30 November 2009

My NonComplacent Blog Is 5

Keeping up with my maddening posting schedule of once a month, I'm making this a celebratory post...and inspiring you in the process.

I'm a dinosaur in blog years. 6 years of blogging Go me! Since myspace blogging doesn't quite grace my mind as proper blogging, I'll proudly admit to a 5 year old Blogger Birthday today.

Abandoning my status quo of silly entertainment for a few, I'll share with you the latest and greatest in BeeRepartee-ville. I've been all kinds of seriously lately and wonder if I decided to grow up when it comes to being realistic about my goals. And so I've discovered something.

Complacency.

How I hate that word.

The concept is a constant antagonist in my life...seeping, prying, invading. For me, complacency is lingering without direction or wisdom, not a peaceful state of being. In other words, mediocrity. I fight with this daily because to be mediocre when goals are to be had or while pursuing great accomplishments, I would just rather not try at all.

I could chalk up a lack of trying to my need for perfectionism or the latest socially digestible phrase such as OCD, however I only know one way to push off complacency: charge my way through the problem with all the mental prowess and physical strength I have at my disposal. Charging like a bull is exhausting.

Sometimes this fight is all consuming and leaves little for friends, family, my hobbies, and things I love to do. Sometimes I am overcome with bouts of melancholy and hopelessness that I will not succeed in my goals leaving me to cling to discipline to get me through. I do not categorize these bouts as clinical depression but simply knowing my own mood swings and knowing myself best. Its these darker times I see myself in the truest light, the simplest form, to allow myself to be introspective enough to challenge what I don't have the drive or will to accomplish.

Is this part of growing up? Is this what 'knowing yourself' is all about? Perhaps, it is. In any event, I feed my inner Drill Instructor to pull from myself the will and drive to accomplish great things.

In short? A disciplined self is a powerful self.

I've had to challenge myself this quarter in school. Disciplines are difficult for me as a constant. Motivation is difficult. I get bored, tired, or my worst enemy...feeling status quo and beat myself up for not being the best. Half-assed is not a method to a comfortable end for me however, it is my tendency to go there when I'm feeling less than motivated.

I say all this because I know many also struggle with this. I'm not alone. Whether it's personal, psychological, physical, or spiritual, I think most everyone can agree that complacency is a nightmare to any kind of goal.

I challenge you to find an area of your life where you know you should or could use disciplines. I've picked this next semester to be a serious throw down for me. I will own each and every one of my classes. I've already picked up running for a personal discipline. And at the risk of sounding narcissistic, I am freaking proud of myself for sticking with it even when there are sleeps to be had!

There is also something to be said for the glory of a well-filled ipod to make a 2 mile run a reality.

I hope to stick to this challenge to myself over this next bloggy year. In turn, I hope this post will bring about a positivity to your day, your week, or your life. It's my 5 year bloggy birthday present to you.

You are welcome.

~Bee will share her running music mix if you share yours

14 October 2009

Posters, Biology, and General Nonsense

Do you see the time stamp?

Oh, yeah. That's real time. Biology exam cramming + flu demands unusual hours. Haha, say that 10 times really fast.

It may interest you...or not, that the ability to make no sense is inevitably higher when it's in the wee morning hours and you've consumed enough coffee to calcify the liver of Juan Valdez and his burro. Nyquil also does the job. I should know, I've been mainlining that stuff with this crud I contracted last week.

So, you ask, where is my will to blog? The will to create? The will to drink milk straight from the carton with wild abandon? It's been taken to the pokey for routine questioning and I think it's still being held hostage in booking. Forcing my hand, I am allowing creativity out on good behavior between the parietal bone and cuboidal epithelium, aka short break from studying while I'm strung out on flu-inspired uppers known as 'cold medicine'.

I'm making no sense.

I just noticed I didn't post in September. I can't remember when I went a whole month without spewing nonsensical about school, books, and my neighbor dude who looks barely old enough to buy beer and looks like a very famous Hollywood actor. I pass him (the neighbor dude, not the actor) on the stairs and I turn into an awkward teenager.

Let's just say the movie star hair is quite lovely and when this fetus...uh, um...the neighbor dude... and I pass on the stairs, I typically become enamored by my Chuck's, keeping my head down. If I look up and say hello I end up blushing like I'm asking Santa for my first training bra. What the heck is that?


Speaking of Mr Coffee, he's has been out of town working again. Weekend only conjugal-mybestfriend-imissmyhubby- visitations are not making me happy which leads me to believe that in reality my neighbor dude, McHollywood HottieHair looks more like he could eat corn through a picket fence and I'm simply riddled with lethal levels of estrogen.

I'm leaning more toward massive chemical imbalance.

The only upside to Mr Coffee being away from home is that homework gets done faster and I can starfish the bed during the weekdays. I'm also reading more so my studies don't wholly consume me while I'm having a Nyquil Sniffling, Sneezing, Aching Head, Tripping on Acid, So You Can Rest Medicine. I've also learned that my library allows 50 books checked out on one card at a time. Additionally, the library also allow 50 books on hold.

Do you know how tripped out you can get when you have 100 books at your beckoning call? I'm punch drunk on the power of the library card and it's glorious internet-accessible library catalog.

Mr Coffee has also gone out of his way to provide me with stellar reading material. There is a new New Moon magazine that he brought home for my, and I use this word liberally, literary consumption.

He must really love me because he had to stand in line with a Twilight magazine. Probably wearing his USMC t-shirt, cover, and 50 pouches hanging off his belt for his assorted items he carries on a daily basis, ie..leatherman's, flashlight, cell phone, wallet, pocket knife, assorted pens/notepad, small pup tent, and one lone paperclip to lethally deal with the guy behind him that snorted and whispered, "sucker" after noticing Mr Coffee's impending purchase.

Oh, yes. Captain Awesome must love me.

The magazine has posters that my teenager absconded for her very own. There were two posters that I wouldn't let her put on her wall as they were smoking off the paper and burning holes in my retinas. Posters such as these remind me of my aunt.

First, I will clarify. I love and adore my aunt and while this juicy tidbit of poster mayhem may be a comical memory for me, it's sweet imprint upon my meager brain cells is equally endearing. Growing up, my sisters and I visited my aunt's apartment now and then. We'd find ourselves using her bathroom and dropping trou' right in front of Tom Selleck.

Yes, the actor Tom Selleck.

It's killing you isn't it? You want to ask me why.

I know you do.

Okay, I'll spill.

My Aunt is about 15 years older than me. I didn't even know what puberty was when Magnum P.I. hit the airwaves. However, my aunt had a roommate that couldn't resist him. And really, do I blame her? That chimney brush 'stache, the red Ferrari, and what appeared to be the giant, permed Ewok glued to his chest.

