Bee's Musings

Clarification, Pontification, Stupefaction. I think.

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 04:32:00 +0000

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

'Nuff said

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 19:18:00 +0000

♪♫ Here's the mail it never fails it makes me want to wag my tail MAIL!! ♪♫

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 06:42:00 +0000

So, I received my first birthday card of the year. It was from my friend Brian:

Then he left the country so that I wouldn't use his head as a soccer ball.

I mean, grey hair? Really? Not even if my brain turned into mush and I had to communicate like this "Waaaalgreen's hairsh dryeesh!" (sorry if that offends any of you drunkies). I have no control over wrinkles but my hair will bend to my will!

Thank you, Brian!

Anyway! The winner of Robert Kroese's novel, Mercury Falls, iiiiiiiiiiiis!

Heather K. (who may or may not want to send me her address considering I threatened to leave Tazz at her home as my calling card)! Congratulations!

You know what else is cool, Heather? Since this copy was not signed by Rob, I myself will sign it! I know! You will have a one of a kind, only used for signing paychecks, Bee autograph! (Don't worry, a little white out and the book will be good as new!)

Rob's interview to come next week because I suck at homework.

I not only hate my job but the man behind the curtain can suck it too!

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 04:55:00 +0000

So. I had a bad fucking day today. It started with my bank saying we never deposited my paycheck on Saturday and that was all because they couldn't tell if my Andy had written an *8* or a *9* as our account number so the idiot teller decided to toss a coin and went with the wrong number.

Unfortunately for us, we couldn't find our receipt. I asked for a copy of my paycheck from OZ and Glynda and they acted as if I was trying to steal the Mona Lisa and after an hour of the 3rd degree, they relented. Then Andy called me to tell me he found the receipt so all was roses, right?

Wrong. Apparently I still look like shifty thief so OZ asked to see a copy of my bank receipt and the people I spoke to at the bank.

I came home, talked to Andy and we decided to give him the info on the people we talked to but we put in writing how he was not entitled to my personal bank receipt so in essence we wrote him a big FUCK YOU letter but we did it in such a professional manner he won't have no choice but to kiss my ass.
How paranoid and stupid can one be?

Anyway, I'll be back later with details on who won the book.

Norm!

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 03:28:00 +0000

I was walking to the mailbox located in the building today and I saw Norm standing by the entrance. Having a lot of work to do but not really caring, I went over to say hi and see if there was anything new.

Me: What's shakin bakin?

Norm [looks at me sideways]: Who are you, Chuck Woolery?

Me: Who?

Norm: Never mind. I can smell the weather changing. Pretty soon I'm gonna have a couple of hundred people ragging on me because of the icy parking lot.

Me: jerks.

Norm [shrugs]: You can't please everybody. Some people complain that we drop too much salt and [uses high pitched whiney voice] their pretty shoes are getting ruined. I ask them all if they fell on their heads one too many times and think they're living in Hawaii. This is Chi-freakin-cago for cripes sake! Know that when you walk out the door your ass may be skating through the parking lot.

Me: I bought sensible winter shoes last year to prevent exactly that.

Norm: The plastic surgeon used to give me a lot of guff. I'm interested to see if he says anything this year. If he does I'll say "Dr, you and I can both appreciate being between a rock and a hard place." HAHAHAHAHA!! Get it?

Me: Will you yell at me if I say 'no'?

Norm: Do I have to spell it out for you? A rock? A hard place? I caught him shnooping his assistant? Come on! I've been practicing that for months!

Me: That is way far off, Norm. Maybe say something like "Are you worried your assistant will hurt her knees?" Eh?? That ones free.

Norm: That makes no sense. Hey, what is with that pale woman who works in your office? She plugged the toilet and kept flushing until it overflowed!

Me: Whaaa?? When? Which pale one?

Norm: The one who walks with her butt up in the air [Milton!]. I was coming out of the utility room and she bumped into me and told me the toilet overflowed
and then proceeded to give me a detailed description of what she'd done in there! That woman is a nugget away from the chicken farm!

Me: ::blink blink:: . . . . . . BWAHAHAHAHAHA!

Norm: I asked her why she kept flushing! If the water wasn't going down, it was going to come UP! How many fancy colleges did she go to?? She said she thought that with enough [air quotes] "momentum" it would be fine. I said, "Lady, a plugged toilet doesn't fix itself!" but the worst part was that she wanted to help me fix it then clean it up. She kept trying to take the mop until I told her she was violating building codes. Then she just stood there watching me. I
had to pretend someone called me so that I could walk away.

