31 December 2007

Beatrice's New Years Party

For those of you who have not read of Beatrice, she is my evil twin, with hair just as nice. Her exploits are legendary having once lived as a secret agent and can sniper fleas off a camel. She is fluent in 9 different languages, can find anyone in the world, and continues to live life on the edge of her secret agent glory days. Her biography is eerily similar to mine. Although, as far as you know, we really are two different people.

Her adventures are mind-blowing and unequaled.


Beatrice glanced in the oven at the mini quiche that were browning to perfection in neat little rows. She could probably see more through the tiny glass window had it not been covered by Mrs. Paul's Fish Stick grease. The black flecks on the glass obscured her view, otherwise known as remnants of that little fire from Christmas dinner last year.

"Must get some oven degreaser", she made a mental note and added out loud, in German no less, "...and need to look into a new recipe for Oven Chicken Flambe ."

Her company would be here soon and she wanted the smell to hit them at the door. Not the usual smell of gym shoes or sweaty boys who need a bath. Not even the rotten liquid broccoli she had extracted from the fridge this morning that would not release it's odoriferous clutches from her nostrils.

She hoped for a tantalizing cheese and veggie quiche aroma emanating from her government-funded, bakes-in-2 minutes, experimental oven. This time, she went wild almost like that time she took out four ninjas in one dramatic roundhouse kick. She waived away the margarine and grabbed real butter. She passed up the organic brown eggs and went for the bleachy white, 1.39 a dozen AA eggs. This was life on the edge.

Would she go all the way? Oh, yes. She was having a throw down with her pantry that could have easily strike fear into Martha Stewart.

Beatrice added extra gluten. She lived and cooked on the edge, flirting with the bad boy of all things foodie, standing on the precipice of taste. bud. overload. Beatrice arose  from the cloud of smoke pouring from the kitchen like a victorious beast. Actually, it was more like a yeast filled donut but with too many yeast packets.

Armed with Betty Crocker cookbook in one hand and a Pamper Chef Ultimate Mandolin Slicer Dicer in the other, her heart couldn't help but relish every gluten-filled minute of it.

Beatrice wielded her Cracker and Canned Cheese Platter that always seemed to win over the masses. Usually this was reserved for her family and occasionally around her husband, Mr. Toffee who admittedly would rather just have Beatrice's signature pot roast with lots of soft baby carrots, and red potatoes.

NOOOO, this New Years she went all out. Beatrice was using the china given to her by a very much alive Queen Elizabeth. A special thanks to Beatrice for saving her life, not once, but twice. The Cheese Platter must come, too.

The bare bones of the matter was that Secret Agent Beatrice's stint as a bodyguard-gone-undercover gourmet chef during Operation Cheesy Chef gave her amazing skills even the pickiest eaters might enjoy, that is...if they weren't so picky. It was only after her assignment in France protecting State Secret Ingredients of Government Cheese that she could make something so good and tasty. So tasty, you could almost eat it.

The timer let out a buzz, startling Beatrice who was deep in thought over the time she shopped for bombs in Paris. How much simpler life was then? Beatrice turned off the buzzer and nearly dropped her new Bialetti espresso maker. Not a drop was spilled, ready for creamer to be added. Creamer was best from Discount Price Hut Warehouse in the 40 gallon drum but that was top secret even under pain of waterboarding.

This year she skipped that sale on Salisbury Steak Hungry Man dinner appetizers. She even passed the frozen isle with the mini quiche and mini hot dog pups. She set down the box of wine and made mental notes....

Vanilla Hazelnut Mint Gingerbread Eggnog Creamer ...check.
Cracker and Canned Cheese Platter ....check.
Hot government cheese fondue on the stove ...check.
Pillsbury Dough Bread bowls scooped ...check.
Quiche baked ...check.
Box of Walmart wine chilled ...check.
Diet Cherry Coke Plus (Vitamins and Minerals) on ice ...check.
Ensure Drink, in cans also on ice ...check.
Little Smokies in BBQ sauce on toothpicks ...check.
Pork Rinds ...check
Flaming Hot Sour Cream BBQ Diet Pringles ...check
Venison Slim Jims, all in bowls ...check.

Timing could not have been more perfect unless someone brought the flu plague.

Swallowing her daily and much needed Super Fiber Blaster capsules with a swig of jet black coffee, Beatrice reminded herself to not eat so much cheese this time. She also reminded herself about her wonderful year. Who wouldn't proclaim her turkey at Thanksgiving had been a hit? It always turned out like the cover of a Good Housekeeping, except with less half the grease coating. Oh, and it was deelish.

Her mind wandered as she absent-mindedly flexed her toned biceps while stirring her favorite side dish. "Peas, Jello, and Cool Whip Salad go with everything, " she chided herself with a smile.

The door bell rang.

Beatrice smoothed out her vintage apron that wasn't really vintage but made in a third world country to look almost vintage. She quickly checked the hall mirror to see if her recently low-lighted hair wasn't fading. Her new red up do' gave the illusion of a competent cook. Yet, she hoped it portrayed the young, stylish, sensible, drop-dead-sexy woman with the best looking hair ever.

She smiled as she reached for the front door handle and opened it. A smile emerged from her perfectly whitened teeth. New Years Party was on. It was so on.

PS. Happy New Year ALL!! Be safe, DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE or I will scissor kick your head.

29 December 2007

Potty Talk

I've been meaning to mention that my kids are bloggers now. The two oldest love to write and after setting up almost everything for him, I caught Game Cubist attempting to pick out a URL.

I caught him laughing to see if a blogspot address was taken. The following ones apparently are available:

snotlocker.blogspot
fartsreallyloud.blogspot
poopsmeller.blogspot
stinkyhairypits.blogspot
boogerheadbrother.blogspot

I come over to the computer screen, wondering about the suspicious peals of laughter. I go deadpan and type in my pick:

PottyTalkGetsYouSentToYourRoom.blogspot

and ironically,

PottyTalkGetsYouSentToYourRoom.blogspot was available. He wisely picked another.

~Bee kids a bloggin'

24 December 2007

Merry Christmas!

I wish these carolers came to MY house..hehe.

22 December 2007

Many Bothans Died To Bring You This Post

Back from hiatus already. You thought I could stay away?

Inconceivable!

I took a break in the routine and I'll be back on the 31st. This break has reluctantly forced me to see there are things I've been grossly neglecting.

It's easy to do my work and intermittently blog throughout the day. But in the evenings I need time with family, finishing my sewing projects, or file away my File Pile that is overtaking my desk. There are kids to parent, movies to see, other bloggers I haven't read in a while, books, hanging out with friends, or my favorite pastime spent curled up with a book and a bottle of Tequila glass of Riesling.

I was Hmmmm, last night dear Mother.... (name that movie!)

I could go on and on about this wondrous blogland until you glaze over reading this post, die of boredom, and the police find you days later after the neighbor complains.


I'll spare you...and your neighbor.

Nothing makes me crazier than making a friend online, and then one day without warning, they decide to close their blog because they are busy. Like they have a life or something...pfft.

I admittedly write online and blog for relationships. I don't have too many local friends. Most think I'm too forthright. I say something and they think it has some hidden meaning.

Some bloggers go to 'private' blogs or have stalking issues, I completely understand. But this is more about blogs I faithfully read, and care about the friendship. One day they disappear forever, the 'friend' never to be heard from again, leaving behind an old profile and a blogger address soon to be scooped up by ad spammers.

Well, nice knowing you, you non-blogging, bucket of boogers. Thanks for your friendship. Fine, you are SO off my blogroll. I'm not wearing this BFF ink forever, you know.


