I remember a time when I could drink more than one beer without turning into Moe from the 3 Stooges.

What separates us from animals is our ability to make decisions (I'm sure there are others but work with me here). Animals usually act on instinct. But us? We question, we rationalize, we hem and haw until a beer takes that decision from our very hands. What does that mean? Well let me tell you.

It all started when I made a delightful dinner of Fettuccine Alfredo and baked chicken legs which I was going to eat ALONE (and we've established that I need to be supervised at all times) because my Andy was at brother Dan's house doing the magical thing he does with electricity.

I set my place setting for one, enjoying the solitude, when I made the decision to forgo my vanilla coke for a beer. Caution to the wind baby! After dinner, I was cleaning up the kitchen and my bangs kept getting in my eyes irritating the ever loving crap out of me! That's when the beer gave me the brilliant idea to trim them a little.

I went to my bathroom and rummaged through the drawers but I couldn't find any scissors. That's when the beer told me to go into the kitchen and grab my kitchen scissors. The ginourmous ones that can cut chicken legs with one snap. The ones I use to cut ninja stars and pennies and anything else that pisses me off!

So I took the scissors into the bathroom with me and as I was brushing my hair, I noticed my eyebrows were a little too bushy. That's when the beer suggested I look for my tiny eyebrow razor and clean them up a little. I removed my glasses, because they were in my way (who needs to see when shaving/cutting?), and I lightly went feep feep with the razor (I have never used) then brushed my hair down and took the SERRATED heavy duty scissors and *trimmed* my bangs.

::sigh::

When I put my glasses back on, OH HOLY BABY SPINACH! One eyebrow looked like I was questioning my sanity (which, hello! I think I should) and my bangs looked like I had let Mocha and Tazz take turns at chewing them off!

That's when the beer told me to do the logical thing and even them both out. Listen, I don't need to tell you there is no happy ending to this story.

I now have crooked bangs the size of eyelashes and receding eyebrows. I'm thinking my only solution is to spike them both and pretend I did it on purpose.

Sadly, this is not the first time I've rocked the the choppy bangs.

Conversation Andy and I had when I told him about my bangs.

Andy: Oh, it can't be that bad.

Me: ...

Andy: Let me see-- ooch! Eets! Wow! Well, it could have been worse. I guess?

 

Oh boy.

P.S.

We are currently having creative differences with our scanner so that is why "Bee n' Andy" has been on hiatus. It refuses to communicate with my laptop and instead wants to be an expensive paperweight-slash-mail-holder. Hopefully, I'll be able to hit the right sequence of buttons and fix it soon.

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

It's time to play "Worst Case Scenario"! Here's your host: Beeeee Musings! (that's me!)

I know most of you assume I live my life stumbling around by the seat of my pants and you're not far from the truth but on those rare occasions that I have to make tough decisions, I employ what I call my "Worst Case Scenario" system which prevents me regretting any decisions. What I do is, I ask myself "what is the worst case scenario if I do or don't do ___"

For example"

Marriage— Yay? or Nay?

Yay:

Worst case scenario is that Andy opens his eyes on our 10 year anniversary and realizes he married a bipolar nutjob. Until then, I won't have to take out the stinky garbage cuz I'll have a boy that does it.

Nay:

Worst case scenario, I'll start liking cats.

Since I really think cats are a step up from anal gerbils (ask Richard Gere what I mean because I don't have time to explain), marriage challenge accepted! We are approaching year 9 so we'll see what happens next year.

Let's focus on today's challenging decisions, okay?

It all started at 9:30 AM day of the lord Wednesday January 13th (coincidence that it was the 13th? I think not!). I had just finished off a full bottle of water and needed to go, erm, tinkle and like always, I waited until the very last minute which meant it was GO time! As I was lining the toilet seat with TP (a protected toilet seat is a happy toilet seat) and doing the pee-pee dance ( you know the one, right? where you shuffle from from one foot to the other all the while pinching your legs tightly together?) I was also trying to unbutton my pants at the same time... you know, now that I typed that, I'm thinking 2 things. First off, why do I share so much information and second, I must have looked like a spastic weirdo. Oh well!

Anyway, I must have yanked on my pants too hard (that's what he said!) because PEEWM! there went my button!

[insert chubbo jokes here you jerks!]

Dammit! Now the zipper wouldn't stay up! Should I just pull my blouse down?

Worst Case Scenario:

My blouse doesn't hide the problem so I walk around flashing the unsuspecting elderly.

So I looked down at myself to see how long my blouse was but it wasn't long enough to cover the overexposure. Nope, I didn't want to risk accidental peepage so I had to try something else.

I did the best I could with the zipper and walked out of the bathroom (after I washed my hands, I'm not a barbarian!) where I bumped into Scarecrow. I explained my dilemma and asked her if she had a safety pin.