Me: Yep. She is persistent.

[Suddenly he straightens himself up and starts yelling at an old man.]

"Hey! Make sure you don't drive over the curb this time, okay?"

[Old man ignores him.]

Norm: So I come back a few minutes later and she's still standing there waiting for me! In the same exact spot! I asked her if she was a robot- did you ever see that movie Starman? She's like that alien guy! What does she do in your joint?

Me: That is up for debate.

Norm: I think I'd chew my arm off if I had to deal with her on a daily basis. Then I'd jump into a shark tank.

Me: Yep. That's pretty much how I feel everyday. She's a nice person though and tries really hard but . . .

Norm: Have you resorted to drinking yet?

[stops talking and yells at the same old guy he told not to drive on the curb who was currently driving on the curb]

"WHAT DID I TELL YOU OLD MAN!!"

[old man flips him off]

Norm & Me: Old People!

And that's when I realized something. If Norm were 30 years younger, he'd be my best friend.

I am not a farmer so I hate it when people mess with my routines!

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 03:01:00 +0000

So, remember how I keep telling you that my work computer is virus infected so I can't go on the internet and the majority of the programs are corrupt therefore I am unable to access them anymore? I've learned to live with it for the most part but today its failings almost made me lose what's left of my mind. Wait. That deserves an exclamation point and and some capitals. WHAT'S LEFT OF MY MIND!

As most of you may know, we changed the clocks this weekend. Now, Instead of waking up before the sun rises, I wake up before the sunrise. So yeah, the only difference for me is that now I have to fight the thugs who loiter in the parking lot after 5 because it's dark when I leave the office.

Anyway, back to the computer issue.

The time didn't update on my computer. Right now, as I type this, the time reads 12:51 PM but it's actually 1:51 PM. Due to the virus, I cannot go in to fix it manually because I get an error message stating "your computer is so fucked, you may as well just grab your ankles!". I know an hour doesn't seem like a big deal but, when you base your happiness on how much longer you have to be at your desk before you can shake the shackles and hit the road to temporary freedom (because we know we'll be back in less than 15 hours)(unless we get hit by a train. then it may take longer), not knowing the right time is nerve racking.

So at 9:30 I thought it was 8:30 but then I counted how many sips of coffee I've had and concluded it was impossible for it to be 8:30. I adjusted my brain clock and continued working. A little later, my phone rang and I noticed it was 10:15 so I had to sit and stare at my computer for a few seconds while trying to remember if I was supposed to add or subtract an hour. I HATE MATH! I figured out it was 11:15 and moved on to another project.

Everything was fine until my stomach started making horrible growling noises. I looked at the time (notice a pattern here?)(of me being a dumbass?) and thought "what is the matter with you, Jelly (as in Jelly Belly)? it's only 11:45! I normally feed you at noon!" 1... 2... 3... "Oh crap! It's probably 12:45!"

Which brings me to this very moment. I've decided to do this:

and look like an idiot instead of being late for lunch ever again!

Sometimes work is just so stressful!

Randumbness

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 04:51:00 +0000

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

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

What? You gonna cry for the squirrels now?

There is no mercy in this DOJO!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you! Thank you verrry much!"

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

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

The end.

You want something scary for Halloween?

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 21:18:00 +0000

How about the Jack-o-lantern my niece made?

Don't worry about me getting mold on my fingers since the lucky one stuck with the cleanup is my sister, the person who gave birth to adorable niece Natalia.

Kids: 1,234,765
Parents: 0
Bee: :o)

Mercury Falls A Novel By Robert Kroese. Who is Robert Kroese? You will soon find out!

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 03:26:00 +0000

I came home the other day to find 2 copies of Diesel's, or as his parole officer calls him "Robert Kroese", new book, Mercury Falls, on my dining room table.

It was like Christmas!

However, the fact that I received 2 books puzzled me. Knowing our history, I had to email him RIGHTAWAY to make sure he was aware he'd sent me 2 copies because one was addressed to "Bee Cor-" and the other to "Bianca Rut-" (both people are me)(we use the same head). I didn't want him to think I cheated, you know, again.

Diesel replied that he sent me 2 copies on purpose. One for being a snazzy dresser (he chose a winner via eenie, meenie, miney, mo) and the other for having a terrific disposition (I'm a Humor-Blog supporter). He also said I could do whatever I wanted with the second book.