*I* wouldn't disappear in a million years. Who would fill your nostrils with milk and contribute to your eyeball rolling exercises? I cannot leave this up to just anyone.

I struggle with time-management and although I declare myself a non-descript humor blog, I am a blogger who is also a mother. I'm married to Mr Coffee, which therefore makes me responsible for all pampering , feeding, cleaning, and back rubbing.

And submitting in a subservient manner.

hahaha, no, stop. my side.....hahaha......

I am also responsible for a few cherub-faced children.

Do you care, for instance, how many loads of laundry I do every single day (read: seven or eight).

Do you care how many seconds I must stand there in front of a stove to produce dinner?

Where this may not prove to be exciting blog fodder, I might......no, not even then.


I've thought long and hard, and I will be slowing down a bit with a once a week post. This, I can do and this keeps me from becoming the non-blogging bucket of boogers I despise so.

Have a very Merry Christmas.

~Bee says many Bothans died to bring you this information.

17 December 2007

Week In Review

This week was so entirely random. I am thankful for this weekend, a welcome change for a homebody like me.

Monday:
  • Work on template and end all endeavors by wailing head on keyboard in frustration.
  • Publicize my other blog revealing to myself how anal retentive I really am.

Tuesday:
  • Grocery shop with four year old daughter to prepare for impending Bakeapalooza at LoveyH's house. Decide that a baby goat would do less damage and not eat as much as the girl.
  • Folded laundry, laughed at news, and watched Grey's Anatomy. Nothing like a productive stint in front of the b00b tube.

Wednesday:
  • Grocery shop again for things forgotten like toilet paper and milk. Become informed by four year old that "John Desh" says on the radio that baby bottoms go in the top of the cart and yucky germs are there, so all food must go into the big part of the cart. Practical advice and I will never again place produce in the top of the basket. ewwwww.
  • Nearly donate my front fender to minivan that cuts me off in traffic. I swear to you I am an idiot driver magnet. I couldn't help but shake my head and laugh reading her personalized license plate, "Keep Our Children Safe". Just say no to child abuse but kill them dead in a fit of road rage, lady.
  • Try finishing template. Repeat head banging on keyboard, permanently wedging the "B" key in my forehead. B stands for Brain Dead, Bollocks, Blowup, Brow Beat, Bruise, Black and Blue....

Thursday:
Friday:
  • Watch Bourne Ultimatum. Better than the second and great show....left it open for #4.
  • Threaten computer to scrapyard over lost graphic files. Wonder if I will get this Christmas template done before Christmas.
  • Laugh that my blog ads advertising The G0lden C0mpass, my favorite movie EVER!!! NOT. At least it was better than the time I mentioned a Subaru Impreza and the ads asked, "Is Your Auto Gay Friendly?" I did not know my vehicle, or any vehicle for that matter, was prone to a specific gender. Is there a market for straight cars now? This sounds like auto discrimination to me.

Saturday:
  • Brain needing roto rooter but manage to finish template to requested specs. It's bright, happy, festive, outgoing, and it's just like Flip Flop Momma's personality. She loves it. WOOHOO. Still attempting to dislodge my "B" key from my forehead.
  • Read for a whole hour.
  • Mr Coffee manages to break a 1940s era piece of English Johnson Brothers Chippendale green and white transferware. I turn the corner, see him looking pasty white while staring at shards on the floor. I immediately felt sick to my stomach. Translation: He feels like crap and I end up nearly crying over a $60 antique piece of china.

Sunday:
  • Sleep in. Be useless all morning while drinking coffee and playing with kids in sweats.
  • Blog and answer mail.
  • Make more Muddy Buddies (from back of Chex cereal box)
  • Watch another episode of Jeeves and Wooster.
  • Get to bed early after 10 chapters of reading.
These are just highlights, with the best parts left out, like the 30 miles of carpooling I do every day and getting a book I ordered from inter library loan sent to me. I hope to do some genealogy work while the kids are home next week.

Last, Mr Coffee has an job opportunity that is a change and a bit scary to step out in. I hope it goes well, but more on that after the New Year.

16 December 2007

But It's Just A Thin Mint

I was invited this year to Bakeapalooza. I thought it was a joke at first but found out it was a yearly baking party bonanza. Some events chronicled below, may or may not be completely fabricated. Or not.

I manage show up to show up 30 minutes late with Lolo and coffee in hand. I forgot all my baking supplies packed neatly and ready to go, right next to my fridge. Duh.

I was going to try my hand at fudge but fate was against me when I had hair to curl and makeup to put on. Oh, and a barfing neighbor girl, but I digress...

I did meet LoveyH and Fooferoo. I also caught up with Avery "I Don't Bake But I Happen To Make Killer Oatmeal Butterscotch Cookies" Gray. There were 6 kids between us which made for a merry house. The kiddies went about their playing and rough-housing while us womenfolk played bakery all morning and half the afternoon.

Avery immediately declared herself inept at baking ~cough, whatever, cough, cough~ as she began tearing down recipes.

Whipping, mixing, spatulizing, measuring, sifting, and baking like a Julia Child Eat-My-Frosting.

Avery and I always make each other crack up until we are snorting. We shared the merits of buying cookies at Safeway and discussed in length why she wore her $4,000 Bergdorf Goodman shirt to bake in. She also cooks in heels and diamonds. June Cleaver would be so proud.

I finally met Avery's son who mutually enjoyed my daughter's company. Lolo, being the four year old sociable tart she is, became enamored by Avery's son, Ethan, to whom she just today declared her future husband. This being possible only if she was willing to recant a previous vow to me about the youngest Dapoppins boy, "I want the little one so we could kiss better". Apparently I need to explain that she is not to be married anytime soon, regardless of her intent to look the boy straight into the eyes before swapping spit.

LoveyH was the perfect Hostess With The Mostest, declaring herself OCD, evident with the most amazingly spotless and beautiful home. She baked like a pro and easily retained her crown for Baking Aficionado Extraordinaire as she whipped out approximately 400 cookies while mopping her ceiling and arranging her color coded pantry by food groups. She only stopped briefly to place flammable objects on the hot stove.

Gee, Do you smell something burning?
The woman has skilz, I'm just saying.....

Fooferoo declared herself very little as the other three of us blabbed loudly about hair, wild escapades of days long gone, collecting dishes, marrying for money, and how I believe Splenda is the devil. Fooferoo appeared the quiet type at first, but it wasn't long before she started table dancing, doing body shots, and belting out Britney's latest ♫ ♪ into spatulas. She also makes the most amazing chocolate peanut butter pretzely things.

Hmm, pretzely things. How I love a good blogger meet.

My only concern is how can I get more BFF names in ink to fit next to my young Elvis tattoo on my backside?(cause old Elvis' muttonchops took up too much room).

14 December 2007

Crazy Eights

I hope you can forgive me for this.

Liberal linking will follow. I can't stop it. I'm attempting to break my linking record for a single post. Hold on tight, I'm also doing a meme and you know it must be good because I don't do memes. Well, not ALL memes, just some.

Thank you for thinking of me, Holly Dolly


8 things I want to do before I die:

1. Go to college and graduate with honors.
This may shock many long time readers because I only express this goal about once a week. College will encourage my brain sponging tendencies and I'll even attempt to outdo Mr. Coffee's Suma Cum Laude honor.

2. To have a best selling book so my children can get a good college education.

3. Travel Europe with Mr. Coffee who has yet to set a toe outside the states.

4. To play violin and well, at that.

5. Watch Baryshnikov dance, live.

6. Learn German

7. Be wealthy enough to fill my philanthropic passions to assist those in need

8. Celebrate my 90th birthday with my family around me.

Now if you aren't sleeping yet, here are another 8 things. Things I say often:

1. Driving: "You're all RETAAAAAAAAAARDED!"

2. "What does whining get you?"
To which the cantankerous child responds on cue, "Nothing."