She gave me one of those jumbo ones people used to secure cloth diapers in the olden days but before I could go back into the bathroom, Scarecrow went in!

Should I wait for her her to come out or just go into the kitchen and face the window so no one I work with will see what I'm doing?

Worst Case Scenario:

A random stranger I may never meet will see me fiddling with my pants while I'm standing in the kitchen.

So I stood in the kitchen and threaded the safety pin through my pants and the space where the button used to be. Nobody walked by the window in the kitchen so my secret is safe.

I went on my merry way and continued my job duties as if I was a normal person. Unfortunately for me, I should have adjusted my daily over-exaggerated body gestures to accommodate a hazardous pokey thing in my pants (that's what he said!)(that's what she said!)(it could go either way, no?) but I completely forgot I was living on the precipice of mortal danger!

Later in the day, when I needed to use the ladies room again, I went to open the safety pin but I couldn't find the other prong thingie. I looked down and there, staring up at me menacingly (I think it was even snarling), was the sharp part of the pin! I was almost killed! With no warning even! It turns out the pin had become bent and crooked so it had popped out of the pin's head!

What do I do now? Should I go home and change? No, because I won't want to come back. Maybe if I just put the safety pin back carefully...

Worst Case Scenario:

Fatal Stabbing!

Well, I certainly didn't want to die by way of safety pin stabbing but what other choice did I have?

I threaded the pin through again. This time I made sure it was more secure. Also, as an added precaution, I took 2 paper towels, folded them and positioned them on the inside of my pants to form a barrier between the pin and my delicate skin.

I thought to myself "Self, just don't use the ladies room too often so that you won't have to go through this hassle each and every time!"

You know what happened? It was as if my bladder decided to take a stand and show me who was boss! I would have a teeny tiny sip of water and BOOM! I had to go to the bathroom! I'd be reading a magazine and an ad would feature  an H2O product BOOM! I had to go to the bathroom!

If I walked by a plant— nothing would happen because it's a plant but then I'd notice it needed to be watered and BOOM! off I'd go!

After being tortured every five minutes, I finally took control of my bladder and said "Do your worst!" but by this time it was time to go home and I'm happy I didn't have to find out what the worst case scenario would have been.

And now you know too much about me and my pants!

Married Latina Female.

It is my belief that  life helps us prepare for things we weren't expecting in our paths by giving us small examples of how to deal with any future disappointments, sadness, heartache, homicidal tendencies, etc. I think back to the time I didn't have car insurance and backed into a Cadillac and had to pay the mean bitch out of my own pocket for her "repairs" even though there was nothing wrong with her car. That incident helped me realize any extra money in my wallet attracts evil which is why I try to spend as much of it as I can! Oh, I also learned I needed car insurance.

The reason I'm talking about this semi-enlightenment crap is because life never prepared me for Milton wanting to be my twin. Yep. You heard me right!

She is dressing like me, buying shoes like mine (WITH HEALS EVEN!), wearing gaudy jewelry, cutting her hair short like mine... Oh my lord! I just realized there was a movie just like this a few years ago! It was called Single White Female. Only I'm not single and she's not either. And also she is of the Caucasian persuasion and I'm so obviously of the Latin persuasion. Anyway, it's creeping me out! Now I have to hear about how she goes shopping at my favorite shoe store and to make matters worse, she was wearing a cute pair of red Mary Janes that would have looked awesome on my tootsies!

  (not actual shoe she wore because I would have wrestled them off her feet!)

Her next *Bee* thing? Perfume! She was commenting on how she loves how I leave the office smelling so good. Over Christmas she bought 3 different scents so I could tell her which one was better on her. She asked me what the name of mine was and I lied. I told her it was Exclamat!on which I used to wear when I was like 15 or 16 so I'm hoping she gets the hint.

When she cut her hair, she asked me if she could get away with dying it a dark color, not black but maybe a dark brown. I told her her skin was too fair and her response was "well so is yours but the color looks good on you" and I had to let her down easy by saying that there is a difference between being fair and blushy (me) and fair and cotton-ball-y (her). Thankfully she went with strawberry blonde.

I hope she doesn't try to swap my Andy for her beer-gutted old dude because I will have to introduce her to my little friend:

It's not very humane but I think it'll get my point across!

What matters is the amount of pride you put into your work . . . riiiight?

I went on an interview at a clothing store for a part time job on Saturday. I'm not going to name names because this crew is younger and knows how to google. I think it went great . . . actually I think I ♫ nailed it ♪!