Soooo being the ever generous, kindhearted person that I am, I decided to brighten someone's day and have my very first book give away!

[hold for applause]

Anybody can enter. All you need to do is email me at beesmusings @ gmail.com and your names will be entered in a bowl, or maybe a hat because all my bowls are dirty since I can't find a man-maid, and I will choose one winner. Don't worry, you don't need to write an essay telling me how much you ~~hate~~ love me. You don't need to have a blog or a dog or a frog you just need to have an email address and probably a computer. And an address where I may mail the book would help. You have until Sunday night November 1st to enter.

I haven't read the book yet because I'm waiting for the perfect weekend where I will be free to immerse myself in the apocalypse (YAY!) and have nothing else to do but shake in my slippers!

No, I'm sure it won't be scary. Hopefully?

Besides, the name of the book, Mercury Falls, made me think of a soap opera the whole time he was pimping it. Kinda like Melrose Place with better characters and writing.

Anyway! Once I read it, I will engage Robert Kroese in a Q&A and also give you a review of the book. In the meantime, enter to win. Send me your email. You have nothing to lose but your silverware!

*****Disclaimer!*****

The following people cannot win the book:

Anybody with the last name of Cor**** and its affiliates, Rut****** and its affiliates, people who already received a book from Diesel or have a pirated copy because pirates are scum. I don't care how many movies Johnny Depp makes!

Please tell me your worst birthday story. But nothing sad like "oh, my dog died on my birthday!" because then I will tell you that you suck.

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 05:00:00 +0000

Today is my little sister's birthday.

She turns the grand old age of... twenty-something.

She's getting to that age where we women hesitate to answer truthfully. Except for me. For some reason I start adding years to myself months before my birthday. It could be the old-timers disease everybody keeps talking about.

Anyway, I won't be the one to say how old she is today (but next year she'll be the big THREE-O).

Unfortunately for my little sister, she is spending her birthday at jury duty! Boo!

Don't misunderstand me, I'm all for people doing their civic duty (as long as it's not me being inconvenienced) but it sucks when you're stuck doing it in the worst part of the city (County Jail!!) on your birthday!

So, lil sis, if you're reading this now, while you're stuck sitting next to an over perfumed man in a business suit who keeps looking sideways at your boobs and a woman smelling of BO and cat urine, please know we're all thinking of you (as we sit in comfortable chairs while sipping coffee).

Happy Birthday, Nancy! And give 'em hell!

That's me and her, she and I, dressed up for a special occasion I can't recall... a wedding maybe? I'm singing to her and for some reason she's laughing. It can't be my voice?

Also, she is going to kill me when she sees this picture but I think she looks cute with her little curlers and her teddy bear.

P.S.

Nobody make mention of the fact that her birthday is only a few days away from Halloween, okay? I think she's suffering enough right now since she's probably struggling to find a comfortable spot in those crappy plastic chairs while balancing a book and her Mochachacaca from Starbucks.

Fatty Fatty Bo Batty- Goodbye My Chubbos!

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 06:51:00 +0000

Okay so I have some news.

In the next few months I will be on a quest to lose the flab that sits next to me on trains, planes, cars, bars, chairs, bears uh everywhere?

Yes, I know I've said it a few hundred times before but this time it's serious because there's MONEY involved!

My brothers Sergio and Dan along with my sister Nancy, Andy and I are participating in a friendly wager to see who can lose the biggest amount of human grease (would you like some bacon with your breakfast?) in 6 months.

The winner (ME) will walk away with 400 American dollars. That's almost enough to buy a small country!

I know you're used to me being meaty and jolly and now you're selfishly thinking I'll change and I'll become bitter (when I tried to type *bitter* it came out as - bUtter-which makes sense because I'd love me a stick of butter covered in sugar right about now! ... kidding... maybe) and humorless because I will always be hungry but you really have to stop thinking of yourselves! Besides, I don't think my sense of humor will disappear with my body fat. It might even help with honing it because it may help my delusions become clearer. Maybe Ill be more focused. Isn't that how Ghandi was able to achieve inner peace?

My goal is to lose 30 pounds in 6 months (hopefully not all in my boobs) and with my winnings buy a new wardrobe. I know you think 400 smackers may not get me far but, since I'll be a starving waif consisting of just decaying bones, all the clothes I'm going to buy will be from my former slutty clothes supplier, Rave. Their motto is "If people can't see the color of your underwear, you didn't buy your clothes here." ::sigh:: Rave, how I miss you!