When visiting my Aunt, I would go to the bathroom like all normal people do until I'd see it. Those ridiculously small 1980s NBA-like athletic shorts. The smile. The Hawaiian shirt.

It was a giant poster.

Right. Above. Her. Toilet.

I'd walk into the bathroom, turn on the light and I swear to you, Tom's eyes would follow me around the room. I'd hate to turn around and tell him not to look because well, that was crazy. But Tom's presence was unnerving enough to give me stage fright on occasion just knowing that he would see me in all my mooning glory as I sat down to take care of business.

It was also bad because in the 1980's I thought of Tom being a serious old dude. I had not yet understood the appeal of some heartthrob over 20 years old who oozed manliness out his giant cavernous dimples. It was not in my rationale either, to consider 30 years old as anything other than worthy of a social security pension and a free tube of Bengay.

I only wish I could go back to 30, but yeah, whatever.

Poster madness is a good memory. I just wonder what my kids will think when they have to pee in front of some old guy. Haha, take that Tom.**

~Bee is off to find the sphenoid bone.

**please be aware, no actual posters have been hung anywhere near my bathroom or bedroom. My Aunt also states in her defense that Huey Lewis was much, much hotter. 

23 July 2009

Can It


I can have an adventure pretty much anywhere, but the grocery is practically Disneyland. When I pull into my grocery, I can't wait to buy, interact with others there, and effectively piss away half my paycheck. See? Disneyland. If the checkers donned mouse ears, I wouldn't know the difference.

What I can't understand is why people purchase things like this giant One Whole Chicken in A Can.


Who in their right mind thought this was a good idea? Were the Chicken Ready people all sitting around one day staring at a pile of over-sized juice cans, "What else can we stuff in here? Gee...I think a chicken would fit."

I thought you wouldn't believe me so I had to stop isle traffic while everyone stared at me taking a photo of this outstanding delicacy. I'm pretty sure it's the most disgusting thing I've seen on a shelf. Aside from tripe or pigs feet in a jar, it's right up there with the top 4.

I was told the can opens up and out comes a chicken in one gelatinous blob. Now that's gonna be tasty. Perfect for company or even Christmas dinners.

Chestnuts roasting on the open fire AND hot damn! A Whole Chicken in Can!

The one in the picture comes without the giblets. I'd hate to open up my Whole Chicken in a Can to find out I'd bought the kind with giblets. Wouldn't you? There has to be room in there for an ENTIRE chicken though, and when I pay for an entire chicken, it darn well better have the giblets, too.

And why not Two Whole Chickens In A Can? Sometimes people get hungry and One Chicken In A Can just won't do.

Another problem is that Whole Chicken In A Can doesn't mention whether this was beheaded chicken, or clawed and footed chicken.

I don't know how I will live on not knowing but I think I'll manage.

~Bee only eats canless chicken.

20 July 2009

I Should Have Entered The Bulwer Lytton Fiction Contest

As the big letters spelling PIE passed in front of her, filling her tri-toned windshield right before impact, her eyes couldn't help but catch a glimpse in the rear view mirror of how lovely she looked, face gently framed by her new No-Fade, No-Drip Revlon #184 hair color she had done herself thanks to Hair Hut Beauty Supply, only to be jerked back into a fearful reality by the inevitable prophetic absoluteness of her mother's voice that stuck in her head, "You better have on clean underwear if you ever get into an accident with Bradley Pie Truck".
~Jenn of Bee Repartee, safe driving, clean laundry wearing blogger.

For the 2009 Bulwer Lytton Fiction Contest winners click here.

17 July 2009

My Stylist Is Named Chuck

We spent the day at the pool again today.

Good fun, good sun, and good lord, some awful swimsuits. Believe me when I say that I've seen my share.

Years ago, I had the unbelievable fortune to answer an ad in the paper for a model. It was for a major corporation that required a part-time secretary and a part-time model for their design department. I interviewed on a Friday and arrived on the job by Monday.

I was more than thrilled. I was a bona fide Jantzen diving girl.

Working in the rag business was bittersweet for me in many aspects. Fashion ruled as a fickle mistress, determining deadlines, necklines, and tan lines. Designers came and went. Fashion fluctuated from season to season. In one creative misstep a designer's baby could easily become yesterday's brat.

If anything you have to have a thick skin to work in the fashion industry. I did not have thick skin.

As a fledgling teen, I was thrust into an environment that was driven by what was hawt and what was not. I read so many Italian and UK Vogue Magazines that year. Let's just say I didn't wear a sack to work, but it should have helped.

My boss would laugh at me after one of my protests over the dishrag size of my suit. "You got it you flaunt it, don't you think?"

Being my dad's tomboy, I never thought much about fashion. I was more of an imitator. I'd see it and wear it.

Cyndi Lauper had lots of bracelets? So did I.

My neighbor bought acid washed jeans? I was at the Gap using my savings to buy the cool jeans.

Molly Ringwold had a fedora hat. So did my friend, Dani. Now I wanted one.

(Am I dating myself here?)

Fast forward to 2009 and I'm still not a natural fashionista. When it comes to something beyond my chucks, t-shirt, and a good pair of jeans, I'm a lost cause. Sure, give me a little black dress and some heels. Almost anyone can pull that off. Some guys can pull it off better than I can.

To my surprise, my artsy fartsy, left-handed, 6 year old has started to scrutinize my choices. She'll stand in her little boots, jeans, denim jacket and tiny purse, hair perfectly coiffed while giving me an expert critique, "MOM. Those shoes do NOT match. Go change, pleeeeease?"

Yeah, my stylist--who still eats glue and dons a Hello Kitty comforter on her bed. The one covered in stuffed animals. But I have it on good authority that's hawt.

~Bee loves her Chucks

09 July 2009

Gonorrhea, Neighbors, and Berry Picking

For the love of all that is holy. I have to do another post in this lifetime so you can see what kind of shenanigans I am up to.

BOOKS MAKE YOU SMART BUT ONLY IF YOU AREN'T ALREADY REALLY DUMB.
I bought a book on how to write. I know I can string a group of coherent phrases together that sound remotely intelligent however this is a book for a REAL writer. Not bloggers like me who have appeared to have fallen into the Grand Canyon on their last vacation.

Okay, not really. I didn't go on vacation. Unless you call endless days at the pool getting skin cancer a vacation.

Where was I? Book...

SOooo this book is supposed to make me a DF Wallace, Agatha Christie, Edith Wharton brilliant writer. I dove into the chapters and am attempting to do their exercises to beef up my sentence structure with.

Haha, I just ended my sentence with a preposition just to see if you noticed.