It started with the woman asking me things like "what is your greatest accomplishment" and me answering "staying out of jail" just kidding! I said something like "we pulled ourselves out of near poverty to where we now live a comfortable existence" (which I know doesn't make sense because here I am looking for a part time job but that's how we were able to have some measure of success, by doing what we had to do) then her asking what my strengths were and me answering the clichéd "being a team player" and when she asked about my weakness I was temporarily at a loss for words because HELLO! What weaknesses? I came clean and told her I'm quick to anger, I mock stupid people incessantly to their faces AND I have a BLOG where I mock ALL people to anyone who'll listen my lack of punctuality was my main weakness but I assured her it would not happen here because I would be coming from a second job therefore I would already be awake. Hopefully.

  She then put me on the spot by saying "pretend I'm a client and you are trying to sell me the outfit you're wearing now, what would you say to make me want to buy it?" It just so happened that I was clothed from top to underbottoms with clothes from this store so I said:

"These slacks have a great fit around the waist line, the length is perfect for someone of my height (short but cute), but they also come in freakishly tall and sorry you're average. I bought them a few years ago but they have withstood the test of many washings by not fading and showing no signs of wear and tear. Also, if you hang them up right after drying, there is no need for ironing which is a big plus for someone like me who is always running late is always pressed for time. The sweater has a perfect ¾ length sleeve that allows me freedom to eat without soaking it in my soup, the fit accentuates the parts I want [I pointed at my boobies] and is slightly looser around my problem areas [I pointed at my jelly belly]. The color is a fantastic blue/green that goes well with many complexions and the most important point is that it did not shrink in the wash. I am also wearing undergarments that fit my a-little-too-much figure perfectly. Almost as if they were tailor made!"

She laughed and said she would definitely buy what I'm selling which I took as code for "you're full of shit but I can see people falling for your charming
ways" Why thank you, decoder in my head! She said she would check my references (sweating bullets)(not because people will have bad things to say about me because I am a gem but because I'm hoping they'll answer their freaking phones!) and I should know this week if I got the job. She also told me they get a 30% employee discount even off of already discounted items . . . I have never wanted a job more!

I know what you're thinking. That I am the self appointed Queen of the Antisocialites so how will I be able to deal with people on a daily basis? Well,  my friends, it would be hard but if it means getting juicy blog fodder, guess I'll just have to grin and bare it.

So anyway, I know you're all busy praying for obnoxious kittens and illiterate horses but if you could throw in a little prayer to the big guy to help me get this job, I'd really appreciate it! I may even let you use my 20% discount! Yes, I know I said it's 30% but the house takes 10%.

Showering with Bee. But we're all fully clothed, m'mkay?

I'm not an environmental zealot by any stretch of the imagination but when I hear about something I may easily change about my habits that will help save a polar bear so he may live to eat more evil seals , I make an attempt to adjust my lifestyle.

The other day, while in the shower and listening to the radio, I heard the announcer say that if we all stopped using bottled body wash and used bars of soap instead, it would avoid a gabillion bottles going to landfills. I thought back to my life pre-bottled body wash and had no ill memories so I decided to give it a try.

Tuesday morning was my first day testing this *bar of soap experiment* since my body wash had officially run out. I chose Irish Spring as my soap because I imagined myself frolicking in a secluded spring with a good looking Irishman with strong hands and-uh [clears throat] yeah. I lathered up my wash cloth and was immediately disappointed when it didn't suds up as much as my body wash.

I'm a firm believer in the 'no suds, no clean' theory I made up for when I do laundry and dishes so I applied this same theory to my shower. I kept reapplying the soap to my wash cloth but I was running out of time so I did the best I could with what I had.

As I was rinsing, I immediately felt something abnormal. My skin started tightening. I looked at my arm to make sure it hadn't turned into plastic but it was as fleshy as ever. When I began drying myself, the tightening got worse! I dared not bend over for fear of my skin cracking wide open! I lotion-ed myself up as fast as I could and I instantly felt like those leather chairs that undergo oil treatments to make them all soft and mushy. Ahhh! I was back to normal! But fro how long?

I really don't know if I want to go through that again. I may just give my soap to Andy and look for a more woman friendly bar for myself. Womens out there, do you have any suggestions other than Dove and Caress? I want a soap that'll last me some time and not dissolve in water after the first use.

Later, as I was shellacking on my make up, I heard the radio dudes say that a Beluga whale had given birth and this caused a warm and fuzzy feeling in my tum tum so I was all "Awwww" but then I immediately followed it up with "Son of a bitch!" because this baby whale is 5'4 and 162 pounds which makes it skinnier and taller than me!

 

To recap, my skin now resembles a dried out mushroom and whales are taller and skinner than I am!

Crappy Holidays to me!

 

Just kidding, Santa.

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.

Ahhhh 37! I liked you better when you were 10 years younger!

♪♫ Today is my birthday! thun thun thun thun thun!!

I still have to go to work! Bhun nunanunun!!

I had to buy my own cake to bring to the asylum! Ledadidadee!!