3. "Is your homework done?"

4. "It's Business Time..."

5. "That's how I roll"

6. "Shuuuutuuuuuup"
in my best Napoleon Dynamite voice

7. "Where is your Happy Shiny People Voice?"

8. "Hello?"
My phone rings 2.6 million times in one hour.

That's probably more than you ever wanted to know about me but up next, the 8 books I have read recently:

1. Persuasion by Jane Austen
This is read at least two to three times a year. How I love Jane...

2. Emotional Intelligence by Daniel Goleman

3. The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini

4. The Bible
This publication single-handedly keeps me from being a world class jerk. Aside from common belief, I have never beaten anyone with my Bible.

5. Mommy Doesn't Know My Name along with many other children's publications.

6. Hunting Unicorns by Bella Pollen

7. One Pot Chocolate Desserts
I LOVE this publication.

8. History of Warren County, Iowa
Genealogy is SO fun.

Prop your eyelids because I have 8 more for music.
8 Favorite Albums/Songs :

1. La Champagne by Trentemoller
Happy electronica..great to do housework.

2. The Essential Duke Ellington
There is no other....

3. Bust A Move by Young MC and other 80s dance hits
Two words: Tread. Mill. Two more? I. Despisethatdumbthing.

4. Christmas Cocktails, Vol 2
Mele Kalikimaka anyone?

5. Drop Dead Legs by Van Halen
And you thought David Rose's The Stripper gets you in the mood?

6. Merry, Merry Happy by Kate Nash
Happy happy merry song.

7. Times They Are A Changin' by Bob Dylan
I heard this on a commercial and fell in love with it.

8. OOh, La La by Goldfrapp
Pick up the pace on the Devil's Contraption commonly referred to as the "treadmill"

WAKEY WAKEY, eggs and bakey!! I'm almost done.
Now for the eight things that attract me to my best friends:

1. Straight up honest and don't beat around the bush with passive aggressive foshiznit. Yes, passive aggressive is foshiznit.

2. Emotionally intelligent. Always the sage....

3. We laugh together so much that we wear our pee pants together. Since most of my friends have seen The Ballad of Ricky Bobby at least once, they also know the significance of how incredibly funny pee pants can be.

4. They never attempt to "out do or Penelope" me because friends are not competition, they are companions. I just made that up.

5. They do not care if my house is a wreck or Spotless Like The Flylady Clean.

6. They love me even with my insecurities, my strengths, and even if I have toothpick legs or junk in the trunk..and not to forget the freak of nature hair.

7. Strong women who are not complacent in life to settle in mediocrity.

8. I do not have close male friends because I take Harry's side in when Harry Met Sally. The guy inadvertently ends up hitting on me and Mr. Coffee gets tired of burying bodies out in the wilderness. I can't tell you how many shovels we have lost.

12 December 2007

Why Read When There Is TV?

Yesterday I decided it was time for my kids to own their own library card. I've used mine for years but I think it's good for them to have their own. I've always encouraged my children to read and now that they are past the Toddler Book Shredding stage, I have no fear of inadvertently bankrolling the library's new book department via damage fines. We came, we saw, and sported newly acquired cards held triumphantly in little hands. We left armed with scads of books...no less than 50 books between them. My youngest, now 4, couldn't even carry her bag. I could not be more proud.

Most holiday seasons I typically take up employment at the closest bookstore and bring home my paycheck in book form. Problem solved. Christmas shopping is done and the kids end up with a years worth of reads. Mr. Coffee is the exception with his yearly declaration, "Look what you got me for Christmas!". He is so thoughtful that way.

In the evening, everyone settled in their stories while I folded laundry and watched the news. I don't know why but last night it was particularly humorous. Case in point:

Caught on tape: Couple steals a nearly life-sized nativity scene.
Holy freaking cow. I'd say there are no words...but nothing says Christmas spirit like displaying a stolen nativity scene. Seriously? Who in their right mind steals baby Jesus..its baby JESUS! Can you imagine triumphantly stuffing Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus in the back of a pickup? Would the eyes of baby Jesus follow you around as you guiltily strap him in the back?  

Okay hurry Marge, you grab the wise dudes and I'll get the rest. Did you bring the bungee cords?

Fast Food Chain Puts Limits on Dining Time.
I didn't catch this in it's entirety, but a fast food chain franchise (McDonalds, I think) is putting up a limit for eating in their dining area. Maybe this is to prevent loitering patrons? The food is bad enough for your health, but perhaps with the franchise making you sick from eating too fast will avoid any expensive obesity lawsuits down the road.  

Free barf bags with every child's meal! woo hoo.

The commercials were just as fun.

Now with Granola Bar Seats!
A manufacturer is now marketing a new Wonder Van with pivoting captains chairs in the middle row, naturally in white leather.

White seats? Are you serious? Let's just create a feature of granola bars and cheerios stuffed into the seats and eliminate any foolhardy declarations of "no food in the van" (and broken within 4 weeks).
I was in awe at Wonder Vans pivot and lock feature of the middle chairs, not to mention the odd lack of glowing dash warning lights. Tell me, is this standard? I would love to own this van, simply because the seats are properly pivoted then your children can wail on each other face to face. This feature not only gives ample room for kicking and hitting, but it also leaves none at a disadvantage when spitting and throwing things. As you might well know, fighting from the middle seats while reaching toward the sibling behind you puts you at a great handicap.

I don't know why I even read books when there is laughable TV. Speaking of laundry, I have a mountain of it and a template to finish. I've also been tagged with a very funny meme and I've won awards. More of that on Friday....

03 December 2007

Bowling With Flare or Flair?

I grace you with a little preview of our Sunday. The Bees procured some entertaining family time for my son's birthday. He picked the place, and we all went bowling. It was surprisingly fun, I bowled a 129 but I fear, my right arm is now about 6 feet longer than my left.

Mr. Coffee and my father in law, both having physically demanding jobs, were both able to break the sound barrier. Each time they hurled the ball toward the pins. HURLED, I say, rocketing them to the end. I thought surely the lane would ignite in streaky flames.




Mr. Coffee has also managed a strike in bowling this way. He's done it many times, although, I didn't manage to catch it on film this time around. I also bowled a 129 after 9 years hiatus and luckily showed up 1st after being last the first round. 

The youngest bowled (below) with her little "bowling walker". I like that I sound so retarded when I yell, "GOOD JOB!" at the end. I'm like a freakin Bowling Drill Instructor.

"THROW IT! ARE YOU THE BOTTOM OF THE BARREL?!"



~Bee thinks bowling shoes are HAWT.

01 December 2007

Which Floor For Smoothies?


I don't know about you but this scene at our mall cracked. me. up. (click to enlarge photo).

First off, Shrek does not look in any condition to drive. His hands are nowhere remotely near the steering wheel let alone on it. Is he sleeping? Going heavy on the sauce? Fancying himself a James Bond type but only sounding like a dork as he giggles the phrase, "...and that's Shaken Not Stirred". No more happy hour for him and shame on the mall for letting children witness this. What kind of mall are we running here.

Donkey looks like he has (or will shortly) put a spot on the front seat.  

Oh, holy crap. We are going to die.

Sponge Bob? Well, the Sponge looks like it's his BEST DAY EVER! I think he put up fuzzy dice and turned on Kool and the Gang's "Get Down On It" shortly after I captured this Kodak moment. We know The Sponge has the uber dancing skills as we've witnessed during his jelly fishing excursions.

