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

 

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.

Signs of the Apocalypse at Arkham Asylum

Just when I think things at work can't get any worse I get an unexpected kick to the crotch.

I don't know if you've noticed, OR CARE, but I have not mentioned my search for an assistant this year. It's partly because I'm a superstitious fool and I do believe that me saying the words out loud or, you know, on a post, may jinx my overworked-but-happy-not-to-have-a-moron-hanging-from-my-neck life.

Unfortunately for me, some people at the Asylum do not have enough work to do so the next "" logical "" step is to assign one of these bladdernuts to me. As my assistant.

Who was the lucky dingbat to have the honor of working with me? Scarecrow the X-ray tech. I freaked out of course because, besides thinking she knows everything about fake cheese, she is also an idiot. I reached out to the one person who I knew would sympathize, my former (AWESOME) assistant, BD. At first he was a pain in the ass because we obviously speak in different generations. My generation is smarter, stronger, nicer. His is mean, vindictive and whiney. But then he came through as he always did when he worked alongside me at the nuthouse.

This conversation took place via texts:

Bee: Dude! They want to assign Scarecrow to be my part-time assistant!!!

BD: ?????

Bee: What’s with the”?”? Did u not hear me or are u as shocked as i am?

BD: I am fucking shocked!! WTF r they thinking?

Bee: I dunno but I’m having a h-attack just thinking bout it!

BD: H-attack?

Bee: HEART attack! jeez louise u’re young dontcha know the lingo?

BD: Young people dont worry about “H-ATTACKS” we also dont say “jeez louise” or “lingo”

Bee: Don’t change the subject. What am I gonna do??

BD: Shes got bad knees just pus her.

Bee: WTF? ‘pus’ hahahahaha!! and also eww!

BD: Old people shouldnt be texting

Bee: Young people should respect their elders

BD: pfft! I like pushing them into traffic

Bee: I will save that text for when you become a slimy politician

BD: Senator I have no idea who this “bee” is

-5 hours later because I got busy working so I didn’t respond-

BD: Well?

Bee: ‘well’ what?

BD: Whats going on with the asst thing

Bee: Nothing yet. She just went around saying ‘I’m gonna be BD’

BD: Bitch

Bee: Yep with a capital STUPIDASS!

BD: She doesnt have the looks to be me

Bee: I dunno, u both look like muppets

BD: Old people start smelling funny at 37

Bee: Why are you sniffing old people? New fetish?

BD: THAT WAS DISGUSTING!

Bee: U started

BD: I was thinking about it and you should use this argument:

-A BUNCH OF MINUTES GO BY-

BD: “Her prior indiscretions demonstrate she may be prone to relay personal info at inopportune times thereby violating PHI/HIPAA making her a liability”

Bee: ::blink blink:: great idea!

BD: Thatll be $300

Bee: You learned that shit from ME for FREE fool!

BD: 300 bucks will keep me on retainer for the rest of ur life or until u turn 50

Bee: Why 50?

BD: Dont u have some psycho hit on urself?

Bee: Thanks. Now my nightmares will return

BD: I will even represent Andy in the wrongful death suit

Bee: Knowing it’s gonna happen, doesn't that make everybody accessories?

BD: As my own council, i am ending this conversation

Bee: I win! Get used to hearing that.

BD: When did you become so cruel?

Bee: That’s what old age does to a person- look at Jerry Lewis

BD: Is that the guy from the grateful dead?

Bee: No that’s Jerry Garcia he’s dead but that was more due to drugs than age. Lewis was the original nutty professor now he’s a cranky old dude.

BD: Thanks for the useless trivia- ROLLS EYES

Bee: Dont u need to shine ur snakeskin boots and go sing karaoke, country style?

BD: Thats tomorrow. Let me know how it goes with OZ. Otherwise plan b

Bee: Later!

BD: Arent u gonna ask what plan b is?

Bee: What is it?

BD: u re-hire the asst from last year.

Bee: I hate you.

BD: LMFAO theres some “lingo” for you

 

Don't tell that big headed fool that his advice actually worked. I'd never hear the end of it!

A dirty hole is nothing to be ashamed of.

I know I promised reruns but I had a quickie (not to brag or nuthin’) so I had to come over and share. I’m not really here. At this moment I'm probably sitting in a corner wondering where two curtain panels disappeared to. I blame the laundromat people because that is when I last saw them. Bastards.

I bought a shelving unit over the weekend (MADE IN THE USA baby!) to organize all the miscellaneous items in my life that I need to keep because I know I will use them at some point during my lifetime and because now that we shop at Costco, we have massive amounts of detergent, paper towels and enough toilet paper to survive The 40 Year Poop War I’m predicting.

Anyway, I got mad at Andy because he yelled at me for asking him to help me get it into the house. He said “Why do you need MY help if YOU yourself got it into the shopping cart and then into the car?? If you could do that, why wouldn’t you go that extra mile and get it in the house by yourself??” okay, so he didn’t say that exactly but I can read between the lines!

I had interrupted an important rescue-mission/battle/nut-gathering thing, you see and we all know this is likened to an act of treason! I calmly asked him why he couldn’t just tell me he’d get it after he conquered a new world instead of being an unreasonable butthead. He argues that I always want everything NOW NOW NOW! He said it in a manner that implied that was a bad thing.

Of course now I was angry so I decided to build the Shelving Unit of Discord myself. Who needs a man? Not this semi intelligent semi fashionable semi hungry chick! I have my own tools! (I bought them on sale because they came in a cute little black and red case.) (I got a set for my mom too.)

I was disappointed to learn I only needed a hammer.

I struggled with the damn Shelving Unit of Discord for 3 hours. At one point Andy came out of the dungeon, he must have left someone he trusted in charge of the safety of the galaxy, and he brought me a long screw driver so that I may “clean up the holes because it’ll be easier”. I don’t know if you know this about me but when I’m pissed I’m poisonous. I told him to go away before I cleaned up his hole and he said something about my mouth hole and went back to the important task of saving the Earth or you know, its ugly brother, Fantasy-troll-land.

Back to me.

I swore, I sweated, I sliced my delicate hands with the sharp edges so I swore some more but louder and with more feeling so that the neighbors would know without a doubt how much my soul was suffering. In the end I was proud at what I had accomplished. I had a nice, sturdy, shelving unit that could hold the weight of 4 miniature ponies juggling bowling balls.