Anyway, this is one contest where I can't cheat. Well maybe I can. You see, Andy and I may have gone a little overboard in the over stuffing ourselves before the official weigh in at 11ish AM on Sunday morning. We will have breakfast, drink a lot of liquids and not go to the bathroom until after we are weighed.

Andy, the string bean, is taking this very seriously (he downloaded and Ap for his iPhone that tells him exactly how many calories are going into my mouth)(that's what she said!)(are we done doing that?) so he decided to bake a cake as a goodbye to all pastries.

(my contribution were the nuts)

So yeah, in 6 months I may be so skinny, they'll think I gave birth... to myself only a thinner version. Does that make any sense or am I just sleepy?

P.S.

I went to my hairdresser, Freddy- El Monta Hombres (that's what he calls himself)(that means he mounts men), today and he asked "how do you want it" and I stopped and thought about it in horror for a minute but then I realized he meant my hair so I said "Do whatever you want" and that obviously means "please remove all of my hair from my head" because I am now sporting what he called a "a hair cut all yuppie women are getting and you look white so it'll fit your face" the jury is still out and I just realized I now have no protection for my neck when winter hits. That makes me a little sad but mostly cold.

(It's all gone! ::whimper::)(That's my chin, not my nose. Andy was like "wow, you're nose looks huge in this picture!" and after he regained consciousness, I let him know I'd clear it up for everybody so that they wouldn't make the same mistake)(also, we were at the food court in a mall after we decided to have a romantic day of getting haircuts for Andy, Tazz and myself then taking my car for emissions testing and stopping for a walk down memory lane at a mall we used to walk through everyday after work.)(eat your heart out Michael Buble!)

Maybe I'll just have to rock this look:

Nah. It looks like my head is hibernating.

Now I go sleepy.

I was late in feeding Big Moe, Larry O. Pompadour and Curly the Acrobat... I think they were pissed.

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 02:36:00 +0000

They may one day kill me in my sleep.

I am going to start charging a separate fee when I translate sign language.

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 01:26:00 +0000

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.

Sure, I got back at them by calling them "ass-faces" or "jerk off bitches" in English because they only knew the one language so they'd be clueless but victories were always short lived.

I honed my Spanish skills the same way a ninja masters his fear of heights, the dark and large pointy objects being thrown at his head. As my vocabulary expanded, so did my confidence in slaying those taunting jackasses I called my family. (KIDDING! I love them all- except for 2)

I made a great pupil and assembled an army of Spanish words the likes not even the Spaniards themselves had known existed! I learned to side step their word darts and lob off a few of my own verbal grenades. People learned to be wary of my poisonous tongue.

And those victories were chiseled in the family hall of fame with the sharp needles of a drunk porcupine!

Anyway, flash-forward to the present. Spanish has been a useful tool that has gotten me far in life. (Well, not so much *far in life* as *living in the suburbs*.) I have helped many hard working individuals needing a translator who wouldn't just make up words by adding an *o* or *a* to the end of an English word. The word "cast" does not become "cast-o" the word "fracture" does not become "fractur-a" okay it does because that's how you say fracture in Spanish.

My point is, I'm great at my translating duties.

There have been times when I've been embarrassed (like the time that dude hurt his shoulder from wiping himself) but, with the diligence of a nun kneeling during prayers, I have worked through the pain and discomfort.

This all changed on Monday. I was pranked again by that evil bitch, Karma.

I was called to the cast-room for translation. Nothing surprising about this patient. He had an ankle fracture, they were casting him, I was just going in to explain the x-rays, care of cast and to see if he had any questions.

Things were going okay but you could tell he had a question he seemed too embarrassed to ask.

Finally, OZ asks: Is there anything else before I leave.

Man: I was just wondering if me and my woman [I kid you not he said *my woman* !! Okay, I may be a tad judgmental especially because I call Andy *my man* but it's cute when I do it] will be able to [pumps hips] you know.

Ladies and gentleman, I've had a lot of awful experiences in my life, a bunch of embarrassing ones and a ton of nice ones but none of them ever prepared me for that! None!

Like there wasn't one time I thought, "Okay, I only have enough to pay for Nancy and Rick's bus ride home so I'll have to walk from here. Sure it's 10 degrees but that's okay because if I'm ever translating for a guy and he wants me to ask the doctor if he can have sex with his woman, this experience will come in handy!"