I remember growing up, and being the homeschool prodigy I am, I can recall with crystal clarity my mom taking every opportunity to keep my English in check. She would ask me to slow down, speed up, or "diagram that sentence" when I'd try to explain something to her. The thing is, I am a horrible excuse of a linguist when I get excited. My brain is sprinting to the end of my story and between my vocal cords going awol and being excessively tongue-tied, I simply can't keep up.

Well, now there is a book for that but diving into their word building and sentence structuring, the book should have been named, "If You Want To Feel Like The Writer Equivalent of a Mouth-Breather, Buy This Book".

So that's coming along nicely.

I LOATHE MY VAN
Need I say more? We are going to be van shopping soon. Not because I want a car payment but because if we steal one, we go to jail. Repair is no longer an option for the Ford "Windstop" but I've been thinking. I think I'm changing my major to auto repair because auto shops make bank. I'm going to have to ebay one of my kidneys soon or set my van on fire and claim my insurance check. Ha. Ha. Just kidding Insurance People, I'd roll it off a cliff.

Safety first, kids.

TVS ARE DEPRESSING
We've all done the digital switch and only one TV in the family room has a digital tuner. Im going to throw it away because I don't watch TV anyway. Our humble mud shanty just got electricity and running water, so I'm not holding my breath for cable any time soon. We haven't missed the TV, in fact, it's been weeks since I've watched anything. I know I haven't missed much but I do like watching Entertainment Tonight to see who's dropped dead lately or to hear of my favorite little city.

Welcome to Insanity Town. Population: Robert Pattinson.

Like who wouldn't wanna go there? Teens are getting pregnant just thinking about him. Gay women are going straight. Grown women are mailing panties to his house. God Bless Entertainment Tonight for letting me know.

As for dead people and Hollywood? They are dead. It's sad, but we are all dying so lets get on to other important things, like taking the kids berry picking this weekend or setting the van on fire.

DID YOU SAY BERRY PICKING?
I did it as a kid and it's pretty much a rite of passage in my family. We'd go berry picking and on the sweaty drive home stop for our Big Gulp and have a car sing-a-long. This is where we learned all 11 verses of Oh My Darlin' Clementine. Which by all right is a morbid song about a Gold miner, '49er who loses his love when she drowns and then all is set to right when he kisses her little sister.

Dear God, people! This is supposed to be a kids song. Wait till we start on the one about the neighbor with the friendly gonorrhea and how we die in a zombie apocalypse.

This weekend is berry picking. It's the All American past-time for people who can't afford to shop at Safeway and apparently its more health conscious than meeting the neighbors. I might make some freezer jam on Saturday if I can swing it. Otherwise, we'll be at the pool afterward getting cancer with Dapoppins and her kids.

With our Big Gulps.

Singing Oh My Darlin' Clementine. And What's A Little STD Between Neighbors.

I just made that up.

~Bee will sing all 11 verses at her van's funeral.

24 June 2009

Connecting Schizophrenic Dots

I don't talk about my schizophrenic mother too often. There is a fine line between respecting someone with a mental illness, such as schizophrenia, and having your stomach ache from laughing at the scenarios my mother manages to get herself into. For instance, I get a call...

I answered the phone politely, "Hello?"

Recognizing the caller ID I knew it could only be my mom. She used a phone my sister was paying for but she wasn't calling at her normal hour of 9pm, 3am, midnight, fill-in-the-blank with any hour that was ungodly. I was immediately pulled from my surprise by the demanding voice on the other line, "WHO is this?"

My niece does not yet have the best telephone manners, even at 16, but my sister's voice was the one I heard.

"Dev?" I inquired. Maybe it was my sister.

"Who is this?" my niece sounded confused.

"It's your Aunt Bee. Is this Summer?" I quickly added.

"Oh! Hi, Aunt Bee. We didn't know who Grandma was calling all the time. She's been calling EV.RY.ONE," she enunciated every syllable.

I heard her mumble to my sister, "It's Aunt Bee..."

"What's going on? Is your Grandma okay?"

Calls about my mother were usually not good. For the last six months my mother has been living with my sister, and her boyfriend, along with my niece. It's been comforting to know my sister has my mom out of a Board and Care Home and surrounded by family. However, my sister is doing her best, with my mom. Jane is battling her own stuff and my mom's health and well-being is wholly consuming.

As much as I'm used to caring for my own kids, I see my mom in that same way. I always wondered when the switch happened, from daughter to mothering my own mother.

I'd planned from a young age to have my mom close. Her health has not always been compatible with my immediate family nor has our living situation been conducive to an extended stay. She lives in California. We live two states away. Distance also has been an issue but the biggest is my mom's health. My sister took my mom in because my mom was caught cheeking her meds (hiding them in her mouth and not swallowing them) because she was "much better now". This is common for people who live with mood altering prescriptions. My mom, as brilliant as she is, thrives and has an amazing quality of life when she stays medicated. Stays, being the operative word.

Picture this: Your brain firing with each thought through your synaptic paths. Now imagine having 10 times the firings that you should with each thought, your brain going in a million different directions at a time. What's in the now? What reality and what's imaginary?  It's like driving a rocket sled on your daily carpool=Overload. This is the same kind of reaction my mom has on a daily basis. She's amazingly brilliant but with this kind of overload, she feels, thinks, acts in skips and hops. Talking to my mom is usually like playing connect the dots. She says sweetly, "Don't eat cornflakes when I'm gone!".

What does that mean?

It means that back in the 70s my mom had a parrot she absolutely loved. She or a neighbor fed it cornflakes one day and it choked and died. So, in short, my mom was telling me to be safe when she is not around.  

Connecting dots.

I wish I had property with a mother-in-law house behind the main house. I'd want my mom to feel like she had a place of her own, but close enough to us to manage her care and let her see the kids grow up. But until her meds are adjusted and a house is purchased, my kids wouldn't understand when Grandma is yelling at "her mom" in the mirror. My kids don't understand when Grandma is calling TBN prayer line for two days straight, slamming doors around the house, and pouring gallons of bleach down the toilet to "get rid of her bathroom problems".

My mom is also a blurt-er, declaring things that should *never* be said, especially around my kids...for instance, it didn't matter if she saw things this way or if this is how the stories actually went down. There was the time she was attacked in high school, or the affair that happened before I was born between a male family member and another married woman. And yes, the same woman I was supposedly named after. Which was confusing because I was told once that I was named after a character in a Pat Boone movie. That was during my mom's Pat Boone phase. Regardless, my kids just stared wide-eyed at these new revelations. Not good.

Yeah. How do you follow that kind of bombshell? So And So had an abortion in 1989. Can you pass the ketchup?

Today's phone call was beginning to look like my mother was in her true form.

Summer started into a rant about my mom. "Well, Grandma has been calling everyone! She's racked up the #%$# phone bill. My mom is pissed. She can't even talk to you right now."

"What....?" I knew this was only the tip of the iceberg.