I liked it so much I wanted another one. Trying to exit the doghouse, Andy offered to pick one up on his way home from work. He had it put together in 10 minutes TEN MINUTES!! He didn’t gloat though because he was happy to be back on my good side and he also knew I wouldn’t share the dinner my poor, sliced up hands made (pasta shells in Alfredo sauce with broccoli and lemon pepper chicken) if he so much as uttered a single little ‘I told you so’.

(can also be converted into 2 separate 2 shelf units which is what I did)

Now you’re probably thinking that Andy is a master craftsman and I should have left the building of things to a MAN but I’d have to hit you over the head with a led pipe and disagree. You see, when I moved MY shelving unit, I did so easily without having pieces fall apart in my sliced up little hands. Andy’s, however, came apart easily because you could only lift it, awkwardly may I add, from the bars holding the shelves and not the shelves themselves.

The difference? My shelves were forced into their slot holes by a woman determined to fit a half inch bracket into a ¼ inch hole but Andy “cleaned up the holes” so the shelves were all loose and wiggly (loose and wiggly- your nickname in High School?).

Woman 1,452,151 Man -7,487,778

(don’t do the math, Brian)(I typed in ‘don’t do the mEth, Brian’ but the top half of my eagle eye caught the error but I still think it’s good advice. Do not do the math OR the meth, Brian!)

The moral of the story?

Sometimes it’s okay to have a dirty hole.

P.S.

Brother Dan finally posted and he says he did so to take up my slack which I thought was nice of him and then I remembered he owed because he hates my dogs. He knows what I mean.

Being a Mexican American PPVO (Post Pig Virus Outbreak).

I tell ya’ guys, I’m afraid to get sick. Not because I think my lungs will fill up with mucus and I’ll die face down in my sleep. No, that doesn't keep me up at night but if I walk in with a hoarse voice (HOARSE not WHORE'S) the ladies are on my case about going to the doctor to get myself checked.

I have to tell them that they are the only people I’ve come in contact with and it’s not like there’s a gene we, the Aztec people, carry in our DNA! It’s a fucking flu.

I don’t know if they seriously think that if I get a run of the mill cold, it will mutate into the dreaded porky germs or what but they are working the reserve of nerves I keep for emergency situations. Like, for example, the time Andy came home late for lunch when he knew we were hosting his parents and we’d only been living together a couple of months and instead he went for lunch and drinks with his buddy (we will call him Peter) Peter after their field trip to some museum of electricity during his apprentice years, and then lied to me about where he had been and I didn’t find out until our first year anniversary when he accidentally goofed by knowing his way around a restaurant we’ve supposedly never been to (damn you cheesecake factory!) and I was so mad I nearly speared him with the little sword from my Piña Colada. I know you think it wouldn’t have been too painful for him because those things are tiny and plastic but believe me, the surgeons would have needed sedatives for themselves to assist in the removal of said sword from his left testicle. --- Okay, I guess I’m still mad about it. But now you know why I need that extra reserve of nerves. My Andy uses them up like they were Kleenexes.

Speaking of stuff to wipe yourselves with. We went to Costco, post blueberry muffin catastrophe SO WE DID NOT BUY MORE MUFFINS, and you know how they have stations of samples they give out? I am against sampling stuff because I don’t know what’s flying around Costco. Maybe somebody’s kid has the dreaded Feline Flu that will kill us all I don’t know but anyway there was a lady giving samples of, get this, TOILET PAPER!

Andy and I walked by, did a double take and I said “I’m gonna go over there and take a sample then tell her I’ll come back to let her know how it was.” he stopped me because he always ruins my fun. Also, she was only giving out 2 squares and it may be enough for Sheryl Crow but I need a little bit more to ensure freshness.

A couple of weeks ago, when I went with my sister, some lady bitched because my sister stopped in the middle of the aisle. The lady asked the girl she was with “why do people have to stop in the middle of the aisle??” (apparently the little girl must be some sort of mind reader?) I turned around and gave her a nasty look since my sister had stopped because other people were blocking the aisle she was trying to turn into. I guess she could have run them over but then there would be an accident report to fill out and I’m not sure auto insurance covers shopping carts.

Later, while looking for my Advil, I bumped into the lady again. To be mean, I started following her, at a safe distance where it could seem like I was shopping and it was just a coincidence, she kept looking back at me and then she started sprinting down the aisles while I calmly followed each turn she made. At the end of one of the aisles, she was blocked by a lady who was just standing there with her cart. The stalkee says “Excuse me!” and the stander says “go around me!” and then I laughed and let her get away. My sister said I was insane but she was the one to cause the lady’s wrath so she’s not an innocent party in this story.

Karma being the bitch that she is, when I went back to Costco today (I'm the KM at work this week so I went to get a veggie tray and some chocolate muffins), the dude that was ringing me up took my Costco membership card, looked at my picture then looked at me then looked at my picture then looked at me until I finally had to say "yeah, it's me" because my picture is that bad! It's a cross between a teletubby and an albino cricket. I know, frightening!

Uh, anyway, I got distracted. What I was trying to say is that my throat hurts (but this will not keep me from singing at the top of my lungs m'kay) and I’ve been sneezing (okay I just sneezed mid bite into my muffin and a small piece went through my windpipe OUCHY!) and coughing a lot. But don’t worry. No need to come over here wearing a hazmat suit. I was out all weekend without a sweater because I mistook the sun being out to mean it was also warm but it was definitely too cold to be so bold.

If the bats so much as hint at me being infected, I will give them a close up of my left foot followed rapidly by my right.

I'm taking a mini vacation to do fun things like helping my mom move back downstairs (Yay!) dusting, re-organizing my life and LAUNDRY so I won't be around this weekend. Yeah, I know it makes you sad and you're probably wondering what you'll do without me until Tuesday. Don't worry, you'll be okay. Maybe.

 

Have a safe Memorial Day and in Brian's case, a safe Bank Holiday!

Yesterday, while gardening, I realized it was hard to be the creator.