I bowed my head, and I tried to come up with a proper phrasing because I could not bring myself to utter the word *sex* in front of OZ.

Me: He wants to know if he can have relations with his girlfriend.

OZ [blushes, stands up straight, sprints for the door]: yeah sure! That's great! [leaves]

I know what you're thinking, '*relations*, Bee? What are you, living in an 18th century novel?' And to that I answer. Screw you! ::sobs:: Screw you.

The sad part? I don't think I needed to say one freaking word because his uh DEMONSTRATION? was universal in all languages! And besides! Do you need a flip book showing you what body parts you use for sex?

Do you really need your ankle?

Dumbshit.

I don't get paid enough.

I bought 15 pounds of pork and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 01:38:00 +0000

Costco has become one of my favorite places to visit on weekends. I know, pathetic. I find myself coming home with enough food, drink and napkins to last us a couple of months. The napkins last longer because who uses napkins?

This weekend, we went for our weekly romantic Costco trip and stumbled across some exciting buys. Above mentioned 15 pounds of pork shoulder mmmmm bring me a fork! A pumpkin pie bigger than a Mac truck's spare tire and 4 pounds of mixed nuts in their shells for only $7.49! It would be a crime not to purchase them.

Andy did have some reservations on all the nutage because he wasn't sure we had a nut cracker (other than yours truly, I mean) so he didn't think it wise for us to buy them, get them home and then have no other recourse but to use them as a fancy decoration because we'd be unable to get to the yummy center.

I call this "Nuts in a vase, what your mom should have told you about women."

I sadly shook my head and told him this was one of those examples on why growing up in a privileged household may work against him and not allow him to cope with life in the lower class.

Me: Do you think our ancestors had such luxuries as "nut crackers"? No! They used stones to bust their nuts!

Andy [fierce whisper]: Shhhhhhh! Keep your voice down! I am not going to use a rock to eat nuts. I'm no savage!

Me: I will not be silenced! Wanting to survive the winter is not being a savage! Olden days people were proud and honorable! Sure, they pillaged and plundered but then I've seen you eat all the chocolate cupcakes without sharing so who are you to throw stones??

Andy: Just take the nuts. TAKE THE NUTS!!

[a little girl cries out for her mom in fear]

Me: Good going, Andy! You made a little girl cry! Andy?

[Andy has put as much distance between me and my bag of nuts as is possible in a warehouse of oversized items]

Me [to myself]: He doesn't have to worry his pretty little head. I'll show him how to eat these nuts.

Then I walked away because people were staring.

At home, I introduced him to Greta:

Tada!

I call this "Crushed nuts, what your dad should have told you about women."

Greta is usually used on those rare occasions when I cook and need to set my stirring spoon down on something other than Andy's head. I think she did a fantastic job, don't you?

P.S.

I also bought some sweatpants (Ralph Lauren @ Costco?) (don't judge me, I live in a cold climate!) and I need to ask if America is turning into a land of giants. My mom normally hems my pants (because I'm 12)(and cheap) so I tried them on so she could see how much she needed to cut and hem. The length she needed to cut? The length of my leg! How is that even possible?

"Bee n' Andy" Will be back after we finish winterizing our home.

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 05:41:00 +0000

Somebody would have failed the Craft Store's Smart test!

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 18:53:00 +0000

The ladies and I were discussing places we've lived in while growing up, freshly kicked out of the nest, newlyweds, etc.

Me: One of the dumps we lived in was a basement apartment with no heat which meant no hot water either. -In the middle of the Chicago winter. - We had to heat up water in old electric instant coffee makers and then dump the boiling water into a bucket of ice cold water which would make it lukewarm. By the time you stepped into the tub, shaking, it was already cold and with no heat in the house, frostbite would be attacking your special places.

Glynda: Oh wow. I went through the same thing when I was traveling through Europe in my 20s. We didn't have bathrooms in our rooms so we had to use the community one in the hallway. By the time I took my shower, I barely had any hot water left.

Me: ::blink blink:: It's like you and I lived identical lives!

This woman is a nurse.

If she has trouble distinguishing the difference in our two stories maybe she shouldn't be allowed near a scalpel? I mean, if a patient comes in and needs a shot of syn*visc in their left knee, will she prep the left shoulder because it's closer to her and besides 'they are the same'?

