my stall! I could have kissed her she was that close!

Guess what I did. I froze again.

It was like the earlier incident all over again! It took me a few seconds to realize she was waiting for me to come out of my stall so she may use it. When I finally went to move, she did too so we did that awkward mambo step (you know the one, right? where you step to the right and the other person steps to the left but you stepped to their left and they stepped to your right thereby canceling out each others step? my head hurts) until I broke free of the rhythm (not unusual since I seemed to have lost my rhythm back in the 90s) (okay 80s)(okay birth) and sidestepped her so that I may wash my hands.

There is nothing more awkward than the "I'm trying to get by" mambo unless it's the "I'm in the bathroom trying to get by" mambo. It's even weirder because neither she nor I wanted to make eye contact so we would look up quickly, mutter something (mine came out like 'sooprry')(sorry-oops) then try again.

Anyway, once I was washing my hands, I questioned how I had left the toilet 'did I make sure all the TP went into the bowl?' (Because let's remember that I always line the seat. I've been doing it since I was 6 and my parents took us to see Bambi at the drive-in and my mom showed me how to line the seat so that I wouldn't get any awful diseases. Like stupidity.) I again shrugged and thought it was no longer my problem.

The rest of the day, I tried holding it (and by 'it', I don't mean 'IT') but when I felt my eyeballs floating, I took my chances and prayed for the best.

I grab the bathroom key from the wall and open the office door.
I peek my head out, look from side to side. CLEAR!
I walk quickly to the bathroom. Insert bathroom key, twist, shove door, hurt arm because, in my frenzy, I didn't twist the key all the way, try again, the door opens.
I scan the place quickly. Empty.
I push the door to the first stall, lock it, [censored], sit down.

I wasn't in there more than 10 seconds when some wild gorilla starts rattling the bathroom door handle! I have to say I'm glad I was already on the pot when it happened because I may have peed myself from shock!
I hurry up, exit the stall, wash my hands and open the door. There is nobody out there! Am I nuts? Don't answer that.

I walk back to the office and no sooner do I open the door when this big, loud lady starts yelling at me!

Big loud lady:
Didn't you hear me knocking at the door???

Bee [while handing over the key]:
Didn't you hear me peeing? Did you want me to stop midstream, hobble out and unlock the door?

BLL:
::gasp::

2 other women in the waiting room chuckle.

And I'm baaack!

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.

“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.

Nyquil Flashback + witness my rockin 90s style.

Me: ::laughing;:

Andy: What's so funny?

Me: I was remembering a scene on Glee when the "Acafellas" were singing "Poison". We were laughing so hard!

Andy: ?? Who were you watching it with?

Me: What?

Andy: You said "we were laughing so hard" I thought you watched it alone.

Me: Oh um yeah. I think. Wait. Who was I talking to?

Andy: Bee, I think you have a Nyquil problem.

Me: No. I'm sure I was talking to somebody!

Andy: Sure you were, babe. Where's your stash?

 

I have no freakin clue why I remember laughing with someone while watching Glee. If I was chatting with you or on the phone with you, please let me know because I need to convince Andy and "it's driving me out of my mind!"

"Acafellas"

 

Here's the Bell Biv Devoe video. The dancing was cheesy but... I cannot believe I used to dress like that! I used to go to "Rave" and buy like 6 of those hoochie stretch skirts for about five dollas.

Old school stylin!

There are very few pictures of me in that era and for that I'm grateful. The humiliation would be too much to bare. However! I did find this little gem which I'm posting because my brain cells are still swimming in medicine and I would never dream of opening that door of shame if I was lucid but you know what? I find the humor in this picture right now.

I have no idea WHY I was ""posing"" (super models of the world, you may breathe easy) but I blame it on the Southern Comfort. Also, why I didn't get closer to the chair so that it wouldn't look as awkward escapes me. I tried cropping it but then it looked like I was floating and that made me laugh and Tazz started barking. I'm assuming he was trying to talk sense into me.

::groan:: It was New Year's Eve so give the shawty a break!

Like those women who can't hold their liquor and then wake up to find they brought home the ugliest guy in the club, I'm sure I'll regret this in the morning.