I was digging up patches of grass yesterday and as I was pulling it up piece by piece, I found out why it had begun to brown. Our side yard is infested with grubs. I would post a picture but those damn things are the ugliest looking insects I have ever seen. They are the Benicio del Toro of bugs.

As I was throwing the diseased grass into a container for future storage (to throw at my enemies when they piss me off more than usual), I thought about how the rest of the insects were going to suffer because I was removing their habitat. The poor earth worms I was accidentally chopping in half due to my shovel. There was one in particular that made me think about the injustice that is nature (survival of the fittest- or in my case, survival of those with bigger digging apparatuses).

I had just lifted a big chunk of grass when I noticed the poor little worm trying to move the other half of its body. Unfortunately, I must have smashed it when I inserted the shovel to get better leverage because the other half was just not moving.

It kept lifting itself up and it almost seemed like it was looking back at its limp tail(?) and wondering what the hell was going on. So I stood with my shovel debating if I should put it out of its misery or just leave it be. What do I know about worm injuries? Will it live on to be 200 in worm years without the use of its full body?

Then I started wondering if it too was asking why this was happening. I was basically ending the world as it knew it and making it suffer because of some stupid grubs that spoiled it for the rest of them. The grass was no more and in its stead were barren pieces of dirt because a destructive species abused the natural resources and decided to suck the life out of the lawn which was home to so many creepy crawlies.

Creepy crawlies that love climbing up women who stand around pondering too much. Creepy Crawlies that are slimy and icky... BAM! I cut the sucker in half and good riddance!

As vengeance for my version of the apocalypse, when I went to bed, every time I closed my eyes I saw an army of worms, spiders and ants coming at me. It was scary-gross but a little awesome because they did look cute in their army hats.

P.S.

We have treated some of our lawn with grub killer but I'm removing chunks so that I may expand my garden. I'm telling you this so that I don't get a comment that says "Uh why are you removing your grass one blade at a time when you can just kill the little bastards, you dumbass??" and really that's uncalled for.

Reincarnation. I'd like to come back as Arnold Schwarzenegger as the Terminator. Only less racist. And with an easier spelling name. And taller. Maybe I want to be Hulk Hogan? With a full head of hair. And no beard. Do titles really matter anymore?

Okay, so it's been a long time since I had a nice long rant. I feel I've been neglecting my soul in not regularly purging the venom deep inside of me so today I will let loose ladies and gents. Are you all ready? If not raise your hands.

You. That person in the front with the audacity to raise your hand. You are dismissed and can go HERE.

Okay, as some of you may know, the Cor-Rut household was about to float away into the deep blue sea. Luckily, we had the foresight to anchor it to our pine tree before the flood came.

This event took place on 9/13/08. When did I file my flood claim? Same day, 9/13/08.

I posted here how the douchebags at my home owners washed their hands of us. How FEMA themselves came out and said we had minor damage and because we must be living on a mountain of gold covered turds, they were not offering us any help. But they did help those who only had an inch of water in their basement with no damage because they didn't have flood insurance so why not give them 3 grand?

Okay, our flood insurance finally sent us the check and I posted about that HERE saying how we needed to have the check signed by all parties involved. That would be the hubs, me and the 2 mortgage companies.

Here is where it gets wild!

We went to the first bank and spoke to some lady. She asked if we had started the paperwork to get an authorization for a signature. We said no because this was new to us and I asked her if she had the paperwork so we may fill it out.

Now, you'd think that they would have all the information necessary to guide their customers along something they had never done before and considering the traumatic events leading up to it, they would be more than happy to help, right?

Nope.

She told me to call the 800 number and ask them what to do, niiiice!

We left that bank and went to our primary mortgage holder bank where we were informed that the check had to be fully endorsed by us and the lame-nut bank we had just left before they would help. Once that was done they would take our check and send it to their mortgage department in Whothefuckknowswhwheresville so they could look it over, sign it and then mail it back to us.

I'm not sure if you know me by now but I'm not what you would call a trusting person by any stretch of the imagination. The bank guy seemed like a nice guy and I'm sure they go through an extensive background check that probably stops short of a prostrate exam but this is our money. Money we have been waiting for so we can do silly things like, put up walls, replace the water heater and pay the people who are schedule to come on 12/22 to seal our fuckin foundation! Thank the lord Andy was able to fix the furnace because we would have been a couple of gross tasting popsicles right about now.

Andy and I walked out of the bank feeling homicidal. We talked it over but really what was there to talk about? We had to do what they said.

Since it was Saturday, we had to wait until Monday to get the ball rolling.

On Monday, when I called the first lame-nut bank, after being transferred here and there, I was told that the turdlaced bank we went to the first time had the authority to sign the fuckin check. They suggested I have them call the home office if they had any questions.

ANOTHER DAY WASTED BECAUSE THEY CLOSE AT 5.

Tuesday, I left work early and headed to the bank. We explained the whole dealio to the bank rep. She called their home office and was transferred to about 5 different people until she was told that yes, they could sign the freakin' check.

We went to our primary mortgage holder and gave the nice guy our check but we did ask him for something in writing stating we were giving him the insurance check and to write down the amount. Can you believe they weren't going to give us a receipt?? Hello Vegas!!

Bee to Nice Bank Guy:

Where will they mail the check? I do not want a fully endorsed check accidentally going to my neighbor Wilson because he's been wanting a new riding lawn mower.

Nice Bank Guy:

I'm going to overnight it to the mortgage department and I'll have them mail it to this branch. It should be back within 5-7 days.

Bee and Andy walk out of the bank with a queasy feeling in their stomachs. But that could be because of the Buffalo Wings they ate.

5-7 days later, I call my new friend Mr. Nice Bank Guy and say:

"Yo' dude, where's mah monee??"

He doesn't know so he makes some phone calls and calls me back:

"The check was mailed to your home address on December 5th"

It was now the 11^th, WTF? I kept an eye on my neighbors checking to see if they were walking around in new mink coats and what not but they were the same broke asses as before.

On the 13^th we got our check in the mail. That is 3 months after we filed the claim. THREE MONTHS.

Let's forget about the fact that they sent it regular mail where any Peeping Tom, Drunk Doug or Nosey Ned could reach into my mailbox and take it and buy a months worth of happy endings.

We were happy since we finally had all the hassles over and done with! Whoopie! High Fives all around!