Everybody, including Andy, thought my birthday was on the wrong day!  Peepampeepapoo!!

I suck at rhyming! Fafeefufafoo!!

I'm dehydrated from all of the booze! Baneeneenanonoo!!
... ... ... ♪♫

I'm at a loss on how to end the song.

Anyway.

I know it's my birthday but I, being the giver that I am, have a gift for you. An embarrassing picture of me at age 7/8/9ish?

I know you have a lot of questions. "Where did you buy your cool guy shirt?" "Were those glasses as big as your head?" Why OH WHY did someone take a picture of you in the BATHROOM?"

I can answer your questions or I can dance instead!

Vogue with me people!! 

My mind? Gone!

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.

You're ruining iPhone day!

I know you guys already know I have an iPhone because of the comic strip Andy did a few weeks ago (and because I won't shut up about it) but I don't think I ever shared the horrific battle that went on on the day I designated as "iPhone Day" and I really thinks it's a story that needs to be told. If not only to teach us all how to love.

It all started a couple of years ago when Apple announced they were coming out with the coolest most awesome-est cell phone ever. I went on their website and drooled and then I sent an email to everybody I knew (10 people)(okay 6) letting them know that when this phone came out, I, Bee Cor-Rut, would be the first in our family to own it!. Then I was kicked in the crotch by the price so I waited patiently for it to come down. Then I was crushed and one upped by Big Tex who bought one WHILST he was still working for Sprint. He then left Sprint and went to work for At&t because the evil Sprint spell had worn off and he knew he would do more good at At&t.

Okay, some time went by and they came up with a newer version, Big Tex bought the newer version and gave his hand me down to my sister Nancy.

Okay.

That's fine. I would bide my time for my perfect opportunity.
Then my brother Dan bought one. ::sigh:: Oh well at least I didn't have to see him every day . . .

Then Andy's phone went kapluey so the sensible thing was to replace his with an iPhone since it was only $50 more than a blackberry. Well, I married the man so I guess I shouldn't be this raving jealous so I wasn't, much.

To add insult to injury, my MOM bought one. You know what? She deserves it! I mean she delivered 5 children and I'm sure it wasn't the most pleasant of experiences since she didn't believe in epidurals.

Then my brother Sergio got one. He bought the iPhone with 36 iggybites and Christmas bells. In the meantime, I had a paper clip attached to my phone so that I could make phone calls.

Finally, after months of saving, I had enough for my very own iPhone. I called CNN, the Chicago Sun Times, the Daily Herald etc. and everybody was excited for me because they knew I was looking forward to this phone for years.

Via text message.

Bee: Big Tex, I coming over and buying an iPhone.

Big Tex: Okay.

Bee [as an after thought]: Can you check to make sure we have an update available?

Hours later, I see Big Tex is calling me. Must be serious.

Bee: Hhhhhhhello?

Big Tex: You're not eligible for an update until March of 2010.

Bee: Say huh?

[without the update the phone would be twice as much therefore making it impossible for me to buy]

Big Tex: Your brother Rick used your update earlier this year illegally at Radio Shack.

[Radio Shack can suck it! Dumb shit law breaking fuckers!]

Bee: ::cries::

Big Tex: This is what I suggest you do... [the rest is top secret][but it may have involved beating up Radio Shack]

Bee: ::mfhhmm sob:: ok

I get home and am rushing around making dinner (Country style BBQ ribs made in the slow cooker with my infamous mashed potatoes mmmmm) and I'm explaining all this info to Andy.

Bee: blah blah Rick, Radio Shack blah blah

Andy: ::ROAR ROAR!!!!::

Bee: STOP ROARING AT ME! Big Tex suggested... [explains top secret secret][SCREW YOU RADIO SHACK!!]

Andy: ::ROAR NO! ROAR ROOOOOOOAR!!::

and so it went for a few minutes.

Bee: You are going to make my head explode!! Not to mention you are ruining iPhone day!

So we brought the meal downstairs to eat amongst my family. Hello Awkward? It's me, Bee. It was tense because Andy and I were crushing each other's heads with our minds.

After a while, Andy came to his senses (the prospect of sleeping in the garage with the spiders was too much for him).

Andy: Fine.

And so we drove to the magical building that is At&t. This older lady beat us to Big Tex so we patiently waited. Oh look! My future case!


And we waited. People watched.

Some Kid and his parents came in because he was having problems with his phone. Turns out he was stupid enough to take a dunk in the lake with his cell phone in his pocket. Guess what, brain donor, no upgrade for you! Yeah, I guess I was being too cocky after my sobbing episode earlier in the day but that's part of my charm.