The complete absence of seat belts was also horrifying. Aside from obvious disregard to their safety and the common mall dweller's well-being, I'd admit that VW bus was screaming for a sweet set of spinners.

It's easy to think they were just driving through the mall to get smoothies but I think it's because they wanted to see the Mall Santa to ask for roached rims for Christmas.

Well? It makes sense.

30 November 2007

Chalk Up My Clandestinity to OCD and Insanity

Did you think I could stay away from Blogging?

No.
Nada.
Zip.
Zilch.
No way, Jose.

Blogging is the best way to meet great people. Nevermind that it's also the equivalent of internet crack. I kid you not.

There are several reasons, non-nefarious as far as you know, for the change of urls but I'll give you something that will satisfy your curiosity. Some events may be completely fictitious, or not:

  • My four year old deleted my profile and ate my homework after my grandma died while I was sick with the 8 hour flu.
  • I went to live with a pack of wild wolves and got too cold after a day. Plus wolves don't have Starbucks drive-thrus. Beastly Savages.
  • I dance to the beat of my own drum which is really my keyboard and I just hit too many buttons.
  • I have stalkers that are family that ask me why I sometimes use the word 'dammit' because it is a very bad word. "Do you kiss Mr. Coffee with that mouth?" Why, YES, I do, dammit!
  • I'm passionate about certain ideals, structure, and order (says the woman who must have symmetry in the egg carton before it's returned to the fridge...). When I feel a bit stomped on and I'm fairly easy going, dammit...then I run faster than Forrest Gump in front of a truck fender.
  • My rubber chickens sales were booming.
  • There was a tiny misunderstanding over a restraining order. What? There is nothing wrong with saying "I wanna MARRY you!" to a few bloggers. It's a metaphor, like the name "Mr Coffee"...do you really think I'm happily married to a coffee maker? That would be no. Anyway, it wouldn't be legal but regardless, they were all dropped charges. It's perfectly normal to have a Blogger Shrine in my living room. What's normal anyway? Which reminds me, the new candles smell obscenely yummy.
  • My boss was on to me. Who cares that I blog at work for hours on end? Oh, wait, I work at home.
  • I wanted narcissistically to be number #1 and I'm too gray matter challenged to figure out how to edit a post.
  • I offended people with my acerbic wit and needed to go into the Witness Protection Program until unders were unwadded and the death threats subsided.
  • I sold my old profile URL for Hannah Montana tickets.
  • I offended a friend. We simply called each other on the phone and later met for coffee and mud wrestling for resolution. Okay, just kidding. I usually get my coffee in the drive-thru.
  • I am a crackhead that just made this up in my head and no matter what the voices tell me, people really aren't out to get me.
  • My Christmas music made me go completely insane causing some undesirable side-effects. By the way, anyone need 200 Beanie Babies I recently bought on eBay?
  • I work for the CIA and it's kinda slow catching perps and terrorists and all. I was bored between watching "24" and "Full House" reruns on cable.

...as far as you know.

~Bee says never trust what an addict says.

28 November 2007

Raid This First

At one time in my life, I lived in Western Colorado. We lived in high desert but up in the mountains, about 4500 feet above sea level. Very pretty and quiet where we lived but we also had our share of critters.

I recall coming home one day with two toddlers in tow. Up the stairs we went, my big pregnant belly making me waddle and grow increasingly tired. My eyes leveled on the wall as I reached the top. I noticed a black spider clinging to the living room wall. A black widow spider.

I can handle birthing 9lb kids. I had two of them without any drugs. I can hunt, fish, eat weird food, fly in a plane, body surf, ski downhill like my hair was on fire...heck, I've even survived a serious close encounter with a rattlesnake. But spiders? NO.

Me + spiders = pantywaist.

"Hello? Terminator Bob?"

You better believe I called him on the spot but first, if you are wondering why most men I refer to on this blog are called Bob, it is not any mind-blowing sheer coincidence. I Bob everything.

It can be Hitman Bob, Movie Theater Bob, Oil Man Bob, House Buyer Bob, Idiot Driver Bob (that's pretty much every day). Bobbing things is great fun.

Terminator Bob happened to be in the area and within the hour I was face to face with an boyish looking, denim-clad man with an undeniable affection for bug killin' and country music. Bob must not have been in the bug killing for long, evident by a deplorable lack of dead bug pictures on his vehicle.

Which makes me wonder...Could I trust a Bug Terminator without upright and thriving bugs painted on his truck, fender to fender? Regardless, Bob's face lit up like a Christmas tree when I handed him the ominous black widow jar. It was blatantly clear he had great enjoyment in being the insect world's Angel of Death. I even think he was back lit and had a halo. Or was that antenna?

~cue heavenly chorus~

Terminator Bob was my hero.

If all men could just be more like Bob. I would dedicate a wing of my mansion in his honor and name all future children 'Bob'.

Terminator Bob also turned out to be my worst nightmare for he opened a can, and sadly, it wasn't Raid.

Bob was a pest guru, and grinned as he walked around the basement, nodding his head silently as I told him my woes. He smelled like Stetson and bug spray, and wore giant work overalls that I suspected were covering Wrangler jeans and a turkey platter belt buckle.

The explanation for my infestation was simple. Prior Homeowner Bob decided at some point that the basement was a climate-controlled idyllic environment for breeding rabbits, guinea pigs, birds, and probably small farm animals that kept to themselves, like goats. The cages were stored next to open sacks of rabbit food. And gerbil food. And bird food. And any other food they could squeeze in the family room.

The Terminator part of Bob unearthed a goldmine of pests in my basement. Within the week he had decimated a nest of mice, annihilated wolf spiders, sent ants to Ant Heaven, and properly killed off a number of American cockroaches, leaving them on their backs. It was just like the truck murals, but with added leg twitching.

Bob informed me there are kinds of cockroaches. Huh?

These weren't the little brown German cockroaches, these were the flying kind that enjoyed coming up through the sewers. These were the sewer hellions that lived for screams from your person as all two inches of their crunchy black body would flatten under the weight of your bare heel in the middle of the night.

...and do they ever squish.

The last of our unusual entomology lesson was finding camel/sun spiders in the laundry room. How I hated finding those. They move a lot like scorpions without a tail, are white and clearish, but are not of the spider family either. They are grotesque little buggers.

I came to the conclusion: Terminator Bob was worth every last shiny penny, but he needs that giant plastic dead bug on his truck to be taken seriously. Bless his bug killing soul.

~Bee loves bees though

27 November 2007

Blogger Goodbyes

NO, NOT ME. I'm saying goodbye to my socially experimenting, which should also be heralded as "Meme until every last reader is sick of your quizzes."

Soooo, I've been busy as have we all....

Mr. Coffee embarked on a convivial hunting trip just up north of us with a friend and my father in law. The other guys bow hunt while Mr. Coffee tromps around with them in the woods for camaraderie's sake. If they bag an elk, all the better for them. The guys left the day after Thanksgiving and arrived back in town three days later with most of their nether regions frozen...and no dead carcass.

Nobody in the Coffee house is big on venison or elk meat although my father in law insists that the meat shouldn't be gamey tasting if you can cool the meat down fast enough after you kill it. That's like saying I'd like black pudding if it wasn't for the pigs liver and the blood.

~shudders~

Isn't that just all you needed to know? Anyway, the thought of killing Bambi's dad would be too much to bear.

While Mr. Coffee was trolloping through the woods in 20 degree weather, I decided to tackle the house. The kids and I baked, cleaned, and cleared out the last of stray moving boxes stuffed in closets and storage spaces. When it comes to stuff, I'm a thrower and Mr. Coffee is a semi-hoarder. Minimal is phenomenally easier to clean.