But wait. It seems too good to be true. No more new ulcers making themselves at home in my already holey stomach?

Yeah right!

Monday (yesterday) after work, Andy and I headed to our bank to deposit the check and we were in unusually good spirits. The stress had lifted, the freezing temps were no match for this feeling of relief.

Do you guys remember the little Asian lady who gave me a hard time for not signing with my husband's name on my paycheck? Well, she found a new way to twist our balls.

"Oh no. We no longer cash check for insurance without medallions."

What?

"We got memo this weeken. Other banks must sign and then stamp with medallion"

What I want to know is- whose fuckin nightmare I'm starring in. I need out right now!

I told them to give us our damn check and this was going to be the last time they saw us and our $30 savings account! That'll show 'em!

We are going to open a new account with the bank that has our mortgage. I'm guessing they won't give us any more shit or I will introduce them to my right foot with a follow up of left foot!

We couldn't go today because Mother Nature, bitch that she is, decided to dump a billion inches of snow on us so we'll have to go Wednesday.

To recap, insurance companies suck ass, FEMA sucks nuts and banks are the biggest douche bags of the lot!

I would really love to name names and tell you what banks I'm talking about so that they can search themselves and find out how much they suck but I don't need you crazy hackers stealing our $30 before we can buy more booze.

Humor-Blogs

If you are walking down a dark alley and see a short woman running at you in high heels, step aside or she'll knock you over to get to her victim. Or she might be a hooker and if that's the case it's not me so no worries.

You know how sometimes you wish you could tell your boss to go give a rusty tailpipe a good suck ?? The reason you don't do it is usually because you need your job for crazy things like food, stuff to keep your body warm (this could be clothes or prostitutes because I don't judge… much), stuff for your kids (this could be medicine or Tequila, again, I don't judge), sparkly jewels and shoes.

Instead, you seethe quietly- or as quiet as yelling that you are sick and tired of this pompous asshole and one day you will bump into him in a dark alley and make him eat 4 day old shrimp that was marinated in mayonnaise and cooked on a car engine! can be.

So you sit at your desk, doodle hangmen, while at the same time typing a report you have verbally given him a million times but he insists on seeing it written up with the dates and periods and comas and yes, it will take you half a day but he does pay your salary so suck it up you whiny complainy little pissant (I have learned a new word since spell-check is telling me pissant is actually puissant: powerful; mighty; potent- which I would think would be an antonym of pissant… your thoughts) )and do as he says!!!

Then.

Then your devious little mind concocts a great plan. A way for you to tell that overfed gasbag exactly how you feel and what he can do with his job.

You go back to that 6 page document you just labored over and make a few key letters bold. A few key letters that if you look at them intently might spell out a secret message.

Please see below example:

You left this chart next to my phone on my desk and I was wondering if you still needed it right away or if it could wait until tomorrow or Wednesday? As always, just leave a note on the chart with your instructions on my desk and I will get to it as soon as I come back to the office.

If this message were taken to a special lab, it may be decoded as follows:

You can kiss my ass jerk off!

How do you like me now oh powerful OZ!!??

I know some of you might be thinking I'm full of shit and I didn't do it but I so fuckin did. I did and he read it with no clue. But the best part?

After I spent hours on the report and he read the whole thing, he said:

"My mistake, I gave you the wrong patient name. I meant this guy." because he can find no fault in your work and now needs you to be distracted with yet another project!

And so touché you turd licking toe sniffer. You have won again and all that's left is for me to wait for you in a dark alley.

P.S.

My Christmas tree timbered (fell) because of that brand spankin' new tree stand. I told you guys about the Snowmen, right??? They. Are. Assholes.

Humor-Blogs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, in one year I've gone from:

To:

And:


To the most recent and final:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BURN ASSHOLE BURN!

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

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

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

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

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

TRACY'S!!

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

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

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

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

The current score is Lions: 23 Bears: 20

Humor-Blogs

Oh Gahndi! Will you be my bodygaurd? I know you're dead but I'm sure we can work something out.

As I type this, it's a beautiful evening in Chicagoland. The kind I love and look forward to every year. I'm sitting next to the open window (don't tell Andy, he'll yell if he finds out I opened it again) letting the cool breeze freeze my toes. Our trees seem to be glowing from the fall colors and I know what this weekend's chores will be, picking up soggy leaves and burning the dry branches. Fall? Te adoro!

After reading that, you are probably thinking "Oh good! Bee's in a great mood and it's about time! I'm tired of her constantly w h i n i n g!"

Yeah, dream a little dream, people!

Do you guys know who Gandhi was? Apparently he was some dude who was always peaceful and I believe he won a peace prize for not losing his shit (I can't be bothered to look him up so if you know more about him and I got any of it wrong, don't correct me because you'll only anger the beast)(thanks). Well, even that guy would go apeshit at the Asylum. He would probably hide under people's desks and slash their ankles with a sharpened calculator! … Not that I've EVER thought of doing that… nope.

Went bat* huntin' and...

Weirdly, my relationship with the attorneys I have to deal with has gotten better. I don't know if word has gotten out about my MAD negotiating skillz or what but I now get nice, even tempered requests to go fuck myself as opposed to those rage filled tirades. I call that progress! Yay me!

You know what I've learned here at Arkham Asylum and will be careful not to repeat when I find another job? Now listen up people because this is very important. Your mental well being might hinge on this piece of information I'm about to impart. Are you ready?

No mater what— NO MATTER WHAT!!! Never EVER volunteer to do anything!
.
If you are trying to fit in and have people think you are one of the good guys STOP!
Let's say you just started working at a place and they just opened a Subway across the lot and your Office Manager asks if anyone would mind going across to get the boss a sandwich, do not (NO!) DO NOT take pity on the old decrepit crones and say "Oh, I'll go.".

If you do, you will forever be known as the dog who goes and fetches. And the times you say no? Woo boy! It'll be like you just told them you filled their gas tank with sugar.

If, for example, your job description does not say you have to relieve the receptionist but you think "Meh, I should volunteer so that everybody is equally watching the front desk. What can it hurt?"

For the love of peaches!! STOP!!