The *experience* of Nyquil

Nyquil? My Nyquil!

My droopy eyes shine brightly as I struggle with your childproof latch.

I curse the sadistic bastards who designed your container. They mock me!

I push down and turn the lid, nothing!

I blink until my watery gaze focuses on some random diagram...

I immediately notice their trickery!

After years of practice they have changed the rules!

Like all perverted heathens, their new dictum is "pinch and twist"!

Many attempts, and tears,  later, I successfully snap the top off and victoriously hold it up in the air, "In your faces, evil bottle manufacturers!"

My hand shakes, I pour 6 ounces of your emerald liquid into my tumbler.

Overdose? Maybe.

I breathe deeply of your intoxicating aroma, my sinuses clear.

The taste of your bitterness numbs my tongue, I gently swallow.

You coat my throat as you inch your way through my esophagus.

Warming my heart on your journey to my large intestine.

I feel a deep burning sensation as you mix with my stomach acid.

You slowly spread throughout my veins until coherent thought is abandoned...

MUSHROOMS!!

The drowsiness overcomes me instantly.

The need for sleep and a last trip to the bathroom battle inside me.

The fear of wetting the bed is too powerful.

I lumber through the hall, crashing into imaginary vases.

Your influence over me terrifying but... in a non threatening way.

A way that says you will cradle me with the same love a wino protects his last few ounces of Chablis.

As I make my way back to the safety of my bed, my ears start tingling.

Allergic reaction? Probably.

In the far distance, I hear the chimes of antique bells lulling me to sleep.

Hallucinating? Definitely.

My lids, heavy. My whispers, slurred. My drool, flowing freely.

Do you hear that?

Those are the labored snores of one who is blissfully medicated and dreaming of swimming in an emerald river.

Also available in cherry flavor.

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.

My trash your treasure + OZ steps out of line and I smack him back!

So, the yard sale went great!

We had wonderful weather... okay, maybe it was a little chilly but it was still enjoyable. We sat in my front yard under the canopy of trees and watched as cheapo people left without buying any of my CRAP treasures.

Milton had a great time. I think she also liked the fact that she was able to bond with the family members I'm constantly talking about (my sister, her girls, my brother Rick, my mom, Maria THE VEGETERIAN and her little daughter Sofia).

She did do a bunch of Milton things like reorganizing the shoes we were selling not once, twice, three times but like 500 times. She claimed somebody must have removed a $2 sticker on one of her items and placed a 50 cent sticker instead.

She also had kittens each time someone asked me what I was selling something for and I would talk myself down. "well, I want $3 but give me $2 and it's yours!"

She stuck to her prices and refused to negotiate which is probably why she's got more Benjamins than I do. The funny thing is that she owned up to her OCD and I have to say I enjoyed her company immensely.

There was one item I regretted putting out as soon as a lady picked it up. It was a gorgeous magazine rack that was almost new but I had put it away because I was abusing its magical powers and stacking too many magazines at one time.    

When she asked me the price, I said $3 and had it in my head that if she thought it was too much, she could go eff herself. She gave me the $3 (in quarters!!!) and drove off with my irreplaceable, priceless magazine rack. I MISS YOU MAGAZINE RACK!!

The downfall of this weekend is that, thanks to Milton, I am now on a first name basis with a lot of my neighbors and their dogs. I now more about their problems than I care too! I swear to Nihm that if any of them so much as smile at me because they *know* me, I will fling poo at them! I liked not knowing anybody but Boomhauer and Wilson. My sanctuary has been trespassed and contaminated!  The dogs were cute though.

I didn't make a lot of money (nope, can't retire yet) but the important thing is that my JUNK treasures are now gathering dust in someone else's house. (MAGAZINE RACK, COME BACK TO ME!!)

Coming back to work today, I had a conference call scheduled where OZ was going to have to man up and scare this guy I had been having a verbal sparring match with for the past couple of weeks. Instead he wimped out and postponed the call for Friday because he didn't have enough "" facts "". It pissed me off but then I remembered it wasn't my company and so I had my rice pudding.

When I went to lunch, OZ stepped into the kitchen and started asking me questions about that same account.