In sadder news, I'm officially saying an internet goodbye to my friend, Doozer, who after blogging for a bit longer than I have (think nearly 4 years) has plausibly given me more laughs than anyone online. She is a great friend, on and off the blogosphere, loyal, smart and straight up honest.

The word is out she is closing up shop due to the Dooce factor and/or people she knows who can't manage to mind their own beeswax. I wish it wasn't so but some people have no life and need to stalk, apparently. Save your comments, I know that the internet is public and free to access. There is also a thing called internet stalking laws. I know you can get fired, you can be anonymous, you can be lurked upon by losers. It happens in rare cases, but I also know that with her closing her blog those people stalk me here looking for her.

Well, she's leaving blogland, you freaks..you know who you are, now go grow up and get a life.

That said, she will be sorely missed by this blogger. Please stop for a moment of silence while I offer up a 21 Scissor Kick Salute.



Blogger will not be the same without you.....

Venison Sucks and So Do Blogger Goodbyes

No, I'm not leaving, but more on that later...

This last week, Mr. Coffee embarked on a hunting trip just up north of us with a friend and my father in law. The other guys bow hunt while Mr. Coffee tromps around with them in the woods for camaraderie's sake. If the guys bag an elk, all the better for them. They left the day after Thanksgiving and arrived back in town three days later with most of their nether regions frozen...and no dead carcass which was good, as the thought of killing Bambi's dad would be too much for me to bear.

Nobody in the Bee house is big on venison or elk meat although my FIL rightly insists that the meat shouldn't be gamey tasting if you can cool the meat down fast enough after you kill it.

That's like saying I'd like black pudding if it wasn't for the pigs liver and the blood.

While Mr. Coffee was trolloping through the woods in 20 degree weather, I decided to tackle the house. The kids and I baked, cleaned, and cleared out the last of stray moving boxes stuffed in closets and storage spaces. When it comes to stuff, I'm a thrower and Mr. Coffee is a hoarder. Minimal is phenomenally easier to clean.

In sadder news, I'm officially saying an internet goodbye to my friend, Doozer, who after blogging for a bit longer than I have (think nearly 4 years) has plausibly given me more laughs than anyone online. She is a great friend, on and off the blogosphere, loyal, smart and straight up honest.

The word is out she is closing up shop due to the Dooce factor and/or people she knows who can't manage to mind their own beeswax. I wish it wasn't so but some people have no life and need to stalk, apparently. I know that the internet is public and free to access. However, I also know that with her closing her blog those people stalk me here looking for her.

That said, she will be sorely missed by this blogger. Please stop for a moment of silence while I offer up a 21 Scissor Kick Salute.



Blogging will not be the same without you.....

23 November 2007

Musical Christmas

I love this time of year. It's my turn to shine, to fling about the decorations like a Griswald, singing along to Christmas songs older than me, watching movies even older, and baking like a Nigella Lawson special.

Speaking of favorites, I've changed my music temporarily for the season. I don't know about you but I simply can't get enough Mele Kilikimaka. Here are a few songs that I would heartily recommend avoiding.

If you must put on Christmas music, please for the love of everything pine-scented grab something other than this:

*Barney the Dinosaur Gone Vegan Christmas

*Liza and David's Christmas Reunion

*iPod Christmas: Pirate and Rip It

*Crazy Campfire Christmas: Nuts Roasting Near An Open Fire

*The Kranks Christmas Soundtrack

*Doozie Goes To Mexico: Peliz Stabalot

*Hilary's Got A Laugh To Keep Us Warm

*Kabbalah's Rudolph The Red Bracelet Reindeer

*Avery's Dance of The Squirrel Killing Fairy

*All I Want For Christmas Is A Green Borat Speedo

*Mr. Bean's Silent Night

*Christmas at The Green Cathedral: What A Wonderful Mailbox It Would Be

*Snoop Dog's Pimpin' In Santa's Sleigh

*B & E Christmas: The Man With The Bag

*Mos Def's Fat Booty Santa

*I'm Dreaming of A White Comb Over by The Donald Trump Choir

*Hot Rod Caroling

*Larry King Raps The Christmas Story

*Lazy Iguana Sings: I'll Have A Beer Christmas Without You

*Jerry Springer Christmas: My Christmas Tree Don't Fork

*Ding! Fries Are Done Soundtrack

*Fireman Choir Sings: Put Out That Yule Log I'm Coming Down!

*Walmart Exclusive: I Got My Front Tooth For Christmas

*Bee Sings: Man, Santa's Hot with the smash hit: Oh, Holy Cow..It's Mr. Coffee

*Starbucks Hear Music: Santa Can't Get The Coffee Cup Ornaments

*Elves Reunion Special: I'll Have a Chinese Lead Poisoned Christmas

*Second Life Christmas: I Saw Mommy Kissing Everyone

*Politically Correct Christmas Vol 1 & 2:
The 12 Days Of Holiday Season with bonus track~
Away In A Barn Turned Hospital Birthing Suite

~Bee says just say no

21 November 2007

Thankful For Turkey

I'm thankful for so much but I think the best story of thankfulness is through my daughter. She was asked what she was thankful for and her grin widened and her eyebrows raised while belting out, "I THANK GOD FOR TURKEY!"

Turkey is a great thing to be thankful for. Happy Thanksgiving all!

20 November 2007

Social Experiment #1

I'm going to check on my comments, writing a little less this week, and you can learn a little about me in the process. Just what you wanted, I'm sure.

As for Hello Kitty AK's, if you try to check out on their website (last post) you will be forwarded to an Amazon book about the art of parody. I'm glad these aren't really an option for purchase. I don't think I could look at Hello Kitty the same.

I'm proclaiming my own Emma's Week of Social Experimentation. Isn't that great? Now you have just one more thing to be thankful for.

I'm taking off blogging time till next week after Thanksgiving, diving into genealogy, spending time with family in prandial jocundity and drinking down bottles of bubbly. I hope everyone has a happy Thanksgiving.

Your Observation Skills Get An A-

Hardly anything gets by you...
You have a great memory and eagle eyes

14 November 2007

Your Brain on Snark

It is evident that sarcasm hurts EVERYONE.




Opinions are only opinions when you are dispensing them. However, they magically morph into pretentious snark when you reciprocate in kind. Then the offenses happen and what options do you have? Here we go:

1) More than likely the offender didn't mean to hurt you. Find out their intention and use your big kid words. The internet's strong suit is not vocal inflection so perceptions can be easily misconstrued. Put away your pride and build a bridge, get over it. Bitterness makes you grey, wrinkled, constipated and old. It could be as easy as you just not knowing the person well enough.

2) Passive-aggressively address your offender and over through gratuitous blog posting pretending to not care. That's like being stabbed to death with a thumbtack. ATTENTION people: Most bloggers do not take hints. Say it in email, not in comments. In the spirit of Princess Bride, don't be a Humperdink. We are bloggers of action, lies do not become us.

3) Try not to sass back. Unless you include compliments about my backside, budding self-worth, and level of retardation. Cause you know, that's what Jesus would do.

4) Email....the person, and I guarantee......the person, would be the first to apologize for hurting you. Opinions are one thing, how we act on them another.

Seriously, though. That's me, true blue. If I'm offended, I will tell you. However, I am liking the idea of my brain on sarcasm. It's more salivating that I can bear.

~Bee wants cheese and onions on hers

12 November 2007

Benchmark


I am amazed at the incredible positive response to my last post on How I *Pretend* To Do It All. I prefer to laugh and poke fun at what I accomplish on a day to day basis. This provides an illimitable source of blog material, of which I relish at every click of my Publish button.