What will happen is that they will EXPECT you to KNOW everything there is about that desk. They will EXPECT you to ALWAYS be the one to be her back up even on Fridays.
You remember Fridays, right? The days you are already stressed to your eyelashes because you have to meet with a demanding boss who will give you a list of accounts that'll have you scurrying and then just want to talk about how nutritious Cheerios are. Really? Lower your cholesterol you say? May reduce the chances of a heart attack or heart disease.

Well, sign me up for a fuckin boatload there sparky because MY heart is doing all kinds of funny things right now! Oh what pretty dots I see.

FUCKERS!

Uh, but I'm not bitter.

*Bats is what I call all some of my coworkers.
.
Humor-Blogs

P.S.
My 36th birthday is rapidly approaching. It hopped on a jet and will be landing on my head faster than I can say "What The Fu-"!
.
(THAT'S THE BIG THREE SIX PEOPLE!)
Last year, I started bitching about it in August. You've been lucky so far.

Listen, I can't always use my handy hammer!

Quick!

Someone give me 3 good reasons why I shouldn’t tap dance on OZ and Glynda’s head while wearing 4 inch heels!

The most creative answer (that does not mention MY weight crushing their skulls because that would kinda be the reason for this excessive exercise in brutality) will win One hundred Bee Bucks!*

However, those that can tell me why I SHOULD, get 1,000, you read that right - ONE THOUSAND! - Bee Bucks!

No, this is not a cry for help. I’d worry more about the imbecilic fools I work with!

More on that tomorrow.

P.S.
On the sidebar is a new blogger device which you can click on to *follow me*, can you do that for me? I'm one of the test subjects to see how it would work. Thanks! :o)

*Redeemable only in the imaginary Bee store.

Humor-Blogs

It's like I don't even know him!!

So, on Friday/Saturday, Bee's Musings was out of commission for a spell (always wanted to say for a spell, meh. I think it means for a while in country) due to the evil Sitemeter.

At first, I thought it was my computer because Andy could pull up my blog no problem. I had no clue why or how or what or when or even who but I can tell you that I felt like somebody had given me a swift kick to the imaginary gonads

I really didn't have much time to investigate since my momma was due to arrive and I had Cheerios to eat.

But then...

I received ONE a few e-mails from panicked people threatening to come over to my humble home at MIDNIGHT and have me relate IN PERSON what I was up to.

Having no other choice since I didn't feeling like taking a shower to receive company, I cracked my knuckles and tried to figure out what the problem was first thing on Saturday morning.

The facts were these:
Only people with Internet Explorer had issues.
I couldn't pull up the Sitemeter website.
Other people who had Sitemeter were having the same problem.

DING DING DING.

I removed Sitemeter and patted myself on the back for my deductive reasoning.

What I didn't understand was why Bee's Musings came up on Andy's computer but not my laptop. When I pondered this out loud in the vicinity of one Andrew Husband, his response?

"I use Firefox, Internet Explorer is for chumps."

Mhm, as Mocha is my witness, that's what he said. Did I know he wasn't using IE? Nope.

I wonder what else he's keeping from me? Has he switched my coffee to decaf?Does he add extra softener to my clothes like I ask? Is he the one who half opened my deodorant? Is his name really Andy??
.
P.S.
I checked online to see how much it would cost to replace P-T S (my brain dead assistant) with a monkey and it turns out I'd need permits, proof of disability and around $10 Grand. Now all I have to do is decided what color monkey I want.

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She is currently on hold with an insurance company and keeps sighing out loud and then saying "still holding". Each sigh is making me uncomfortable since I can't tell if she's upset or if it's giving her pleasure...

I just went over and asked her to keep her moaning to a minimum.

Minimum equals shutty.

The story, it ends here. How do I know? Because I wrote *THE END* at the end.

The little mcgigglebiggles that make my laptop run and keeps Andy in his happy place (although, at the moment he's in the middle of another tantrum. How dare I suggest we go for a bagel????) have returned to our lives.
We're back, a little beat be up but not wiser.

And now for the last installment in my assistant drama.

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The name Part-Time Savior, will be no more.
I'm rechristening her Part-Time Suxworsethanshovingbambooshootsintoyourfingernails so that we can keep her initials "P-T S" intact(o-mundo).

I'm tired you guys.
I'm so exhausted I can barely lift my little midget (I can call myself that so no hate mail) fingers from Q to 9 but I will keep typing! Even if I don't make any sense.

I came back from lunch on Wednesday to find P-T S lounging at my desk while sitting on my chair.

MY chair.

Did you read the part that says MY CHAIR??

My chair, the one only *I* have had the pleasure of sitting on because it was bought specifically for my tush (I originally typed TUSHIE but who are we kidding? There is nothing "IE" about my TUSH.).
I felt like Phoebe and her Guitar. "Touch it again and I'll have to pound you a little bit"
I felt like Joey and his french fries. "It's Joey food!"
I felt like Andy and his Cheetos. Too many to quote so I just inserted a linky-dink.

In other, more ghettofied words:

Don't sit. Your stanky ass. On my chair!

Okay, that's not the only reason why she's making my life miserable. I was not amused with her persistence in talking to everybody instead of doing her work. This was her SECOND day!

And the bats? You'd figure because they've lived such long LONG lives they'd know better! Nope, not my dear little blind flying rodents. Oh no. They made it seem like it was okay to loiter by MY desk and discuss the traffic situation in downtown Suburbia.

I am not kidding when I say I was SCREAMING in my head.

I cut in like so-eth:

Bee:
So, yeah. How 's that TPS report coming along. [eye twitch eye twitch]

P-T S:
Great! I've caught on! [while still standing by my desk]

I get up and stand in front of her face and start moving forward making her walk backwards. I had to keep my hands at my sides [they have a tendency to want to karate chop, remember?].

Bee:
[eye twitch eye twitch] Uh-huh. Let's journey to your desk and see, yes?

P-T S:
Now that I know what I'm doing, I'm flying through them!

*Them* being elephants with purple ribbons.




Bee:
Mhm mhm. This report? It usually only takes a few hours so I need it done today, m'kay? [I was trying to convey "I believe in you!" but encouragement is not one of the things that make me ME. ]

P-T S:
No problem!

A few minutes later I overheard her say to her imaginary friend Peppito the Blue Elephant (with purple bow blowing in the wind),

"I hope I'm doing this right!"