Summer laid it out almost sounding amused. "Grandma called the FBI a couple times and told them Obama was going to be assassinated by someone." Her off-handed reply shocked me. I quickly composed myself and tried my best not to bust up laughing.

Apparently, my mom had to shake things up. Suits were coming to her door. The authorities are getting involved. And my sister just wanted a roommate who would pay her rent on time. I guess the $ cell phone bill was not a factor in that equation.

Thanks to my mom, somewhere in government-land, my FBI file just got fatter, now tagged along with the phone calls my mother was making. Big Brother has probably now documented, next to the incidents I'd experienced as a bank teller, the anti-patriotic notes of my possible assassination intentions as a law-abiding, school-going, mother and wife. Yeah, and not to mention further proof of my unpatriotic status as a Libertarian voter and whoops, I had that one speeding ticket back in 1998. I hang my flag out on Fourth of July and Veteran's Day...and once forgot it overnight.

The moral of the story is: Connecting the schizophrenic dots is a serious responsibility no matter how side-splitting funny it is. Especially when Big Brother is watching.
You can quote me on that.

~Bee is all about the red, white, and blue. Really.

22 June 2009

Schools Out For Summer

Today was a good day. I spent the morning with the family at Powell's Books.

I could spend weeks there. 68,000 sq feet of books = book heaven. I was tempted to buy a few books but after buying a new bookshelf last week and stocking it full with books I already own, I am resolved to reading what I have on hand...or go to the library to grab something new.

HAHA, I am so dang funny.

I've compiled a list of books I want to read this summer, but I keep coming back to the Twilight books. Every time I read them, I see another layer, another aspect, another vein of interest or something annoying. Although, after reading Emma by Jane Austen about 20 times before I could move on, I'm really not surprised.

Persuasion by Austen was even worse, pouring over and over the book front to back. I also read Stephen Lawhead's Song of Albion Trilogy five times over before I could put it down. It feels very OCD but I love diving into books this way. There is so much one can miss the first couple times a book is read.

School went well this quarter, not as well as I would have liked. I made a stupid mistake on my final paper for English but this is what I get for not being better prepared.

Math was also a struggle because I had the Absent-Minded Professor for an instructor. He'd write 4 + 1 = 3 on the board. Or he would be saying "squared" and be writing cubed at the same time. I could tell he was absolutely brilliant but his methodology was not ideal for the way I learn.

The basics of math are to teach the common way to solve an equation or algorithm.

After the basics are down, then the instructor should proceed to teach the students the little short cuts or different ways of finding the answer.

This instructor would give us every way in the book to find the answer to an equation, right off the bat, and then turn and wonder why we were all, "GOSH. MATH IS HARD."

He felt it was more important to concentrate on the many different ways to a solution and focus on the process rather than the solution or answer. I got decent grade in this class, and I'm surprised I did so well.

Computer class was fun for me and the instructor was outstanding. I did have issue with the test. For instance, "Is Proquest similar to Google?"

Well, of course it is similar, because they are both search engines. Although they are not the same kind of search engine. Leave it to me to over-analyze a test. Long story short, my grades were worse this quarter, but not bad, so I've been told. I'm my own worst critic, so I'll get some cheese with my 'whine' and leave it at that until the fall.

~Bee still thinks math is hard.

13 June 2009

Grouped Poop and Twilight

By this time next week, I'll be finished with this quarter of school and my last three finals. Until then, I'm stressed. I shouldn't be. This quarter I really have my poop in a group.

Lets hear it for grouped poop.

I'm writing my Eng102 paper on Alternatives to Gardasil. It's coming along nicely. Just not fully there...polished. I am an editing/rewrite queen, so lord knows, I'll be tweaking it for the next three full days. I'm already registered for fall with a 14 credit load. Baby girl will be in full-time 1st grade and I'll have more free time to actually update my blog.

HAHAHA, Im funny.

But I'll be off school this summer. To read. And read. And read some more. **and blogging more!

Speaking of books, (and I can hear the moans and groans now....) I decided to reserve a copy of the book Twilight by Stephenie Meyer. My daughter is aching to read it since all her friends have. Vampire books in my house were high on my favorite book list between Your Pet's Inner Qi and The Skinhead Life For Dummies.

But I started Twilight. And I couldn't put it down. And then I went out and got the others in the series and read those, too. All four books and the unpublished partial of "Midnight Sun" devoured in four days.

I guess it's easier to eat crow when it's still warm.

What is with this series? Why are people going gah-gah over the book? I'm so glad you asked! Its not original. Its not mind-bending, award winning literature. Its like bibliophile cotton candy.

I decided to write a review about the series for all them haters, lovers, eye-rollers, or those simply curious. I do recommend reading the books before you make judgment...or at least reading my review. Here goes:

I never set out to like these books.

I am far from the person who finds vampire stories captivating and being more of the one to buck the trends of the sheeple, I withstood the general consensus of "you gotta read this because everyone is reading it". And that damn apple book was every.where.

I'd known what to expect by critics and enthusiasts alike: cotton candy fluff writing, romance, allegorical, timeless love story, co-dependence, and self-discipline. It took me until two weeks ago, at the prodding of my daughter, to read the book with open-minded skepticism. I never thought I'd enjoy the story.

Being my first vampire story read, I was thankful for the easy read. For those who criticize the basic writing, I would agree that the story is simply written. It's geared towards teens and I knew I wouldn't be reading something deep, human, and twisty as the Count of Monte Cristo. Rather like comparing a soup broth with a four course meal. Sometimes, you need your steak and potatoes, but sometimes it's good to just have soup.

I won't explain the plot, as so many have easily done, but will explain how the story stood out to me. I'll answer the biggest question: What's the big dealeo!?

Taking several weeks to mull this over, I have an answer: I don't know. But I'm picking up books again.

There are many women that relate to Bella, but even deeper, there are many women (and men) of all ages want to be loved in this over-the-top way. Does this desire to be adored and loved mean it's realistic? Not in every relationship, although I'd like to think so. The draw is that women see Edward so entirely devoted to Bella and I don't know a soul who wouldn't want that same devotion in their own life. This is the same reasoning behind the term, "chick flicks". Generally speaking, women like the warm, squishy, lovey dovey stuff. We can't help it. We want to be Cinderella and have the white knight jump in a save us without later having to clean the horse stall and wash his dirty clothes. We want to be independent and strong, not some campy heroine that whines and skitters around when something or someone bad happens. We want both sides of the coin.

The story is written in the first person, so relating to Bella was an easy task. As one having felt like a much older soul that my own teen years afforded, I understood Bella's decisions, strength, and independence. She was used to being the 'grown up' for her mom who raised her and thus, her relationship with her father, Charlie, would be distant but not strained. She never thought much of herself, always thinking of others.