And no, this does not mean I hate women that CAN do it. Woman. She's the Proverbs 31 lady. I'm more like the Proverbs 32 lady: no one has written about me yet.

I am incapable of holding myself in the same housekeeping / parenting / bread-winning standard of other women. I could....however, my bed covers would bring more joy than living life defined by my housework.

Been there, done that.


The sad thing is women do have this opprobrious, inner dialog that rears it's ugly head far too often. Women should fine tune what works best for their families. Judge McJudgington, cool it toward other women who go about their daily grind in a different manner.

I could not fathom homeschooling my children but am in awe over friends who educate their children at home. I am always doing laundry and don't mind the folding. Others do not share my penchant for such things. To each her own.

I appreciate a friend's comment, that women need to be honest with our abilities. This is SO true. I do not see my lack of ability as struggles. This implies blame and wrong doing. June Cleaver, the model mother, is not obtainable but being as happy as June? That I can do.

What uniqueness ultimately means is simply casting off another's measure or ruler you are using as your own model of womanly, wifely or motherly success.

Find your own benchmark without looking down on others with a white glove scowl. Find your own without beating yourself up. Erma Bombeck said it best:

"My theory on housework is, if the item doesn't multiply, smell, catch on fire or block the refrigerator door, let it be. No one cares. Why should you?"



Leave behind those ridiculously unattainable benchmarks set by others. Find your own pace. Find your own benchmark. I promise I will still like you, even with your pearls, cleaner floors, and all.

~Bee loves to do housework in a dress

09 November 2007

The Great Starbucks Has Spoken

I found this website that cracked me up.

Astrology is lame, t@rot cards are a joke and most personality tests are too long. Let the omniscient and all-wise Starbucks Gods reveal your personality simply by what you drink at Starbucks. Mine?

I didn't write this..really. Get your own assessment here.

Personality type: A**-clown

You tell people that you're an executive at your company. You think that your repeated references to being "addicted" to caffeine make you seem intriguing and dangerous. People think you're a sucker because you spend 60% of your annual income at Starbucks. Everyone who drinks Grande Triple-Shot, no foam, Latte ends up addicted to crack.

Also drinks: Zima
Can also be found at: Karaoke bars


They are so off-base. I only tell relatives I'm the CEO..maybe it's because I'm so addicted to coffee.


06 November 2007

I Did Not Order Car Covers, Did I?

Do you wake some mornings and find the whole day you are wondering if you missed the memo?

Attention Humanity:
It's going to be a weird day.
Please make a note of it.

It started with waking up with enough energy to power my own coffee pot. I get the kids ready in record time and we head out the door. I see this as I am driving them over to school.

I'd like a license plate like that. Something silly and fun like LD FOOT or RD HOG, or even sillier like SMILE or CUTTHECHZ. I'd like one that says YR RTRDED, or even COLOSTOMY BAG, which I think might be a little long but could work well on a European license plate.

This license would put the person driving behind you in a good mood, if they could sufficiently read, and had your same warped sense of humor..and you weren't road raging around them or giving them the International Sign of Friendliness from cutting you off in traffic.

NO, You're No. 1!!!!! You're No. 1!!!!!

More fun today was when I drop off the kids at school and bolted to the nearest Starbucks drive thru. I've been waiting for my Starbucks' intercom to have one of those little camera's installed next to the intercom so I can make faces in it until I hear them laugh.

Some drive-thrus do have cameras right next to the intercom. It's tiny and you wouldn't notice it unless you were looking for it. The local Krispy Kreme people have it, not just the Starbucks. I look for them at Starbucks to know whether or not I can make faces. Otherwise, I'll be drinking loads of spit.

Apparently employees witness all sorts of fun on the camera. Overtly gratuitous groping, plucking eyebrows, picking noses, reaching back and beating the kids from the driver's seat..you know? The kind of stuff people only do from the comfort of their computer keyboard.

It was even more fun this afternoon when I got my mail order package today. I couldn't help but laugh. Now just so you understand, I purchased two garments last week. When I am looking for a particular item of women's undergarment clothing I have to order it because the stores don't carry my size. It's a fact of life for me because I've been afflicted with a common female hereditary gene called Topheavyitis Maximus.

All requests for pictures will be forwarded to Hitman Bob Mr. Coffee to address personally.

This below is what I get in the mail. I liked that, since I ordered two, they sent them each in their own box. They get an A+ for saving the environment.


You can see part of my china cabinet in the picture. That has nothing to do with anything.

Soooooo, if the boy knew what was inside, he would be no where near these homeless condos.

31 October 2007

Pumpkin Surgery

We visited the pumpkin patch on Saturday and carved our pumpkins on Sunday. Max age 8, was eagerly poised with his carving tool in hand. He cuts around the top and while lifting off the lid you could see seeds and pumpkin guts. He says cheerily to his faceless pumpkin,

"Get ready for your lobotomy!"

So today I'm being lame and not doing the Halloween thing. I'm not going to launch into all the reasons why and debate the history of Halloween over how it got started...blah blah blah ~glaze over~. In turn, I won't ask you why you are celebrating an evil, pagan, devil's holiday, ya sinners!

Halloween isn't cat sacrifice and goat worship. It also is not piping choir music to my porch and handing out gospel tracts. I just don't like this time of year.

Halloween to me means enjoying the cool weather and pulling out my sweaters. It means, crockpot chili, homemade cornbread, time with the family....and more blogging time. It doesn't get any better than that.

Oh, and scoring on clearance candy tomorrow at Walmart.

Speaking of Walmart, I am compelled to write this open letter.

Dear Mr. I Have No Gas Man,

I can appreciate your plight in holding your cardboard sign. I read it every weekend I've passed you in the last 7 months,

"Need help. Ran out of gas. Thank you. God Bless"

The price of gas is outrageous, I agree. Your freshly showered face is telling me you have transportation, as is the fact that your car runs out of gas every weekend in the same Walmart parking lot. Dude, that is just the most amazing luck. You should buy a lottery ticket. I think the only alternative to your gas dilemma is that your neighbor is unemployed and siphoning your tank every Friday. Otherwise you might be lying, and why would you ever do THAT?

Sincerely,
Bee (Not Stupid)

28 October 2007

This I Believe

I've taken quite a number of months to do this post. It's fitting with my 3rd bloggy anniversary just next week. JD, thank you for thinking of me and I've finally done it. This I believe.....


I'm a realist and I like to laugh, this I know.

I strive to post as transparent as I can be, just for my own satisfaction. When I first started blogging my blog was stale and boring even to re-read. I wrote what I thought people wanted to hear, afraid if people saw me, they wouldn't like me. I still struggle with that but I've become as honest as you'll find and as non-judgmental as they come.

It was three years ago I started blogging with this pseudo-profile. I had a myspace account but afraid...just afraid so I needed a place to vent. "Being myself without pretense or expectations" was my goal. I filled out the fields for my profile. I read it back and realized this was someone I wasn't but wanted to become. My blogging anonymously had peeled back the layers of pretense.

Anonymous blogging is therapy at best. This I believe.

I couldn't believe my posts. Out came the person that I wanted to be. Funny. Sarcastic. Cathartic. Interesting. Altruistic. Creative. More than a mom, more than the wishy washy friend, or bored and depressed housewife. I was only myself when I could be safe.

The truth is I lived most my life in this conformist way. As a child, I prayed that if I made others around me happy I'd be pulled from the foster homes I despised. I hoped in high school, that I wouldn't be branded the geeky home-schooled child because I could name all forty states in one breath. I would adjust so that the boyfriend of several years would marry me when my biggest motivator was only that I didn't want to live in sin. He'd say, as I would get home from my job modeling swimsuits, "I would love you more if you were thinner."