It's a serious question that may save someone's life.

Hotmail: Powerful Free email with security by Microsoft. Get it now.

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

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 01:32:00 +0000

As a way to help our home economics, I have been looking for a part time job.

Andy is dead set against it because I will not be at his bellow and call ("Bee! I can't find my slippers!" while he's wearing said slippers) but I look at it as a way to push ourselves over that little slump. He finally said he'd stop giving me crap about it but suggested I look for something I liked. I told him I liked buying shoes but I doubted there was anybody out there willing to pay me to buy myself shoes.

I decided to just put as many applications out in the hopes of getting a few nibbles. I think any job would do because I don't feel like anything is *beneath me*. Except being a hooker. I draw the line at that.

In this day and age, applications are mostly taken online. I applied to most of the retail giants and then decided to apply to a couple of places near me, one of them being a craft store with locations all over the US.

To be honest, I don't know the difference between lace and tulle but I thought I could BS my way through the application. See example answer to the question "why do you love crafts":

"I love crafts because it gives me the opportunity to bond with my 6 y/o niece over something productive!"

It sounds like something I would say, right?

However! I did not count on the online application consisting of 3 parts. 3 parts! To work in a place that sells googly eyes.

DO THEY KNOW WHO I AM? I WORK AT ARKHAM ASYLUM!

This application was more time consuming than the one I had just completed for a drugstore that sells, you know, DRUGS!

Here are the 3 parts.

Personal:
Where they ask you for your address, work experience and if it's okay to do a credit and background check.

Mmm okay? I promise to pay off those boots once I get the job and I'm pretty sure I was cleared of the library incident where I "accidentally" walked out with a book in my bag when I was 9 .

That was the easy part and only took about 2 minutes to fill out.

Next we have:

Common Sense/Problem Solving/Intelligence:

This test/questionnaire had 60 questions with a disclaimer that read "we know you won't be able to answer all the questions in the allotted time of 10 minutes, do your best"

I shook my head in disbelief because I have always hated taking tests and here I was taking one for a job I didn't really want where the employees, from prior experiences, are not, by any stretch of the imagination, Mensa candidates (which, by the way, Mensa in Spanish means dumb girl).

Anyway, back to the quiz. I did what any ~~mediocre~~ great blogger would do and highlighted the questionnaire so I may copy and paste it on word to show you guys and my family.

Guess what? Once I highlighted it, it gave me all the answers! You all know how much I love to cheat so . . . Score!! I will be classified as a genius that finished the 60 question test with a perfect score under 10 minutes. Take THAT Mensa!

Solve the following problem and click the option box that contains the correct answer.

A box can hold 4 books. How many books can 5 boxes hold?

a) 9 b) 10 c) 20 d) 30

√ Answer: You should have selected 20.

Read the following definition and choose the first letter of the word that best fits it.

An open area free of woods and buildings

√ Answer: The word is FIELD. The letter F is selected because it is the first letter of the word FIELD.

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

1. Sally likes 225 but not 224; she likes 900 but not 800; she likes 144 but not 145. Which does she like?

a) 1600 b) 1700

Answer: Sally is a gold digger.

2. If two typists can type two pages in two minutes, how many typists will it take to type 18 pages in six minutes?

a) 3 b) 4 c) 6 d) 12 e) 36

Answer: Trick question. The truth lies in the butterfly.

3. If it were two hours later, it would be half as long until midnight as it would be if it were an hour later. What time is it now?

a) 18:30 b) 20:00 c) 21:00 d) 22:00 e) 23:30

Answer: Somebody better tell me what time it is! If I miss The Office, I'll be pissed!

Even though I had a perfect score in the *smarter than a stump* part of the test, I could not get through the last portion of the application which was a 12 part questionnaire with a varying number of questions:

Mental Health/Personality:

Q: If a customer asks you an obvious question, would you help them and not convey your annoyance via facial expressions or verbal abuse such as "Really? You need to know where the fabric is? The giant cardboard roll of fabric right next to you isn't a clue?"

In other words, they want polite, friendly people.

I find this interesting because of an incident that happened when my mom and I were in there. I think I was looking for fake snow for my Christmas village and my mom was browsing in the fake flower section. She stumbled across a vase with a beautiful arrangement, she touched one of the fake flowers when all of a sudden a little Asian lady comes out of nowhere and starts yelling at my mom, telling her not to remove flowers from the display. I immediately make my way to them so that I may add her to my key chain collection of "people I have bitch slapped for being mean to my mom" when I realized my mom had it under control. She looked the woman in the eye and said "Shut up!". The Asian lady, stunned, walked away, shoulders hunched over in defeat.