I caught an allegorical "deny your self with discipline and restraint, and strive to better yourself despite it all". It was an interesting idea, depicting teens with restraint, "good" vampire or not.
Many people find Bella's co-dependence on Edward idiotic and sickening. It's one of the biggest things I hear repeated over and over. I didn't see it that way.

I saw their relationship differently. They were a couple so deeply in love that she nor he could survive without each other. It's a fairytale, wishy, warm fuzzy love, like that first crush you had in Jr High or High School - not to say that a person and a vampire falling in love is something you would see everyday.

Bottom Line: Twilight is not reality. It's fiction. Love or hate the story but why insert reality in a story that is based in fantasy?

Do people complain about the impact on teens when a dog named Snoopy violently attempts to shoot down the Red Baron...and while not wearing proper aircraft restraints or pants? Does it mean that teens everywhere are unbuckling their airplane seat belts as we speak?

I liked Cinderella like any other classic tale, but does it mean there are teens buying up glass shoes and me complaining about unhealthy expectations in attempting to ride around in a pumpkin?

Do we argue gravity with Superman fans?

The story isn't supposed to be a normal love and reality, like, I'll take out the trash, honey, can you pay the water bill type of life. Its Princess Bride, Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast. It's mushy and gooey, of course, appealing easily to anyone who fancies teen "I can't live without you" type plots. I don't know anyone who wouldn't love to experience that at least once in their life. Don't we all remember our first love? I do, and don't laugh but his name really was Edward. But I can safely say he was not a 6'1", 108 year old vampire.

That leaves us with fantasy being a bad message? No. We dream, we tell stories, we imagine. The story is simply entertainment and that worked just fine for me.

~Bee is reading books with words and everything.
Listening to: music is off, I'm reading now...

15 May 2009

That Guy On The Treadmill

I'm writing from school today since I have an hour to kill before my next class.

School has taken over my life but I'm loving it. I'm certain I would not have savored this road in life let alone appreciated classes had I gone to school years earlier in life.

There is something so wonderfully cathartic to be learning. You feel outside of yourself, stretching, reaching, and progressing. With great amazement I find that life is coming closer to me and with each step forward I feel stronger and more invincible. I sound like a Metamucil advertisement.

In school, I'm currently writing a research paper on Garadasil, the HPV vaccination. I'm still getting my poop in a group and am feeling overwhelmed as I usually do with any project requiring brain power.

Blogging is easy to me. No brain power (as my posts suggest, just mouth-breathing). Research writing, not so much. The paper writing process feels backwards for me because I typically just sit and write and see what comes out. A good writer can do this but a good writer can also focus, organize, plan, and get outside the box with unfamiliar methodologies simply to hone their craft. Oh, and I'm honing, all right. I want to nail this paper. Honing, honing, honing.

Since I'm going through all this 'self-discovery' mixed with liberal growing pains, I've added exercise to my daily repertoire. Yes, I'm dumb.

The first several days of my brilliant change of lifestyle was a painful success. Now I'm in the groove and religiously running/walking my 2 miles every day. My apartment manager is usually there at the same time. If you don't know already, I'm a tad bit competitive. I have this innate need to be superbly good at what I do. This also translates in the workout room. I admit. I'm one of those.

I may not be as thin as the manager and have cool shoes but I still can outrun her. She steps it up whenever I get on the treadmill, which cracks me up. Then I *run* while she *walks*. Who is going to go faster?

This is so dumb, I can't believe I'm telling all the millions of my close personal internet traffic.

I'm made of German peasant stock so I'm stubborn as hell. My problem is where I tell myself I'm the next Prefontaine. The next day, I'm cursing my competitive streak when I can barely squat to tie my shoes.  I'm getting stronger every day. I'm pleasantly surprised to get out of bed and not creak like an old ship. This is the biggest change. The scale hasn't budged but the scale is the devil anyway.

~Bee is feeling the burn
Listening to: So What by P!nk

19 April 2009

Aquaman and Underroos

For those of you who don't know me, I'm a Smallville fan.

It started with Dapoppins asking me why I didn't watch Smallville. She knew I loved Superman and a good story. I blame her.

Ever since I was a young girl I had this thing for the Justice League, especially Aquaman. At the tender age of 8, I realized that Aquaman was it for me with his dreamy, wavy, yellow hair and crystal blue eyes. Then he did me dirty. He went and got married to that...Mera tart.

I hate women named Mera Man. Or is that Mrs. Aqua? I don't know but I hate her.

All that was left was my 8yr old, soggy, unrequited love.

Then Christopher Reeve came on the scene in 1977. AquaMan who? Who could resist a guy that bench pressed helicopters and builds a house from a small stick made out of ice?

It wasn't until my pre-teen years that he suddenly had all these muscles and dimples. Where did those come from?! 

I know, I know, it's just comic books. People say that like, "Hey, its just random patterned baldness." No big deal. Get me to the geekery.

Geeking out in the modern day/age has many more benefits than before. The contemporary geek has more tools at their disposal. This is beyond the poster or the lunch pail. We have IMDB, online chatrooms, forums, conventions, wallpaper, yahoo groups, video games, clothing, screen names, tattoos, bumper stickers, facebook pages, twitter shipping, and a world of comics to fuel the modern enthusiast.

I can't wait for Superman underroos for adults. It's only a matter of time.


~Bee wants hers in 37T.

08 April 2009

Complexities of Vehicular Malevolence

Some days are worth pondering the complexities in life. Like why my kids can't turn off a bedroom light or why the lady at the DMV looks one day away from a murder trial.

However, today I ponder even greater signs and wonders. I recently noticed a bumper sticker on my commute to school. The bumper sticker proudly states: "Bad a$$ girls drive bad a$$ toys"

I've been thinking about it for the last three weeks. The day I saw said sticker, I made a huge mental post-it of the car and in my ridiculous whirring in my head I asked myself, "Self? How bad or evil does your backside have to be when you drive a Yaris?

Is this statement only true for a Yaris car model? Do badasses drive other makes and models? Does then the villainy extend upwards to your colon or does corruption only centralize sphinctorially? Does it stop at the duodenum or closer to your appendix? One must know these things.

I'm thinking perhaps anal atrocities do not stop at the colon only because spastic colon is also particularly evil and can result with a girl even more bad. However, if a woman was involved in a freak industrial accident and was stuck with a colostomy bag and no arms to drive, does this suddenly make her the milk toast of all wickedness?

When "bad ass girls" drive something other than a Yaris, is it universally acknowledged that she will still maintain her vileness? I would gather, her hindquarters must be exceptionally wicked (or less so) depending on the make and model of her car.