Later when I met Mr. Coffee, I would end up crying because Mr Coffee would show me unconditional love and support even with my inevitable flaws. It was not what I would ever expect.

I could, I would, make people like me. I purposed to be who they wanted me to be, if I could be the perfect girl. I ended up a depressed, passive dreamer who didn't know herself if she sat in front of a mirror labeled "self".

Today, I am exactly what you read. I wish more people in the world acted under no pretense, no underlying motives, no sit-in-judgment-secret formula to make the world more palatable. I am a realist, but a happy realist, comfortable in my own skin.

The glass isn't half full or half empty, it just depends on what is in the glass.

If I am sad, I cry. If I am happy, I smile. If I feel like making poetry or making absolutely no sense on a whim, I'll do it. This is me. I do not possess the ability to fart rainbows on command. I don't hide my head in the sand when bad things do inevitably happen.

Roses are red
Farts on command
I'm the happy realist
No head in the sand

Life will throw a curve ball and *if* in noticing this fact of life, a person can still laugh at the trials, learn from our mistakes, and allow life to be our teacher...we then, will know who we are and be better for it.

This is what blogging has taught me. This I believe.

I do have a tendency to notice the bad and make fun of it. I've had too much bad happen in my life to say it doesn't effect me. I, however, do not like to be blindsided. I like to see the bad coming down the pike, without sugar-coating it with a Pollyanna outlook. I go after it with straight up honesty. I will boldly look whatever in the face without fear, laugh in it's face and pointing that it's zipper is down while I confidently scissor-kick it in the head.

It's not how we fall, it's how we stand up after falling.

Diamonds are made under great pressure.

Expert sailors do not become this way by sailing calm seas.

Trees grow into the wind.

You cannot grow stronger muscles without resistance.

I feel love, hope, faith, compassion, mercy..all of which I cannot touch or place tangibly in your hand. Does it make any of these invalid? No. These are not corporeal but these are what make us human. Honesty in who we are just makes us easier to live with. Life can be our teacher, for this we should be pliable. To be ourself, comfortable in our own skin? This is invaluable. This I believe.

25 October 2007

Hair of The Blogger That Blogged You

I was at Temporary Insanity today. The blog and the mental state. I couldn't help it. The kids were home today (and will be tomorrow) for Parent/Teacher conferences which reminds me. I need to buy more duct tape. The blog however, had a good post today about hair but I'm getting a head of myself.

HAHA! Get it? A head. Do you get it? I don't get it.

This morning was Zus' conference. Zus is 7 and basically the boy devours books at school. He clocked in at 131 WPM with full, 3rd grade comprehension. He's in 2nd grade. They couldn't believe it so they did the test again. 148 WPM.

That's my boy.

This afternoon, I put away my carpooling lead foot stint and instead, I did some reading on my favorite blogs. (a head of myself, remember? hahaha! I kill myself) Kimberly's talking about hair.

I'm very conscious of hair. Clothes, not as much as I'd like, but hair? This I know. I've been asked about my hair avatar. Strangers stop me at the mall and ask about my hair. Yes, it's mine in the avatar. It's not naturally red but that's something only my hairdresser knows.

Here is my anal retentive point of view. If you look at the physical aspect of hair you might find it easier to have the Pantene look you are going for. But for the love of supercuts, people. Asymmetrical hair, like bobbed hair in the front and tapered to very short toward the back of the neck? Like Posh Spice. This looks terrible unless you have a great jaw line. I've noticed it's the new PTA mom haircut but one that will never grace this head. Joe Dirt had a more appealing mullet.

If you have this haircut. I am sorry. I hope you can find the person who said this is a cute haircut and scissor-kick them in the head. (I'm on a roll now! Get it? Scissor kick?! hahaha!)

Here are some interesting facts about hair.

Hair under a magnifier has layer-like scales called cuticles which open with heat. You could also see under microscope that perfectly straight hair is round in circumference. Wavy is oblong and curly hair is flat. This is why curly hair has difficulty keeping in moisture with a lack of thickness.
If you take vitamins, this will help you to grow great hair (soda is VERY bad for leaching your vitamins from you) .

If you rinse your hair with hot water right before conditioning, it opens the cuticle to allow conditioner to go deeper into your hair. Rinse with cold to flatten the cuticle, sealing in conditioner and making the hair less frizzy. Same with the blow dryer. If you must dry it completely, do a once over with the cool air. Don't get me started on product. Just walk into Sally's Beauty Supply and buy what they recommend. I haven't gone wrong yet.

Grey hair turns that color because air gets into the hair shaft making it look grey. This is very cool. Why this happens? Beats me. What I do know is I don't have much experience with grey hair. Just one grey chin hair that will NOT go away.

You have now passed Hair 101. Please make a note of it.

Hairy Not Scary

This afternoon, I put away my carpooling lead foot stint and instead, I did some reading on my favorite blogs. Kimberly is now talking about hair.

I'm very conscious of hair. Clothes, not as much, but hair? This I know. I've been asked about my hair avatar. Strangers stop me at the mall and ask about my hair. Yes, it's mine in the avatar. It's not naturally red but that's something only my hairdresser knows.

Here is my anal retentive point of view. If you look at the physical aspect of hair you might find it easier to have the Pantene look you are going for. But for the love of supercuts, people. Asymmetrical hair, like bobbed hair in the front and tapered to very short toward the back of the neck like Posh Spice. This looks terrible with a round face. Just don't do it. I've noticed it's the new PTA mom haircut but not for me. I only go with the crowd when it is going my direction.

Here are some interesting facts about hair:

Hair under a magnifier has layer-like scales called cuticles which open with heat. You could also see under microscope that perfectly straight hair is round in circumference. Wavy is oblong and curly hair is flat. This is why curly hair has difficulty keeping in moisture with a lack of thickness. Vitamins will help you to grow great hair, too.

Chlorine also does a number to your hair and since tap water is chlorinated, the best remedy is to buy a shower head where you can insert a filter. Most of the larger shower heads just unscrew to pop a filter in. I've seen them at Home Depot or home improvement stores. Your hair will thank you.

If you rinse your hair with hot water right before conditioning, it opens the cuticle to allow conditioner to go deeper into your hair. Rinse with cold to flatten the cuticle, sealing in conditioner and making the hair less frizzy. Same with the blow dryer. If you must dry it completely, do a once over with the cool air. Don't get me started on product. Just walk into Sally's Beauty Supply and buy what they recommend. I haven't gone wrong yet.

Grey hair turns that color because air gets into the hair shaft making it look grey. This is very cool. Why this happens? I don't know but I'm tired of plucking my beard and finding grey.

~Bee wishes you happy hair

24 October 2007

Quitcherskimmin

I appreciate my bloggy peops but I have to clarify on my last few posts, because I do not want you to think ill of me. How many people skim my posts? Raise your hand, you know you do it. Okay, important points for me to make because I have my pride.

1) I am not looking to replace my husband. No one else could handle me. (pipe down in the peanut gallery)

2) I will not be broiling his head. It's a joke. It's satire. It's funny. Just like ramming people in the carpool lane.

Road Rage Ramming=Funny.
Head Broiling=Funny.
Ranting Posts=Not So Funny.
Running Out Of Coffee=Pure Evil.

3) I do not hate men because I have said it's work to communicate with Mr. Coffee. If you believe me to be stating otherwise, I suggest you quitcherskimming and read the post.