The parents decided not to buy him a replacement for $275 and opted to buy him a cheap GO phone at Best Buy for $30 and then just put in his SIM card. Even after he PROMISED TO PAY THEM BACK! He didn't say WHEN he'd pay them back. My guess was 2014. I'm glad the parents stuck to their guns because I see so many kids getting what they want when they want with no accountability for when they screw up. Take the 8-9 year old who was there with his mom and she was scolding him for the 200 text he had sent. Wow. My mom would have smacked me until I lost track of time.

And we waited some more.

It turns out that the woman buying the phone had been cryogenically frozen in the year 1679 and therefore needed a crash course in technology "but how can I hear the peoples talking in my ear?" so Big Tex had to patiently walk her through all the marvelous inventions available. If you are asking yourself how come they had Cryogenics in 1679 but they didn't have cell phones, I can't answer that because I wasn't around in 1679, I don't care how many rumors Andy spreads to the contrary.

I have to say this for Big Tex, he is a great, respectful salesman because when we mocked the woman after she finally left, he smiled at us, kinda like a father smiling at his wayward children, and then got down to business.

So far so good! I had my case in my hand, all I needed was the iPhone to go in the case. He brought one from the back, opened the box, put the plastic-y thing on the screen, put it in the case and then walked away with it.

I stood there, arms outstretched, watching my phone go to another part of the store. I assume this is what new moms feel like when they give birth and then watch their babies be taken away after a fast glimpse so that they can clean them and the mom's are thinking "are they bringing my baby back?? Don't take my baby away!". It's exactly like that right? Only mine was worse because I didn't even get to hold it close to my bosom before it was carted away. I was weepy because like all mother's I had already bonded with the little guy.

Anyway, Big Tex finally brought my baby and we finally walked out of the At&t store and celebrated by getting a Dunkin Donuts coffee for me and a strawberry milkshake for Andy.
(In case you're wondering, I took a picture of my iPhone with my iPhone, it is that cool!)

And the 9 of us lived happily ever after.

9= Andy, his iPhone, Me, my iPhone, Tazz, Mocha, Big Moe, Larry O. Pompadour and Curly the Acrobat.

P.S.
I promise this will be my last post about my iPhone. Unless it saves my life one day by pulling me outta of a well. Then all promises are off!

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.

'Dream Catcher'? Not so much! More like 'Dream Stealer'!

Scene:
Dark bedroom, approximately midnight, man, woman and dogs snoring. When suddenly! Man is jolted awake by ""noise"" coming ""inside"" the house!

Andy [shakes Bee awake]: Bee! Did you hear that?

Bee [is jolted from a deep sleep]: Whaa?? Who? Cheese?

Andy: Did you hear that? There was a loud bang!

Bee [punches pillow]: No. And if the dogs aren't barking then you were probably dreaming.

Andy: I'm gonna go check it out. You stay here.

Bee: ::sigh:: [gets up]

Andy: Where are you going?

Bee: You know that, of the two of us, I'm the one who can really kick ass.

Andy: I'm tempted to let you go out there and get your butt kicked just to bring you down a notch.

Bee: Hey, if you want to unleash me solo, I won't disappoint. [gets in karate kid bird position, almost topples]  The intruders will get a roundhouse kick to their—

Andy: Ankles? Shush and go back to bed.

Bee: Hell no. [notices Mocha] Mocha! Go back to bed! It's like Scooby and the gang meet the mummy over here.

Andy carefully peeks around the corner, leans his head out of the hallway and slowly makes his way towards the kitchen. I cough. Loudly.

Andy: BEE! What the hell! You want to give away our position?

Bee: "give away our position"? This isn't 'Nam. Besides, why aren't you yelling at Mocha?? Her tags have been jingling the whole time!

Andy: You know what? I'm kicking you both off of my island.

Bee: Oh my goodness! Listen!

Andy: What? WHAT??

Bee: Silence. It's just me and the chickens. [points at him and the cowering Mocha]

Andy: Okay. So maybe I was dreaming.

Bee: Ya'think?

Andy:  It felt real. . . [goes back to bed]

Bee: Does this feel real. [smacks Andy on the butt-ocks]

Andy: Ouch! Now I'll never be able to go back to slee— ::SNORE::

2 hours later, Andy is snoring, Mocha is wheezing, Tazz (who never woke up for the midnight adventure) is snorting. Bee? Bee is still wide awake, tossing and turning. PUNCHING HER PILLOW!

 

Stay tuned for the illustrated version on Sunday.

You know, there is a lot to be said for the couple that trusts each other implicitly with all things sacred. Even though you panic and cry the whole time.

Did I forget to mention Andy dyed my hair the weekend of my reunion??

Let me take you back to Saturday day of the lord August 22, 2009.

I was looking at my hair in the mirror and wondering how it was possible that the maroon/red highlight I paid $150 for only lasted 3 weeks leaving behind a brassy orangey pukey color. I made the decision that I would NOT go to my reunion looking like the Hamburglar's less fortunate sister. I looked through my cabinets and found an awesome dye I had from last year.