Girls, I suggest arsiness, badness, and corruption is based on a sliding scale of vehicular malevolence. If you do not own a car, or perhaps just have a driving permit, this scale would not apply. Logic dictates that your debauchery only starts after you've passed your driving test at the DMV. It's rumored they've written a booklet if you are willing to wait in line for 3 hours to get it. I am not willing, but if someone can confirm? I'd be so obliged.

Back to the bumper sticker...sooo, translation? You are only as "bad" as the car you drive. Really, I am not making this up.

In the spirit of things, I've taken the liberty of drawing up a such a scale with equal grievances for comparison. The scale is actual size and is as factual as your 4th grade diary you once hid in your underwear drawer.

The Grand Scale of Vehicle Badness:

THE YARIS
Sheer debauchery, equal to patrons who talk in the movie theater, muffin top bikinis, not scooping your dogs poop, big 80s hair, and talking to a stranger in the public bathroom stall next to you.

THE CORVETTE
99.9% Sinister evil, equal to cell phones at a funeral that ring "Another One Bites The Dust", eating grapes without paying, one-ply toilet paper, talking about your reoccurring yeast infections openly in a medical terminology class, using acronyms like "OMG" in spoken conversation.

THE HUMVEE
Near moral depravity, aka socks with flip flops, stealing bank pens, hooking up your grandma on match.com, wearing turtleneck dickies that hide muffin neck (akin to muffin top), snoring in church.

THE HONDA ACCORD
Serious wickedness, not to exclude using plastic bags at the grocery, paying for Starbucks coffee in quarters, women with mustaches or braided armpit hair.

THE FORD WINDSTAR
Small iniquities. Cutting in line at Disneyland, eating gluten, having over 15 items in the quick check out lane, wearing white after Labor Day.

THE CADDY
Badness is hardly in your vocabulary, you try on shoes without socks on, use tester makeup at the store, eat one whole chicken in a can.

THE SUBARU IMPREZZA
Wishing for badness, burns mix tapes, drinks Coke with vitamins, keeps 50 key chains on keyring, uses the terms, "terlit" and "yousta could".

THE GREMLIN
Badness is leaving the building, still plays with Care Bears, forgets to feed houseplants, reuses tea bags, squeezes the Charmin, has VPL (visible panty lines).

THE YUGO
Void of all wickedness, drinks instant Yuban coffee, tapes Saved By The Bell reruns on VHS, has Beiber poster on bedroom wall, watches golf on TV, owns florescent-colored banana clips from 1983 garage sale.

So before you run out believing this bumper sticker will fit all types of vehicle, make sure you own a Yaris. Apparently, they are the height of badassery.

~Bee was not talking about a donkey this whole time.

05 April 2009

Yams Are Funny

I like to make my dollar stretch. So when I see a Super Saver Mom on the news buying a shopping cart full of groceries for under $4 I'm naturally skeptic and intrigued. Do I have to buy the bark toilet paper and canned yams because I never leave the store with organic produce and salmon for under a hundred bucks. I'd love to know what's in that lady's cart.




Now that better weather is soon to be upon us, I thought it would be nice to get a zoo membership. A friend of mine told me of reciprocal memberships years ago, for museums, zoos, or aquariums. Since many museums honor each others memberships, I save and we can still have our local museum membership.

There can be a catch, with museums dropping from the program, only allowing half price discounts instead of free entrance, or admission only discounts (not for extra events). I recommend doing your homework first and call before you go.

Here are a few sites for organizations with reciprocal memberships.

Associations of Zoos and Aquariums

North American Reciprocal Museum

Association of Science Technology Centers Passport Program
This one has museums listed for all over the world!

Smithsonian Scientific Diving Reciprocity
This one is for if you are a scuba diver and want to go on a scientific dive. SO cool.


See? There are easier ways to stretch your dollar than sandpapering your bum or yamming your family to death. Yes, I said yamming.

~Bee thinks yams are funny

27 March 2009

The Doobie Sisters

Today I made a giant tray of dark chocolate brownies.

My kids are going to be stoked when they come home from school. I try to get them to eat healthy and make better choices but today, brownies will undoubtedly beat out the moistness and superiority of gluten free granola bars.

Speaking of brownies, funny story-Circa 1976: My Dad was given a plate of special brownies by a "green'' neighbor. My Dad never did partake but I think it's safe to say that in So Ca in the mid 70s everybody knew someone who baked hash brownies. Did he throw them away for us girls to find them? No. He had to dump them in the dumpster in our apartment complex when we went to bed. He couldn't leave them on the counter. It was decided he would store them in the closet. Specifically, the top of the hall closet.

In an odd way, it makes sense. The four of us girls, all under the age of 6 and with a right arm reach of 8 feet.

My sister, running undiscovered in toddler-stealth mode, opened the closet and somehow got the brownies down. This act defies physics but not the laws of toddler mischief. She ate an undisclosed amount and when she was found bouncing off the hallway walls...laughing...crying...it was told that my Dad was fit to be tied. She couldn't have been older than 4. She cried a lot, rummaged in the pantry for some Doritos, and then took a really long nap. Maybe not the Doritos part but after that incident, Dad installed childproof doorknobs and contraptions around the house.

If you're wondering how this can happen and want to blame someone, please pray and ask God why He made toddlers with an 8 foot reach.

~Bee thinks pot smells gross.
Listening to:  Lynyrd Skynyard The Millininium Collection

22 March 2009

Sand Facials and A Neptune Cocktail


Sand in the Face and Swallowing Sea Water

I'm staying home this week since I've finished finals last week. Done for the quarter and catching up on my reading with a few books and blogs until the kids are out of school next week. I've pulled out the warm weather clothes but it's not yet shorts weather. This week I'll be finishing up laundry and hope to have the house clean by the weekend.

We are planning to drive down to the coast for spring break and mingle with the crowds, watching the waves and playing at the beach. Mr Coffee, the kids and I will probably stop by the seasonal farmers market, too. My seemingly never-ending homework starts again next quarter on April 6th, so I'm just kicking back a little till then.

Later gator....

~Bee loves the ocean but hates sand in my bathing suit.

In other words:

Sand Facials and A Neptune Cocktail

I'm hanging at the fat shack since I've blown outta the green room last week. Selling Buicks with a few books sans Bambinos till Monday next. Big mommas also macking some gnarly doggers with the Maytag man and getting the pad peachy.

We'll probably hitch a ride and chill like the hoodaddies and shoebies, watching the bumps out at the coast. With the Big Kahuna and the squids, we'll roll with the heavies and score some organic grindage next weekend at the farmers market. The gnarly cruncher hits like corduroy in two weeks so I'm hanging loose till the 6th.

Going latronic, dude.

~Bee loves the ocean but hates stealing the beach.