Who was sleeping at the gate when they employed that dud?

Next question:

Q: If you see Bob hit a coworker over the head with a fake Christmas tree would you,

a) help your defenseless coworker
b) help Bob
c) hide and call the police

Well, it all depends on what that coworker did to Bob. Did he/she eat Bob's skittles? Because then I would hold him/her down while Bob went to town. And maybe would thrown in a couple of kicks myself. Some people need physical encouragement to behave.

I gave up on this part because there are only so many times I can answer the same question, worded differently, over and over again without tripping up and showing my true, blood thirsty, colors.

So screw you Craft Store. You missed out on one extraordinary employee! An employee that would bring you joy, booze and gentle mocking. An employee that would be late for work 55% of the time and early to leave 100% of the time. Not to mention my brute strength and ability to control "Bob's" psychotic outbursts. Your loss.

... it's just another manic Monday!

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 03:10:00 +0000

Man, today hit me like an out of control granny driving a tank and chewing bubble gum.

I really don't feel like getting into the the incompetence of everyone I work with because you've heard that song before and reliving it just makes me want to squeeze my eyeballs.

Anyway, in what I originally thought was the capper to my crappy day, I soon realized it was actually the highpoint of my crappy day.

I was sitting at the front desk while Cowardly Lion went to the little girls room when I noticed a patient staring at me. I thought "yep, I still got it!" but then I wondered about the guys eyesight because today was definitely not one of my *good face days*. Not that I have many. At any rate, I would look up and he would look down quickly. I would turn away again but then snap my head back to look at him and he would pretend he was interested in the ugly wall rug that resembles a sushi roll full of rotted meat and rat hair.

Weird.

When CL came back and I went to my desk, I pulled out my mirror so that I may admire myself and that's when I noticed I had gone about 3 hours with a blob of make up in between my eyes!

This blob was bigger than my fist!

(simulation)

Now I need to ask you, would you let your coworker walk around for hours without telling them they have goop on their forehead? Would you let them humiliate themselves by checking people in and out when up at the front desk while CL empties her bladder or fills it with coffee? Would you let them go into a room and translate for a patient without so much of a mimed forehead rub from across the room??

I mean, I wouldn't have said anything to them either but this office should only have one vicious vindictive witch and I'm planning on keeping my thrown until it's pried from my cold dead ass.

P.S.

Don't ask me why I didn't notice it myself upon leaving my house because I will be forced to beat you with a piano.

Bee can't come to the phone right now...

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Sat, 10 Oct 2009 17:11:00 +0000

She and Andy are at Starved Rock.

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

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 05:00:00 +0000

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

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

I know what your thinking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jessie Pavelka from Lifetime's DietTribe.

The flush heard around the world.

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 05:00:00 +0000

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guess what I did. I froze again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BLL:
::gasp::

2 other women in the waiting room chuckle.

And I'm baaack!

Of birthdays and future births.

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 05:00:00 +0000

So guess what?

For those of you thinking that's the inside of me, shame on you! No, that's my brother Sergio's baby inside of his wife Crazy Ez. Their first little dude (or dudette). Isn't he (or she) cute? Awwwwww!

When they sent me the picture, I immediately printed it and showed it around the office and then placed it on my wall.

Coincidentally, today is also my brother Sergio's birthday. He turns 34. Happy Birthday! You're gettin' old, brother!

____________________________________________________________________________________

On Saturday Andy and I went to Yu's Mandarin (the most delicious food you will ever eat!). At the end of our meal, they brought us our fortune cookies and my fortune read: "You will encounter luck in the near future" so Andy said (with an urgency he reserves for taking over hills or mountains or whatever they take over in that wacky world of weirdness game) "YOU HAVE TO BUY A LOTTO TICKET!!" and I was like "What???" because I was crunching my fortune cookie so I didn't hear him and his facial expression scared me. He repeated and I rolled my eyes.

Fast forward to Tuesday evening. He was about to take a shower when I noticed a set of odd number on my phone.

Bee: Oh, hey! Do you still want me to buy that lotto ticket?

Andy: You haven't??

Bee: Uh no. I haven't bought a lotto ticket since the 90s.

Andy: Dammit Bee! If the numbers come in and we didn't buy that ticket...!!!