Here was my dilemma. I have never dyed my own hair. Or anyone else's for that matter. I went to the only other person who was home, ready to plead my case.

Bee: Will you dye my hair?

Andy [without looking away from the computer (before it went Kapluey)]: Sure.

Ahh that is love for you right there! Your heart is feeling all warm and fuzzy...

Until.

Until minuets later. When you're frantically squirming because you're sure he is applying the dye incorrectly and he's patting your head with his big paws, massaging the dye so hard you're sure you're scalp looks like this:

Bee: Dude! You're taking too long in one spot! Don't swirl my hair like that because it'll get tangled! It's not lathering! My hair doesn't even feel wet!

Andy: Settle down! It's fine! Bee! It's fine!!!

He squirted another miniscule drop of dye on the same spot he'd been working for 10 minutes and then shoved my head this way and that with his ginormas panda hands all the while I was stomping my feet because I knew my new nickname would be Streaky Sheila.

Andy: Stop fidgeting you big baby!

Bee: No! No! Stop! You're going to mess up my hair! Oh lord oh lord oh lord!!

Andy [jumping up and down]: You're freaking me out!

Bee [stands up]: Just give me the bottle! Give me the bottle!! I'll finish it! Oh man! I am so screwed holy crap!

We walk to the bathroom.

Andy [frenzied]: What was I doing wrong? I followed the instructions!

Bee: This should be quick Andy! It's not your fault, I blame myself!

Both of us hopping. I'm serious.

Andy [pacing]: Don't ask me next time okay?? Just don't!

Bee: No way am I going to this reunion. No way!

And of course the love I mentioned earlier turns to culpability.

Bee: If you had only applied the color to my hair and not my scalp, I wouldn't be freaking out!

Andy: If you wouldn't leave things to the last minute we wouldn't be having these issues! What do I know about dying hair?

Bee: Get out of the bathroom!! Get out get out!!

Andy: JERK!!

As I'm hysterically applying the rest of the dye and almost passing out from the noxious fumes, I can't decide if I'm angry at Andy or not. On the one hand he was trying to help and on the other hand he was too obstinate to relinquish control once I told him to stop.

I paced for 25 minutes and then took a shower to wash the dye off. As I was brushing my hair later, I couldn't bring myself to look in a mirror. Logically I knew it couldn't be that bad because the hairdresser dyed my hair black and nothing will alter black unless you bleach it out so I guess I don't know why I was in near tears. Lucky for me, everything turned out okay. My hair didn't fall out and it looked awesome. 

Stay tuned for the illustrated version on Sunday.

Man + Woman + his and hers computers = Harmony.

As some of you may know, Andy and I have been married for over 8 years. (EIGHT LONG YEARS)

I personally think people should go through some sort of pre-marriage counseling that prepares them for the different facets you'll go through in a marriageship. In fact, I, as the all knowing been-there-done-that chick, volunteer to be your personal guide through stormy seas. And by *volunteer* I mean there will be a nominal fee of $1,000.

Expensive, you say? Well, it's a one time payment and you will get the benefit of my expertise and have me at your beck and call. That's a bargain since not even Andy can boast of such privileges. Unless he pays the $1,000 fee but that would be immoral and along the lines of prostitution which we here at Bee's Musings do not condone!

Okay! Let's get this train back on track!

My Andy and I have gone through a lot of transitional periods but the hardest ones were probably the first 3 years (I'm not counting the seventh year among the problematic ones because I blame it on temporary insanity)(HIS temporary insanity).

In the first year of our marriage, we discovered that our heads will not literally explode from yelling at each other until we sound like chain-smoking winos. This was a great realization since we seemed to be at arms everyday and twice on Sundays.

"Why don't you close the shower curtain after your shower? What? You want to bathe in mold??"

"Do not touch my lunch snacks because those are mine- for ME to take for MY lunch- MINE!" (I think we can all recognize this as being Andy)

"Gah! Can you pick up your feet so I can sweep under the couch??"

"Why do you have to clean when I'm trying to watch Football/Basketball/Baseball/Golf/Midget Wrestling??"

Specialist in mental health call this "The adjustment" period (I assume) but I call it the "Watch your ass or I'll kick it!" period. Still, we tweaked our behaviors. He by becoming addicted to the computer instead of the TV thereby staying in his dungeon and me by never cleaning. Ahhh apathy, you are the instrument which tunes my soul. Or not. Whatever.

Worked out well I'd say.

Our second year we argued less but when we did argue, it was mostly about money. He would give me my allowance at 6:00pm on Fridays and I would have it all spent by 6:05pm on Fridays.

"How is that you're broke already? I JUST gave you your money! Are you buying drugs in the alley?"