08 March 2009

I Wrote This

I was minding my own blog the other day and ran across a woman posting an email. It was one of those viral emails she had copied to her blog and proceeded to take credit for writing. Sure it's funny but does this not make you nuts, people?

It must be really hard to type this: "

And this: "

In other news, I think you should read my new book, "Sense and Sensibility". I think I'm farging brilliant.

 ~Bee says donut be stealing words


26 February 2009

Lots of Stuff Is A Good Band Name

A little bit of a lot of stuff to say...

"SISSY!" *PUNCH*
My boys have taken to reading the book series, Diary of a Wimpy Kid by Jeff Kinney. My boys are 8 and 10. They usually sneak a book from this series into bed with them so they can read it before 'lights out'. It cracks me up when all of a sudden I hear peals of laughter coming from their bedroom. It feels good to know how much they love to read even with a 10pm fit of boy giggles.


SPEAKING OF READING

Two weeks till I'm done with my first quarter of school.

Don't be telling me you are tired of my school talk. Just think of it as a student-college marriage that's been in the works for a long, long time. Now that I am walking proud in the halls of academia, I am enjoying, reveling, and sucking up every morsel of intelligence the school has to offer. However, I'm hoping that this college union will leave me blissful and not wondering why I have four ugly bridesmaids dresses with equally revolting shoes to match. Okay, maybe that does not translate.

I've already signed up for next quarter. 15 credits. I'm feeling light-headed and I hope I don't regret this.

BABY BEAR TURNS 6
Not the Goldilocks kind. My daughter turns 6 today. Yay, Cake! Happy Birthday, Lo-lo!!

~Bee likes smarticles

15 February 2009

Boys Can Cook and Build Legos

Lazy day, tis Sunday.

My boys are happily building the lego Millenium Falcon at the dining table. They are so engrossed in legos and Mr Coffee has tubs (no joke) of legos to keep them happy. All of our dining tables come with a lego-building 8 and 10 year old, if only to contend with the boys' older sister who is in need of puzzle making space.

I am in constant awe of my boys and their apparent on-board sound cards that were installed since birth. They make noises I could only replicate with a sound mixer and a Howard Stern Fart Machine.

How do boys do this?

Girls are not this way at all. Girls are never engrained with this type of "sound" DNA. Their DNA is used up on loving all things Princess-ey, sorting Polly Pocket shoes, and swaddling anything that is baby-sized. I even caught my 5 year old wrapping a blanket around a can of v8, "Oh, baby..you want a bottle?" I did not teach her this skill. I'm telling you, mothering instinct is engrained and imprinted in her female DNA.

Don't get me started on how I'm nurturing these ingrained instincts and genderless is best. How about allowing children to pick even if it is considered part of a traditional gender role? Letting them pick and choose their interests goes both ways. Girls can like legos and cars as much as they like baking. I'm not raising them to be different (like everyone else is different=same). I'm raising them to pursue their interests. Enough said, I'm getting ranty.

Sundays around our house = family time. As for me, I can sleep in on Sunday mornings and additionally, Mr Coffee makes me breakfast in bed (a BOY who COOKS). He's sweet like that. I could go on about Mr Coffee's sweetness, but my blog would get very long and you would require a root canal or some insulin.

School is going well and Mr Coffee is picking up the slack...or should I say picking up the vacuum in my absence. I just wish I had more time to write on my blog.

I've had (several) acquaintances that have expressed my schooling is unnecessary when I could be making better use of my time. Then I dare them to come closer so I can rip off their arms and beat them with the bloody stumps.

Really....I'm not offended. It is important for me to pursue my dreams and goals to uncover my full purpose in life. Isn't that what we all want? Purpose may or may not come with a big salary in the end, but who cares? I don't. In other words, if I am called to be a radiologist, EMT, or bookseller, I will not stoop to be President or the next Mother Theresa. Purpose trumps the almighty dollar and/or fame everyday of the week and twice on Sunday. 

I'm off to hanging out with the kids and watch some Smallville with Mr Coffee. It's a nice reprieve from text books and construction demo. Over and out...

PS. I will be doing my 4th annual Mullet contest this month!! More to info coming this week....

06 February 2009

Speaking Manure

As a self proclaimed 'greenie', I do my best to live as the hipsters say, "consciously". Not the garden variety of staying awake after a booze bender type of conscious. It's drooling over front-load washers variety of greenie, wannabe hybrid-driving, growing my own organic basil and rosemary, and buying tree bark toilet paper. I feel pride breaking down cardboard, sorting my glass, and squashing my aluminum cans. I even recycle paint thinner and leftover iodine from my back porch meth lab.

Just kidding. I only make meth on the front porch.

I know you can feel nothing but admiration and awe, but don't nominate me for Greenie of the Year just yet. I still prefer plastic at the grocery because I'm too cheap to buy small garbage bags. Think about all those scented garbage liners I'm saving from a landfill. Baby diapers and bricks of fruitcake will have to live in eternity by themselves. BUT, the good news is that greenies across the globe can chalk up another item to be green about: Conversation. Organic Conversation.

It was the word "organic" that tickled my ears. I was tuning in to the radio the other day, between rocking out and talk radio boredom, my ears perked up when a DJ started whining about regulations. She complained of the injustice of daytime television censuring. She also mentioned her pasty-white tan which shows you the level of genius I endured.

Off topic, can you really have a pasty-white tan? Do they have florescent lighting beds to zap you of all color? Cubicle lighting is known to zap natural glow. Like bleaching skin with way less chemical burns.

Back to our brilliant shock jock, further commenting on how regulations should be changed to allow people to "speak organically". Have you heard of this phrase before? "Speaking organically"

Like manure?

Who wants to hear verbal diarrhea on TV and radio? I could just as easily get my fill on my 5 year old's school bus without passing additional laws to hear someone say 'shit' on the radio. But let's work with the moronic idea of speaking organically.


If ever there was a socially acceptable time to speak organically, couldn't we also deem the practice as "verbally lazy" or simply showing little "communicative respect"?

The bright side is organic speakers could use sex references to finally open up dialog with their otherwise clandestine teen. Green speak would organically license of using God's name in a common way while justifying religious intolerance. Anyone swear by Buddha? Mohammad? The Pope? Organic speech makes this possible.

You've probably heard the proclamation, "that's so g a y!' referencing something lame or stupid. Immediately, the complainer is labeled as homophobic. Although, the same person can take God's name and use it in a common and irreverent way. Aren't they both equally disrespectful? (spoiler: YES)

Swearing, as opposed to bad language, goes against my nature, my upbringing, and my idea of what it is to be an intelligent conversationalist. Besides, "organic speaking" immediately reminds me of spouting manure. You have to admit, there is nothing as organic as manure.

The idea of TV and radio censure boils down to protecting young minds, respectful speech, and myriad beliefs. I hope we never lose sight of why, as a society, we censure radio and TV. I never want to embrace "speaking organically" because that's a load of crap.