Holy ColbyJack Cheese Batman!

2:30

P-T S:
Okay! I'm almost done with it! I'm on page 33! When I come back tomorrow I should FLY by the rest.

If it were up to me, I would have said "You know what? How about tomorrow you stay home, have some coffee and watch some M*A*S*H reruns? Maybe lose our address? But look! As a parting gift, here's a SCREEN-PRINT of the definition for the word "Fly".

NEXT!

Sadly, if you come by Shangrila Bee's often, you know that we collect Lollygaggers like some collect crusty old love letters from long dead mushy wind bags (I hope I'm not offending anybody. If you collect such letters GOOD FOR YOU! Nice to have a hobby that doesn't involve sticking pins through butterfly wings -EVIL BASTARDS!-) (hopefully the mushy long dead wind bags will not be offended either because I need another poltergeist like I need another husband.) .

When I went to Glynda and said "She is not understanding the basic system, I don't think she'll be able to handle the rest of what the position entails"

Glynda:
Well, I'm sure you can put up with her for 20 days.

[I know what you're thinking 6 weeks at 5 days in one work week equal 30 days minus 3 plus red frogs equals ?? I don't know but it's not 20.]

Bee:
But you'll be paying her to do nothing. I don't have time to go back and correct her mistakes.

Glynda:
Maybe she can just pull charts for you or shred paper or file something that doesn't involve the computer.

You can imagine the look on my face.
No, you can't because you don't know what I look like. Sure you've seen some pictures but not the true me that doesn't hide behind her hair or when I'm being morphed. You'll just have to imagine my eyes rolling to the back of my head.

At the same time, I'm a little relieved. Now I know that if I come in drunk/high/knife-wielding/goat-riding/bunny-skinning/shoeless/bra-less/BRAINLESS... you know what? Strike "shoeless" that would just be punishing myself, no matter what I do, I WILL NEVER GET FIRED FROM THIS PLACE.

2 more years for me to be fully vested and then I'm blowing this pop stand. Maybe. Hopefully?

Wait, I think it's 3 more years CRAP!

Don't worry about this old girl. I didn't live to be the grand old age of 35 without a couple of tricks up my black hoodie sleeve. I had a little slice of revenge planned.

Glynda asked me not to tell OZ how much she SUUUUUCKS I told her I was not going to lie since that would be putting my ass in the receiving line of his anger.

When I met with the Great and Powerful OZ for our Friday meeting and he asked me how she was doing, I was honest. Glynda kept defending her and he grew concerned that I was spending so much time holding P-T S' hand. His suggestion, to give Glynda instructions and let her sit with P-T S! So now I have 2 assistants that make up ONE brain.

THE END!

*That wasn't the whole argument but there is no point in me relaying how I tried to show her that logically if someone was here to assist you (me) but you (me) wound up spending the whole day doing the main thing then they just had to do the brainless crap then there wasn't much assisting, am I right?

The saga? It continues.

But first.

I'd like to respond to two commentators from yesterday's post:

Diesel asked...
"Did you really say all that? I'm never that clever when I need to be."

Yes.
My mouth has a mind of its own completely independent from my brain. They hardly ever communicate therefore getting my butt, completely independent from my brain but not independent from my mouth, into the proverbial hot water. I've grown accustomed to the hot water and just pretend I'm in a jacuzzi.

That was a long answer for "Yes. I really said that." ;op

Berry said...
I like your blog but your posts are too long sometimes.

Berry, is it? Like StrawBerry or DingleBerry?

I can't help it. My day is long. My rants are long. My life IS long.
To shorten it would mean Andy is free to marry a true paragon of virtue and I just will not stand/die for that!

And now Berry, just for you, another long post but I semi-promise not to do a post until Friday. If I'm not tired. You have my permission to read this one in two parts while stroking your kitty cat.

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Okay, I know you guys are tired of hearing about my Bat problems at the Asylum. I know you’re thinking “Yawn! Maybe if you stop being such a bitch, people would love you!”

My response to you is “Say that again to my face. Can you hear my voice? That's because I’m right behind you.”

Ha ha did you get chills?? Just kidding I'm too lazy to Google your butt so you’re safe. For now.

Listen, I wish I could talk to you guys about the recent news items that have come to my attention but I just don’t have the time okay? I wish I could discuss with you how gross I find it that women are going to salons and letting fish nibble the crust off their feet but this here is REAL LIFE!

Anyyyyway, Part-Time Savior came in today. She kept holding the left side of her face thinking we weren’t wise to her charade (please say it like the Brits, shah-rod) but I’m desperate and time is running out on me here so I faked concern.

But then, the concern became real.

Our computer system is extremely easy. It’s almost as if they designed it so people with lobotomies could operate it while undergoing removal of their left eye. AND heavily sedated.

At the bottom of the screen it will give you prompts:

A) Launch bug
B) Eat spaghetti
C) Slap coworker

You select what you want and move on to the next screen where you’ll have another series of questions.
Being of superior intellect, I mastered the system and showed the Bats a couple other little short cuts they were never aware of (like screen-prints. who would of thought you can PRINT a SCREEN!) until my dazzling arrival.

The assistants I’ve had before, BD and Dorothy, while not as bright as me/myself/I, they caught on quick. I always start them slow and easy which means they have to learn 5 things the first day (not counting finding your way around the Asylum).
FIVE THINGS.
I print a simple, yet important, report give it to them and by the end of the day they would be almost done.

As I type this, because I have nothing better to do, it is 2:40 and she will be leaving in 20 minutes. I've done everything in my power, except open her head and pour the information directly into her brain, to teach her these FIVE EASY THINGS and she is still not getting it!

Directions are, from main screen.

Select Inquiry. *enter*

Enter Account # *enter*

Hit F3 Key

Highlight patient *enter*

Hit C for charges *enter*

Write down X Y Z from this screen on the report. (This doesn’t count as something they need to learn here because people should know how to write by now)

I know what you’re going to say, why doesn’t she screen-print the information.

THINK OF THE TREES PEOPLE! think of the trees (N C S !!)

No, I only need 3 things from that screen which doesn’t warrant me having stacks of paper.