"It's none of your beeswax! It's not like I'm asking for more!"

Those same specialists may call this "The financial overlord" period and I would have to agree. It would drive Andy insane that I'd never know where my money went and I refused to give him a breakdown. As far as I was concerned, it was my allowance and I could spend it on wax jobs for women in third world countries if I wanted to!

After we bought our house in the midst of our third year of marriage, all arguments over money stopped. There was no money to argue over, you see. Our allowances went from "Woohoo! Shoes, purses, TEQUILA!!" to "Hmmm I think I have enough to buy a Butterfinger, a bottle of water and a bag of twisty fritos. Doh! I forgot about the tax!" We go to work, come home, pay our bills then go to our respective corners and relax.

There's something about being on the hook for hundreds of thousands of dollars that makes you bond and realize it's you two against the malevolent banks with their interest rates and their rolls of quarters.

We reached a plateau in our marriage. The "comfortable with each other enough for ONE of us to confide in the other that we just took the longest poop on record!" (okay, it wasn't me). One where we can be have our own likes without codependency.

You figure there is nothing else you can hide from each other. No new behavior you need to adjust to. From here on out it's smooth sailing...

Until.

Until the day comes when his computer breaks and now you're left to fill that vacant void that's labeled "relationship".

All of a sudden your pleasant routine transforms into this "WE" thing.

"What are WE going to watch?" -Uhhh I'M going to watch "17 Again". (Don't judge me!)

"The Cubs'/Bears' game is on, can WE change the channel?" -but I'M already watching Less Than Perfect!

"Are WE going to have ice cream?" -Sweet Moses!

And then he starts taking over your things, your seat, your sanity.

"I am just going on your laptop for a minute- why are there pictures of Brad Pitt and David Beckham flashing me?" -because they're gorgeous duh!

"Can you scooch over? There's a glare from your terrarium on the TV." -which is why I sit where I sit.

Then it gets worse because now you have to listen to ::shiver:: sports talk!

"Shabadaba Tarrrruiti is on the DL (disabled list)(useless trivia) again! That man must be made of glass!"

"The Cubs played the Dinosaurs and lost by 17 but they should have won! Gary Whocares lost it at the end!"

"Blah Blah Blah football."

He keeps looking over at me as I type this. WE are watching Law & Order Criminal Intent (I LOATHE JEFF GOLDBLUM!)

There sits my Andy. Drinking my Miller Lite and eating Doritos...

I don't know what's wrong with his computer. I don't know how to fix it either but, by Eve [shakes fist in the air!], I'm going to take out my tools, pour myself a drink and figure it out!

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

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

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

So we called Norm.

Norm:

Where are these alleged ants?

Us:

Everywhere.

Norm:

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

Us:

EvErYwHeRe!

Norm:

So not just in the kitchen??

Bee:

For shitake's sake Norm! EVERYWHERE!!

Norm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

All together now:

Everywhere!

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

I heard tiny, mocking laughter.

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

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

Brian’s fear of spiders is justified plus stuffing my drawers.

So, did you miss me? Maybe you didn’t even notice I was gone? Niiiice thanks a lot people!

Anyway, more on my vacation later.

Andy holding Big Willy formerly known as The Sears Tower:

Today I’d like to say that I am now on the “Spiders-are-evil-emissaries-of-death!” bandwagon.

My Long Lost Friend and I were enjoying a nice little bonfire on Sunday night. There was a nice breeze, it wasn't too cold or too warm, the memories were flowing- minus the booze...

When the fire started dying down, I got up and went to get some homemade firewood (homemade firewood is wood you grow yourself and then mother nature comes along and decides to rip your wood plants in half) that we had stacked near our fence. It was dark, I couldn’t see very well so I blindly sifted through the wood pile looking for some nice thick pieces.

In that small amount of time, I was apparently being scaled like Mount Everest by ninja spiders because I have about 7 large spider bites on my legs, toes and feet.

Since things in my life can’t ever be of the normal variety, these spider bites are currently bubbling up and a resembling the alps.I get hotter and hotter every day.

I really wish I was exaggerating.

For all you know, these paragraphs may be the last thing I write before foaming at the mouth and going into seizures that will have me biting off my head, or worse, buying a jumpsuit.

It’s funny because, after all the gardening I’ve done over the years, I have never been attacked by the spider militia. Mosquitos, bees, squirrels, angry parents, those I'm used to but not spiders.

Then I went on Bad Spider Bites and talk about scaring the ever lovin crap out of myself! ::shiver!::

Okay I'm going to change the subject now.

I returned to the Asylum today and everybody seemed super happy to see me. That was such a weird feeling. Kind of a cross between drinking warm cider and vinegar. Anyway, later in the day, I got a little hungry. I opened my drawer to pull out the bag of Cheetos I keep in case of emergencies imagine my surprise when it wasn't there.