~Bee will also continue to buy non-green, two-ply toilet paper.
Listening to: Mr Brightside by The Killers

28 January 2009

Won't You Be My Friend, But Not Arnold Friend

In my English Comp class my instructor is talking about the importance of fast writing, or should I say methodology. Even when I don't like doing it. This is a method of writing furiously and you can stop when your fingers bleed out something worth reading. I edit as I go because I'm a perfectionist and can't stomach looking stupid. Fast writing does not appeal to me but I must relinquish control. Resistance is futile. (I did not make that up) I'm attempting to fast write this, not because I want to grow as a writer, but simply because I have zero time to write anymore, let alone shower or wipe properly.

I got my first paper back in English and I got a B. It does not make me happy because I know I could do an A and I was just short of an A grade. Part of my problem has to do with basic formatting of my paper, and seeing I've never written a class paper, I do stupid things my fourth grader already knows. Double spacing? Properly formatted bibliography? I am just learning what these are. I feel like I've had my head under a rock. A LARGE illiterate rock. We are doing critical essays in English. I get to read an essay and talk about it. This is supposed to help me get to my dream job radiating patients and making sure I properly wedge their heads in the MRI machine. I don't know how Joyce Carol Oates' essay on a stalker and his victim makes this possible? If you have read this essay, I hated it and therefore I loved it. Does this make sense? It made me feel icky but I have to turn in a paper saying that in 750 words. Can't I just say "I haaayted this" 250 times?

For those who have commented lately, I am sorry to be awol. Like a fledgling duck, I am leaving the comforting nest of blogger peeps and trading it for a crash dive into the deep end in the pond of instructors criticism. Believe me, the nest is looking so comfy right now.

I won't be able to write before tomorrow so I will add that Doozie has a birthday tomorrow.

This concludes my official first bloggy fastwrite.

~Bee gives herself an A for effor

19 January 2009

Where Have You Been?

Where have you been? Your mother and I have been worried sick.

Get used to it, I'm having a case of schedulitis.

Here I am blogging when I should be doing homework. I have a paper due tomorrow and a math quiz to finish. I'm usually more prepared than this. Today will not be one of those days. I'm sure I'll be up at 1am finishing my last questions on my exam. The paper will be challenging but easy to pop out, at least. Now if only my kids don't come down with projectile vomit or the Anti-Christ van doesn't blow up again...I shall be super duper.

School is all that I hoped and more, but I'm realizing I'm fairly independent and introverted after keeping to myself for so many years. 12 years, to be exact. People are interesting to watch but I can easily feel overwhelmed by too many people.

Interesting things about my school. Parking is abundant but I get in a half mile walk to and from my car. My schedule is working out with the kids school schedule but you'd keel over if you saw it. Today is the exception to the rule with the holiday but I was so exhausted at the end of this week, I'm going to have to figure out something better. Mr Coffee agrees, although he knows how hard I can be on myself and really, this is two weeks into school.

Mr Coffee and I put together a list of chores for the kids in light of my new schedule. I should have done this long ago, having had to keep up on all the chores for the entire family. Mr Coffee likes to cook on the weekends, so I do get reprieve in the kitchen. I don't know if my reluctance was impatience or my inner control freak coming out. My kids are 12, 10, 8, and 5. It's time they lent a hand, yes? I certainly think so.

Anyway, I love my English class. Fellow students are cordial and thinkers. They seem together and my English instructor is really great.

In contrast, my other class takes place in the bowels of the oldest building on campus and the students look like a fine mix of Teen Malibu Barbie and Bald, Tattooed and Fresh Out Of Jail. This class is the most fun because the mix of people is a perfect eclectic mix. I feel fairly ignorant in this particular class but I'm already getting good grades.

The kids are home and I think I make us all go to the park. I'm feeling rather anti-social for no known reason, just want to go in my bedroom and lock the door. Kids can feed themselves, right?

Yesterday, I had a Smallville marathon with Mr Coffee. I've always had a thing for Superman after Aquaman got married to that tart, Mera. I loved Aquaman's bulging muscles in his water-tight suit, blue eyes, and that golden yellow, wavy hair was divine. Once out of my teens, I've been all about tall, dark, and handsome. In fact, I married one. Of course, it had nothing to do with Christopher Reeve's depiction of Superman. I have to say, it does wonders for the soul to do nothing but veg out with Mr Coffee and watch Tom Welling in his Kryptonic hawtness.

I think I will be posting far, few, and between for a while, but I'll be around. I still catch my favorite reads in feeds.

~Bee wonders if Lana Lang ever felt stressed over her schedule
Listening to: Superman by Five for Fighting

04 January 2009

Abby Was Busy So I Need Your Advice

I'm making myself take the time to post. For those who live in Siberia and haven't heard, I'm going to school starting Monday. Is it wrong that I tell every.one who will listen? Maybe not the best news my gyno has heard, but still I am so proud.

I'd love to solicit advice from anyone who has warmed the benches of academia. Should I carry a book bag? Backpack? Plastic sacks with "Value Village" printed on them? What would you recommend?

I haven't purchased my books yet, but summa cum laud-dee-dah, Psychology-Pants Doozer from My Dirty Shovel blog has instructed me to wait. And really, who wouldn't take orders from her unless they are up for a good shovel whacking upside the head.

She told me this waiting game is to avoid buying the third $80 book when your instructor has decided to use only two of the 'required' three. Why do they do this?

Then the question remains: Can you bring consumables into the class in mugs, like coffee, water, or slug of gin? Should I bring a spiral notebook? Pen and paper? I feel very unprepared. 

Getting to school was going to be an issue as The Anti-Christ repair bill was as expected. We will miss our firstborn child.

The mechanic scheduled the van repair yesterday but the scrapyard sold the repair shop a bum trans-axle and had to yet again, swap the part for another one. I have no idea what a trans-axle is other than it's the thingie that turns the wheel thingies from the engine thingie. From it's name it must also come from a Trans-Am. Road-raging will be a breeze here on out.

Even as I type, my lovely and amazing Father In Law is enroute with their second vehicle for our temporary use. This is a blessing because now I can get to school, grocery shop, and not have to walk 2 to 3 miles every day in the rain to get the baby girl from Kindergarten.

As for today, Mr Coffee and I are going out on a date. Date nights are necessary to sneak in whenever possible and I admit, I relish going anywhere to eat where the menus don't also come with crayons. We have a Cheesecake Factory Christmas gift card burning a hole in my pocket. Yum.

Have a good rest of your weekend and leave your school supply list in comments. I'm gunning for the Value Village bags, but maybe you have a better suggestion?

~Bee is going to school. yay.
Listening to: Kids by MGMT