Bee: So? Buy it?

Andy: ... I would kill myself!

Bee: ... ::blink blink::

Andy: ...

Bee: I guess we're buying that ticket.

Why so serious? Talkin' about making me a widow!

You're ruining iPhone day!

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 01:25:00 +0000

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!

So hey! I'm still here!

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 04:01:00 +0000

Just wanted to say real quick that I'm trying to recover from the rage of the Olympic committee being such butt munchers and tossing my Chicago out like a used snot rag! I will now boycott all Olypic events until the day my mind forgets what the Olymipcs are.

I will not watch a single event which is pretty much what I do every Olympic year but that's neither here nor there.

Jokes on the because I didn't want all those people eating all my pizza anyway.

I'll be back later Monday with a "real" post.

P.S.
Zombieland rocks ass! "it's time to nut up or shut up" is now my most favorite phrase in the whole world!
Okay I may have had too much OJ and vodka with my Danish butter cookies. Then I ran out of OJ.

I bet you didn't think I cared. Well you're wrong! I do care! I care so much I'm letting Kevin from "Always Home and Uncool" take over my blog. (send help)

beesmusings@gmail.com (Bee) — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 05:00:00 +0000

Kevin of Always Home and Uncool, one of the funniest dudes I know, has asked me to post this as part of his effort to raise awareness in the blogosphere of juvenile myositis, a rare autoimmune disease his daughter was diagnosed with on this day seven years ago. The day also happens to be his wife's birthday. Obviously all diseases suck but, those that afflict children pierce my heart. I know it's hard to believe coming from me but I do have a soft spot when it comes to the little people suffering. Please read the story of his family and help in any way you can.

Our pediatrician admitted it early on.

The rash on our 2-year-old daughter's cheeks, joints and legs was something he'd never seen before.

The next doctor wouldn't admit to not knowing.

He rattled off the names of several skins conditions -- none of them seemingly worth his time or bedside manner -- then quickly prescribed antibiotics and showed us the door.

The third doctor admitted she didn't know much.

The biopsy of the chunk of skin she had removed from our daughter's knee showed signs of an "allergic reaction" even though we had ruled out every allergy source -- obvious and otherwise -- that we could.

The fourth doctor had barely closed the door behind her when, looking at the limp blonde cherub in my lap, she admitted she had seen this before. At least one too many times before.

She brought in a gaggle of med students. She pointed out each of the physical symptoms in our daughter:

The rash across her face and temples resembling the silhouette of a butterfly.

The purple-brown spots and smears, called heliotrope, on her eyelids.

The reddish alligator-like skin, known as Gottron papules, covering the knuckles of her hands.

The onset of crippling muscle weakness in her legs and upper body.

She then had an assistant bring in a handful of pages photocopied from an old medical textbook. She handed them to my wife, whose birthday it happened to be that day.

This was her gift -- a diagnosis for her little girl.

That was seven years ago -- Oct. 2, 2002 -- the day our daughter was found to have juvenile dermatomyositis, one of a family of rare autoimmune diseases that can have debilitating and even fatal consequences when not treated quickly and effectively.

Our daughter's first year with the disease consisted of surgical procedures, intravenous infusions, staph infections, pulmonary treatments and worry. Her muscles were too weak for her to walk or swallow solid food for several months. When not in the hospital, she sat on our living room couch, propped up by pillows so she wouldn't tip over, as medicine or nourishment dripped from a bag into her body.

Our daughter, Thing 1, Megan, now age 9, remembers little of that today when she dances or sings or plays soccer. All that remain with her are scars, six to be exact, and the array of pills she takes twice a day to help keep the disease at bay.

What would have happened if it took us more than two months and four doctors before we lucked into someone who could piece all the symptoms together? I don't know.

I do know that the fourth doctor, the one who brought in others to see our daughter's condition so they could easily recognize it if they ever had the misfortune to be presented with it again, was a step toward making sure other parents also never have to find out.

That, too, is my purpose today.

It is also my birthday gift to my wife, My Love, Rhonda, for all you have done these past seven years to make others aware of juvenile myositis diseases and help find a cure for them once and for all.

To read more about children and families affected by juvenile myositis diseases, visit Cure JM Foundation at www.curejm.org.

To make a tax-deductible donation toward JM research, go to www.firstgiving.com/rhondaandkevinmckeever or www.curejm.com/team/donations.htm.