I don't know about you but I don't get paid while I'm at lunch. I also don't like distractions when I'm trying to enjoy my ham samich so I said.

Bee: I didn't bring the chart to lunch with me because I eat lunch at lunch.

OZ: Oh, but I'm sure you have some memory of the account details.

Bee: No, not while I'm at lunch because all I'm thinking about when I'm at lunch is my lunch.

OZ: Well, can you just answer me this one question?

Bee: Suuuuuure! When I get back from lunch.

Staring contest ensues.

OZ [leans against the kitchen sink]: ...

Bee [pats her ham sandwich]: ...

OZ [crosses his arms]: ...

Bee [takes a bite of her sandwich]: ...

OZ: ... I guess I'll buzz you when you get back from lunch.

Bee: I'm staying an extra 5 minutes which is about how long this conversation took. [I wink]

OZ: Okay. Just let me know when you get back.

Bee: You betcha!

 

That's what I'm talking about!!! MOFO interrupting me and my smoked ham sandwich!

Dream Sequence

Bee is sitting at her desk watching one bat after another crap on the copy machine. Their piercing screeches can be heard on the 118th floor of the 7 floor building. (What? It's a dream! It's not supposed to make sense!) The bats are angry because the machine isn't working again but Bee knows it's an operator error and not the fault of the high-tech copier. She moves slowly toward the machine making sure her flippers are ready for any attack.

The scene shifts and she is now back home. She stands in her hallway confused, is she awake or still dreaming?

Suddenly she hears a man's FEROCIOUS voice, some BEEPs and pounding. He seems to be upset "Ooga booga dooga!!" she approaches him quietly hoping not to disturb his ritual of scratching his head and jumping from foot to foot while hitting a black object- TOO LATE! He sees her! So she reasonably asks "WTF is going on here?? Why are you yelling??"

The guy responds: Me can't make copy! Me try long time! Say paper jam so me bang bang on top! Still not work!

Bee: Move over you orangutan!

She fixes the copy machine by clearing paper jam from the very secret compartment not visible unless your eyes are open.

Man makes copy and grunts.

After saving the day AGAIN, she puts on her sombrero and walks off into the sunrise! (*Sunrise* because she now has to take a shower, go to work and face another day of Xerox Machine vs Unqualified Purple People Eaters)(Yes, you do need to be qualified to eat people, just ask the Council of Cannibal Americans)(But you better ask them quickly because they are slowly disappearing- some think due to extinction but I think it's due to BBQ sauce)(Also, the people eaters are purple, not the people)(Have I lost you yet?)(You know what? Just disregard everything I said after "sunrise!")

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Regarding the shoes from yesterday.

Sornie was wondering about women's obsession with shoes. He says he only has 4 pair and one pair is to mow the lawn. That made me giggle.

For us, shoes are another accessory we can wear with an outfit. They make statements. Sometimes they give us an extra ego boost when we know we're going to have a tough day at work. For example, say you have an overbearing boss who continually berates all his employees and thinks he is the only person on earth who knows what "reciprocity" means because we are all obviously dumber than a butt nugget. It gives one great satisfaction to see an arrogant oaf do a double take and then make a comment on your shoes.

Other times, a pair of shoes can emphasize ones legs. Mine, for example, are tree trunks in flats but put on a pair of these:

and I'm transformed into a poor man's Heidi Klum. Okay, that may be only in my head but that goes back to the ego boost.

I'm not really sure what the equivalent would be for men. Really. I've been sitting here trying to come up with something and I haven't been able to. The conclusion I'm drawing is that you're flawed. I think it goes back to the Legend of the Peacock.

Also, to David who asked why I had worn other shoes if I had said the green ones were meant for the reunion. I haven't gone to the reunion yet. That's this coming Saturday. The black shoes I mentioned in the post I wore to work. The green ones are still resting majestically in their box.

Well, I think that's all I have to say about shoes. FOR NOW!

This post is brought to you by...*

I love watching commercials. I know that may not be a popular thing to say in this day of TiVos and DVRs but I enjoy a well crafted attempt to hypnotize me into obesity/alcoholism/gambling/promiscuity.