I asked around but nobody admitted to ransacking my snack drawer. I went to Glynda and asked her too, just in case. Her response "Let me ask OZ. He sometimes snoops in people's drawers" she came back later with $2.

OZ ATE MY CHEETOS!

What kind of mean MOFO does that? Seriously! I can't leave for 2 days without people taking my stuff. I'm gonna load my drawers with tampons and douches... not that I have a problem, okay? I'm just thinking that'll keep him outta my drawers.

Well that's about it- OH YEAH! For those of you who follow So You Think You Can Dance, if freakin Kayla/Shayla/Layla whatever the hell her name is doesn't get booted off this week I am going to have a fit! She should have been gone last week but nobody can seem to see her clumsy flopping around the floor when she does her solos. I need to hurry up and finish my mind control machine.

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!

♪♫ Saturday in the park... think it was the fist of a fly. ♪♫

Despite all the sore bones and blisters (Sore Bones & Blisters would make an awesome band name), we had a great time on Saturday. We hosted the whole family for a thank you extravaganza and had some yummy food prepared by yours truly. Everything went smoothly until the end where I accidentally knocked over the guacamole dish, NO, I WAS NOT DRUNK, and then all hell broke loose.

Tazz, knowing my mom makes the best guacamole in the world, ran to claim his share. We tried to stop him because of the pesky glass that could rip his stomach open and he was not pleased. His goal then became to take a piece out of every living person around him and he lived up to his Lhasa Apso Tibetan ancestry. A vicious Tazz is a scary and formidable sight. And he will live to be about 140. That's uh hold on, let me get a calculator... ... ... 20 in human years. I also discovered that he may suffer from macular degeneration in the near future and if you’re thinking this will give us the perfect opportunity to escape his attacks, you would be wrong since they do not rely on their eyesight to attack things which piss them off. Mostly Andy.

After everybody had left, Andy and I decided to go see The Hangover (<--preview) for its last showing of the evening. As most of you may know, Andy and I usually hit the movies on Sundays at predawn so we may take advantage of the cheapest priced tickets and also the lack of obnoxious teenagers and howly kids. The theater will usually only have about 10 people including us and that’s how we like it but we figured that if we went Saturday night, we would have most of Sunday to just sit around and get moldy.

We got into the car in the cover of darkness, said a little prayer and left the safety of our driveway. Shivering.

Once at the theater, we bought our tickets and nachos with no unusual incidents other than this geeky guy walking around with an orange backpack and neon blue shoes. What the hell kind of combination is that? There were only a handful of people in the theater so I thought it would be a nice, harmless experience. The feeling didn’t last though because people kept walking in, including Mr. Orange Backpack Neon Blue Shoes, and sitting close enough where I could smell what they had for dinner.

About 10 minutes into the movie, two men were having a discussion about how best to handle a phone call.

One guy said “Hang up the phone asshole or I’m gonna go over and hang it up for you!”

I thought that was reasonable.

Douchebag:
I’m on a call!

Hero:
You have 30 seconds to hang up the fucking phone!

Douchebag:
30 seconds? Cool. That should be enough time to finish my call [to person on the phone] So anyway—

Hero:
HANG UP THE PHONE OR I’ll TAKE YOU OUTSIDE!

Douchebag:
Take me outside? Are we in a movie? Pfft! He's gonna take me outside!

Hero [stood up and went to sit next to El Douche]:
You gonna keep talking?

Douchebag:
This is harassment!

And in what can only be called a beautiful display of unity, (almost) EVERYONE IN THE THEATER:
Both of you SHUT THE FUCK UP!

They both left.

I made sure I had my running shoes on in case I needed to haul ass out of there. Although, I had just had a Mike’s Hard Lemonade so maybe I would have stayed and rumbled.

When we were leaving the movie theater, there was a 70 year old couple exiting the aisle. The man was laughing but the woman was admonishing him for doing so.

Old lady:
Why are you laughing? That was the stupidest movie I have ever seen!

Old dude:
No. It was very amusing.

Old lady:
What is wrong with you??

And as soon as we were out of earshot Andy and I started laughing because we knew exactly what scenes had offended her. I’m not telling you what they are since it would ruin the movie's shockingness. All in all, we still think that old couple is pretty cool for venturing out at that late hour without being afraid of the night crawlies.

Going to a late movie was a nice adventure but I don't thing we'll be repeating that experience any time soon.

Oh yeah, there was one heartbreaking moment on Saturday. I found my first grey hair. Wait. Did you hear me? I, Bee Still-young-person, have discovered a horrific silver hair amongst my beautiful multicolored (because I have way too many different shades of brown, some black and even ORANGE) locks.

This whole getting old thing is unacceptable.