For some reason, she types the account number and either sits and waits for Zeus to come over and whisper the info in her ear or she enters the account# then hits “C” and “enter” which sends her back to the main screen because the system is scratching it’s head, asking itself what type of monkey is pushing the pretty buttons.

Okay, I do sound mean.

I try to be a patient trainer, I really do. You can ask the people I’ve been boss the of. Brother and sister duo Dan and Nancy, Andy (I’m still his boss so he might not have anything good to say) and BD.

BD! If you’re out there, come out of the attorney slime hole you call your new job and back me up here!

Now I’m 2 days behind because she just left and only finished 8 pages out of 40.

Her excuses for not *getting it* were classic.

“My computer screen is too dark”
I brightened it.

“My F3 key doesn’t work.”
It does.

“When I hit enter it doesn’t take me to the same place it takes you!”
Really? Let me check the computer for wormholes. Nope, no wormholes.

“I’m typing everything you told me to, per my notes, and it’s wrong.”
Is she…? Are you…? Is she blaming it on me?

Yeah, that’s the safest way to go, blame it on me. See where THAT gets you.

More work got done yesterday, when she wasn't here!

If she doesn’t perform well tomorrow, it’s curtains (or coytuns as the mobsters say). I'm not heartless so I'm going to give her another chance, plus I like the way she smells kind of like inscense and Pier One Imports.

════════════════════════════════════════

And now for a mini segment I shall call “the fuckin bitches I work with are a bunch of whiners who want to see me fall flat on my face!”

When P-TS came in, I gave her her governmental forms to fill out and I went to get my coffee. As I'm walking by the reception area, I hear this conversation.

CL to [Toto]:
… well it’s HER assistant I'm JUST the receptionist so I'm not saying anything!

I moon walked back to them and sweetly asked WTF was going on.

CL looked like the clichéd deer in the headlights but Toto asked if I wanted my new assistant to get paid because I hadn’t set up a time card for her to punch in.

I'd like to say I took the high road and shrugged my shoulders as if to convey bygones will be bygones and she is such a silly rabbit. I did not.

I told her we were working for the same company and she needed to grow up!

Why? Why are people such asses? Why would you want to sabotage somebody you work with?

════════════════════════════════════════

It doesn't look like my mood is going to get better anytime soon folks!

Remember, if you have any grievances with what you've read here today, please forward your complaints to:

[email protected]

That's:

[email protected]

Our mutilators operators are standing by!

My nerves? They are tightly wound. But finely tuned.

Picture from Weirdomatic dot com

P.S.
I know the joke is on me since I stand alone and am the one always frustrated and ranting.
See you Friday!

Suntanned Karate Chop Hand Coming to a Face Smack Near You...

Hey!
How’s it going? You guys good? You feeling happy and comfortable?
Do you have a nice wedge of cheese and some Tequila by your side ready to enjoy and get your cheesy booze on?

Good for you!

How am I, you ask.

Well, I’m not gonna lie to you.

I am angrier than a deformed flea who just got pissed on by a swamp rat! I don’t know what that means but it can't be pleasant.

I am so fucking pissed off I’m having difficulty keeping my Karate chop hand still! My very suntanned Karate chop hand! It just wants to jump up and beat the shit out of anybody stupid enough to cross my path!

DON’T CROSS MY FUCKIN’ PATH!!
.
Sorry, I didn’t mean you.
.
The moronic bats I work with are driving me to the brink of insanity and I can't afford to get any closer to the edge!!

Anyway, I’m going to try and contain my eruptions throughout this post but, if you all of a sudden see --EARFUCKER!!-- or some odd word where it is not called for, please blame my turrets (which, like Cartman, I wish I had... well, only the awesome random swearing, not the high pitched squeals or twitches).

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I have been lucky enough to meet a lot of cool bloggers since I started this here blog a year ago.
Some of you are as whacked out as I am and others are just along for the ride.
Probably taking bets to see when I will actually crack and my face will wind up on the 7 o’clock news announcing I have stolen all the paper, pencils, staples, folders, etc. from my office and am building a giant ship so that I can travel to all the ports along Lake Michigan (my aspirations are low).
.
Some bloggers and I have more of a stalking relationship than others. You know who you are. Those that get e-mails from me saying stuff like “THIS MOFO NEEDS TO BE BITCHED SLAPPED AND I’M JUST THE BITCH TO DO IT!!” or “Tibet hasn’t been freed yet? I could have sworn… ?”

Yeah, real intellectual stuff right?

Today, I’d like to showcase one bloggy friend.
I’ve talked about her before, how I admire her wholesomeness, lack of swears and how she makes OLD MEN cry!

The pay off has been great because I’ve received things in the mail that make me giddy. Recently, Elastic (AKA Melissa my *kin*) sent me a nice little pick me up. Something that would make me laugh, cry, wonder why we live so far and still hope her man will be transferred to a city near me so that we can be BFFs, sitting-outside-the-Tastee-Freeze-with-our-nachos-making-fun-of-the-poor-fools-THAT-GET-IN-THE-WAY-OF-MY-KARATE-CHOP-SUNTANNED-HAND, in real life.

She knows me so well without actually having met me and now I have proof.



See pens? Uh-huh me likey!
See sox? Total Playgirl!


Here is the weird part. Do you see this pen with the girl in the scarlet dress and the flowing hair?

What would you say if I told you that 4 years ago.

I went to a Wizard World Comic Book Convention.

Stood in line outside to get into the Rosemont Horizon renamed Donald Duck Stephenson Conventions Center.

Got myself my little geek (temporary) pass.

Went inside.

Trolled all the little stalls.

Looked at women with massive boobs.

Got hit on by one said woman with massive boobs.

Looked at art from all kinds of peeps.

Finally bought a print I’ve been displaying proudly since.
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Did you just get chills from this awesome coincidence??
To top it off, her daughter was the one to find them and say "Oh my gooossshhhh, that is SO BEE!"!

Unfortunately my blog is rated R so I'm sure she's not allowed to read my thanks.

:o(

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Thank you my Elastic friend and her oldest daughter Sunbum!!

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Look at that, no turrets episodes. The savage beast is at peace.

(FOR HOW LONG?)

Humor-Blogs Subliminal Message.