One of my favorite commercials right now is the one for Schick Quattro. I hope the creative minds behind this idea are, at this very moment, on a boat sipping champagne in St. Tropez.

It is seriously one of the best commercials I have ever seen. Take a look:

The first time I saw it, I laughed my ass off while Andy looked at me in confusion.

Bee: Don't you get it?

Andy: It's a commercial about a razor, so?

Bee: Do you see what's happening to the bushes as the women walk by them?

I rewind it so he can see the bushes.

Andy: I don't get it.

Bee: Good lord man! The woman walks by the bush and then it morphs into a more manicured shape!

Andy: ...?

Bee: Bush bush BUSH!! [gestures wildly]

Andy: Oh BUSH!! [nods and points]

::sigh:: I married an innocent!

Anyway, the reason I think this commercial is genius is because they don't give you specifics and yet they leave nothing to the imagination... without being tacky. And I know tacky!

In the name of blogscience, I will test out what the commercial advertises and walk in front of a bush.

Before:

After:

Ummmm, uh-oh?

*Alternate title "One in the hand is worth 2 in the bush"

When a marriage clears the 7 year itch milestone, isn't it time to throw out the anti-fungal ointment?

So… no comic today. I know I know we suck but it's just that Andy and I are having a small uh disagreeeement so we did not prepare anything because, in the time honored tradition of all arguments in the Cor-Rut household, we are each too stubborn to back down. Nothing major. No need to worry. We'll probably just wind up having a dance off to declare a winner.

It all started with Andy asking if I was going to clean out the fridge and me asking if he owned me and then him saying something about no iPhone for me and so I jumped up and said I was just kidding and haha he fell for it because that's exactly what I was going to do today because hello! I allotted all this extra time and even bought rubber gloves for the occasion. Ay-ay-ay. ::twitches nervously::

Everything was going well, moldy grapes- trashed. Mysterious stuff in Tupperware container- garbage! Container and all! All these things were approved by his highness to be disposed of... then we hit a glitch. When it was time to reorganize the freezer, I came across a plastic bag.

As some of you may remember, my Andy and I did not have a traditional wedding. We tied the knot and then a couple of months later had our backyard party. However, thanks to my awesome mother-in-law, we did have a beautiful cake.

Having never been married before and blocking out all weddings I’d ever attended, I was not aware that there was a peculiar tradition to save a piece of cake and then eat it at the one year anniversary mark but people were assuring me it would bring us good luck and a long, happy marriage. Some of these same people were divorced and on their second marriages but who am I to judge?

Since Andy and I hadn’t followed too many of the marriage traditions, we decided to follow this one. We did have a big piece of cake left, besides getting violent diarrhea, what could it hurt?

Exactly one year (and some months) later (shhh! we forgot on the anniversary and didn’t remember until we were making room in the freezer for yummy ribs) we opened up the freezer baggie, unfolded the paper it had been wrapped in and proceeded to sink our teeth into some tasteless saw dust. Mmmm

We each only had a small bite and decided that was enough to hopefully get us to our 30th wedding anniversary. We’d reevaluate our relationship after that. I grabbed the cake, baggy and all, and walked over to the garbage can to throw it out when Andy decided to voice his disagreement.

[conversation not from actual memory but I'm sure it went something like this because it sounds right in my head]

Andy:

What are you doing?

Bee:

Uh making cupcakes?

Andy:

Why are you going to throw the cake out? Shouldn’t we save it?

Bee:

For what? You want to age it like cheese and try it again next year?

Andy:

No, I just don’t think it would be good luck to throw it out.

Bee:

Would you like me to flush it down the toilet? That way we can fool the gods into thinking we ate it?

Andy:

Stop being a smart ass. Just put it back in the freezer.

So I did because we all know I do everything my Andy tells me to. That was SEVEN YEARS AGO!

And so ladies and gents, we are reliving that same argument. I say it's been long enough but Andy’s delicate sensibilities insist we keep it. He says I should take my heart out of the jar I keep it in and use it every once in a while.

Who has an argument over 8 year old cake? I told him maybe we should use this as material for the comic but he gave me the stink eye and walked away.

Did anybody else save their cake this long? More importantly, does anybody want some? And by some I mean ALL OF IT.