All I need is ONE cup of coffee just ONE! Until I have it, I guess you can say I'm not very pleasant.

Hey! Guess what? Today was fuckin' Monday! Well, it technically still is I guess but I’m fast forwarding my mind and making it Tuesday because I can’t bear another second of this awful freakin’ day!

I consider myself to be a nice person.

No, really! I AM nice!

I don’t go around bashing in people’s heads unless I’m provoked! I don’t go around making fun of people unless they do something stupid and then KEEP doing it.

It = anything that annoys me.

IT can also equal breathing, depending on my mood but whatever.

Anyway.

As the nice person I claim to be am, I made the coffee at the Asylum this morning even though it wasn't my turn. My logic was, the sooner it’s made, the sooner it can find its way into my veins. After giving it a reasonable amount of time to brew, I beeped CL bitch from hell receptionist and asked her if she’d like to go get her coffee first while I watched the phones. That was nice right? Putting her caffeine addiction before mine? When we all know that the world is a better place AFTER I’ve had my coffee?

And what does this numbnutts do?? She has a whole conversation with the punishor of speech, Milton . You know, the one that will regale you with the colors of socks she hunts for at the mall on weekends.

I could hear them chattering in the middle of the hall while my hands were getting shaky and my lip was trembling and my foot was jerking ready to kick somebody’s ass… Hey! I think I might have a problem but who cares! I just want my coffee!

So I got up, walked over to them and said “Okay, my turn.” forcing CL to run to answer the ringing phone.

Who do you think was the bad guy? Me!

I’m sorry but 20 minutes is way too long to wait for someone to come back from pouring a cup of coffee. Yes, I understand these people are soocially challenged but you know what? I gotta look after numero uno! Well, Andy is numero uno so I’d be numero dos.

For the rest of the day, both of them gave me the glarey-bitch-silent-treatment. What they don't know is that I INVENTED the glarey-bitch-silent-treatment! So there!

And to put the shit topper on my shitty sundae, my mom has decided to lengthen her stay until the end of July!

THE END OF JULY.

I know what you're thinking "Stop your whining you big baby!"

Don't make me go over there!

Andy and I have been surviving but just barely. We try to persuade people to invite us over for dinner but I think they're finally on to us. Maybe it was the containers we bring to take leftovers.

Maybe it was the fact that we drop in on them unexpectedly at say, midnight, and just raid their fridge. I don't know but their lack of food is getting on my nerves.

I'm tired of cooking! I want some nice homemade Mexican food! I need me some Espinazo, Caldo de Pollo Guisado, Carne de Oinko en Chile.
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Okay, it's not just about the food. My mom and I have a very close relationship. We see each other everyday and bond over Saturday morning coffee. She yells at me for not looking after the Numero Uno Husband and hates that I don't have kids but we learn to shelve these issues like all great families do.
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My sister, my mom and I are so freakin close! Oh and Dan too cuz he's a momma's boy and it isn't natural to be 31 and still calling her mommy. It's only acceptable if you're a girl. Then it's okay to be 35 and still calling her mommy.
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You know what else happened today? George Carlin DIED. Well, he died on Sunday which I think is ironic considering all his jokes about the sabbath. I know it wasn't technically on Monday but Monday is when I found out! I went over to visit Leigh and it was like a punch to the gut! I loved that dirty old bastard! Now all I have is my weird fascination for Eddie Izzard. I think we might wear the same size shoes.

I hate Mondays
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I know a lot of people did their tributes to him already but work had me too busy to update the blogus. Below is one of my favorite bits from his HBO special and it's regarding the 10 commandments. If you are overly sensitive about all subjects but are a fanatic about religion, you probably shouldn't watch it. If you have a sense of humor and can laugh without thinking too seriously on the issues, please watch it. If you're mad at me for this whole paragraph, you really really shouldn't click play.

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Please click on Humor-Blogs on your way out. Do it for George!

P.S.

If you're thinking my rants are bullshit, I kinda agree now that I've had my coffee. ;op

I find your desire to kill ME extremely annoying.

I think Andy is trying to kill me!!!

Are you done clapping? No? Okay, I'll give you a couple more minutes... ... ...

Done? Okay. Let's move on shall we?

I really do think he's trying to kill me!

Here was my first clue:

Andy:
Bee, I think I'm going to try changing the oil in you car myself.

Bee:
Why? Jiffy Lube* always does a great job!

Andy:
Don't worry, it's just oil.

Bee: [a frown creasing my smooth brow]
'Kay.

THEN!! CLUE #2

Andy:
Bee, I might as well rotate your tires too. All I have to do is move the front ones to the back, back ones to the front.

Bee:
Uhmmm... I don't think that's a good idea. I mean, what if you miss a couple of lug nuts? You might send my car spinning into the river. When I hit a pothole. While I'm doin' 65 in a 45.

Andy:
Nah, you'll be okay. The river isn't so deep around that area.

Bee: [GENUINE FEAR IN MY EYES]
Can you ask my brother to help you?

CLUE NUMERO TRES!

Andy:
I was thinking I should try changing your brakes too.

Bee: [running to hide my car keys]
No! No no no. Now you've gone to far! You've lost your mind! No.

Andy:
It's no big deal! I talked to some guys that said all you have to do is change the whatsit pads blah blah look like an accident blah blah.

Bee:
Andy? Haven't I been the perfect wife? Haven't I encouraged you in every way possible? We've had some good times, right? WHY DO YOU WANT TO KILL ME?? Won't you miss my constant mocking?

Andy: [scratching his head]
Are you serious or just overreacting?

Bee:
What about when the dogs attack you? Who will save you if I'm ashes are on your night stand?? [I've decided that's where I want to be]

Andy:
Bee! I'm changing the oil, rotating, the tires and changing your brakes. Nothing will happen to you because I obviously pissed off some deity at one time so our lives will be intertwined until the day I DIE!

I have to admit, that was a very compelling argument!
... Still, if you don't hear from me again, maybe you should call the police?



*Jiffy Lube? Seriously?? who came up with that name? K-Y? Maybe if you click on Humor-Blogs we'll get some answer!
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P.S.
I just saw a picture of Burt Reynolds nahhked(from the 70's I think)!! Was his father a gorrilla?? Uh... I meant because he's hairy.