4) We have one measly credit card for emergencies and one savings account. Savings is not touched, and neither is the credit card unless it's...well, an emergency. (I've been informed that cute shoes on mega sale is NOT an emergency)

5) I am always open about money probably because everyone is so weird and shush shush about it. Being open about money does not mean I want yours. You can't take it with you and it doesn't keep you warm at night unless you have a whole bunch piled around you.

6) I am not going to be living on blocks of government cheese and living in a van down by the river. I am a stubborn woman, and by Grabthar's Hammer, I can and will make it just fine as I have for the last 14 years, thankyouverymuch.

7) If I had credit card debit then I would be living in a van down by the river and eating bricks of government cheese.

8) I do have utilities, rent, and a ginormous food bill. This is life when you have four growing kids and one income. Groceries happen, and since I know my biology and digestive system, so does the other thing.

9) I did not pay Mr. BOB Jiffy Lube $80 for just oil. I paid $80 for fuel filter, oil filter, synthetic oil (two head gaskets replaced on a v6 that is 11 years old will make you do this, too). Then there is this state's sodding sales tax. This is not a lot of money for what I had done. It's just a lot of money when you could instead spend it on things like red bull and duct tape.

10) I am in no way slamming divorced peops. It does take two to tango. It only takes one falling down to make it NOT dancing anymore. It also only takes one blockhead to end up going through the big "D" and I don't mean Dallas.

11) I am so glad you are still with me, despite my inherent need to number everything and explain myself into your good graces.

In other news....

Today in Target, my 4 year old daughter decided to full-on run our cart down the overly busy main isle. Seriously, she pulled her own private Ben Hur Chariot Race, clearing people like Moses parting the waters, and her completely unable to see where she was going. I was there yelling behind her, "RED LIGHT!! RED LIGHT!!" as I do when I want her to stop. It was completely in vain as she barreled blindly toward the cash registers, her little arms barely able to reach the cart handle. Most people laughed and some people gave me the evil eye. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole.

Too much fun...

Clarity

I appreciate my bloggy peops but I have to clarify on my last few posts, because I'm getting so much hate mail I'm going to impale myself on a kitchen spatula.

How many people skim my posts? Raise your hand, you know you do it. Okay, important points for me to make because I have my pride.

1) I am not looking to replace my husband. I don't flirt online because it's disrespectful to Mr Coffee. I would broil Mr Coffee's head if he was flirting online.

2) I will not be broiling Mr Coffee's head.
It's a joke. It's satire. It's funny. Just like ramming people in the carpool lane.

Road Rage Ramming=Funny.
Head Broiling=Funny.
Ranting Posts=Not So Funny.
Running Out Of Coffee=Pure Evil.

3) I do not hate men because I have said it's work to communicate with Mr. Coffee. Marriage is work. Anyone who disagrees is single or divorced.

4) I talk about money openly. It's a weird thing for people to hear it because it's such a taboo subject. Our family pays taxes, has bills, and wants a good financial future. I know it's a hard concept to grasp since I know I'm alone in this.

Meh. Don't you wish? But you can't take it with you and it doesn't keep you warm at night unless you have a whole bunch piled around you and it's on fire.

5) I am not going to be living on blocks of government cheese and living in a van down by the river. I am a stubborn woman, and by Grabthar's Hammer, I can and will make it on my own, thankyouverymuch.

6) If I had credit card debit then I would be living in a van down by the river and eating bricks of government cheese.

7) I have a ginormous food bill. This is life when you have four growing kids and one income. Groceries happen, and since I know my biology and digestive system, so does the other thing.

8) I did not pay Mr. BOB Jiffy Lube $80 for just oil. I paid $80 for fuel filter, oil filter, synthetic oil (two head gaskets replaced on a v6 that is 11 years old will make you do this, too). Then there is this state's sodding sales tax. This is not a lot of money for what I had done. It's just a lot of money when you could instead spend it on things like red bull and duct tape.

9) I am in no way slamming divorced peops. It does take two to tango. It only takes one falling down to make the dance end.

10) I am so glad you are still with me, despite my inherent need to number everything and explain myself into your good graces.

In other news....

Today in Target, my 4 year old daughter decided to full-on run our cart down the crowded main isle.

She became possessed and pulled her own private Ben Hur Chariot Race, clearing people like bowling pins. She was completely unable to see where she was going. I was there yelling behind her, "RED LIGHT!! RED LIGHT!!" as I do when I want her to stop.

It was completely in vain as she barreled blindly toward the cash registers, her little arms barely able to reach the cart handle. Most people laughed and some people gave me the evil eye. It was still funny.

~Bee has always wanted to cart race

23 October 2007

Bob The Oil Man


"That'll be $82.74, please"

My stomach dropped to my knees. Did I ask for the diamond-plated air filter? No.

I was having the oil changed, and this without Mr. Coffee asking me to get it done. I was proud of myself and just under the 4,500 mile mark. I was tempted to pop on into Sweet Ride Tires and have them put some 22's w/spinners on my 1996 Ford van but one thing at a time. This was monumental. I was having the oil changed on my own.

"Here," I said, attempting to be cheery. I handed him my debit card but I should have slapped my wallet on the counter and told him to help himself.

I started tallying the items in my head because you can't be too careful when letting a computer, a Swifty Lube computer, do the work.

Oil filter, air filter, oil change, 5W30 and coolant. $82.74?!

I noticed his Swifty Lube name tag spells out, 'BOB'.

Now BOB looked suspiciously like an escaped convict in blue overalls. His faded, tattooed teardrop in the corner of his eye did not make me change my mind. I like to give people the benefit of the doubt but my benefit was immediately shot down by BOB's apparent brainchild that I should be his new girlfriend. He smiled, flashing his gold tooth in the front. He handed me back my card and receipt. BOB probably hadn't had a girlfriend since Nixon was in office. BOB probably hadn't showered since then either.

Gee, I wonder if he spells name backwards. B-O-B....B-O-B....
I suppressed a giggle at my own brilliance. I could see BOB wondering if ate too many dry instant coffee powder packets. Or maybe it was because I was getting my oil changed without being reminded. And while I was evolving into a higher life form in the waiting room.

This place was named "Swifty Lube" wasn't it?

Then I got the look from BOB as he handed me the keys. You know. The look? Like Joey Tribbiani meets Alcatraz. I can almost hear it now.

"How you doin'? I'll change your oil lady, anytime of the week, except Tuesdays, I'm due in court for boostin' cars...."

BOB asked me if I want to fork over another $75 to have my serpentine belt replaced. The thing costs all of $40 retail and 10 minutes to get it off and on.

I hadn't downed enough powdered coffee packets to agree to that. I'm just as happy to do it on my own.

~Bee doesn't really do it, Mr Coffee does.

22 October 2007

Dr. Jenn Is In

Mr. Coffee has irked me. He is the perfect husband for me.

He still brings me flowers or coffee. He does dishes, laundry, makes dinner, urges me to go out with girlfriends AND spend money on myself. He even gets the dirty laundry in the hamper and puts the lid down on the toilet.

I can't complain, but at times I am reminded of the pedestal I put him on.

You've heard the mantra of marriage is work, and it IS. I am usually upset this time of year but my perception gets warped. Mr. Coffee and I go to work, listening, communicating and making sacrifice. (including him reading this post) It's marriage and this is the way marriages survive.

I have a good friend who's ex-husband would frequently tell her, "You have no right to be angry!".

Really? Seriously? Seriously? And I'll allow you to stop being condescending.

I am of the opinion that everyone has a right to feel the way they do. When I get the urge to do some monster truck carpooling, I never act upon it regardless of the impatient driver about to merge off my front door panel.

How you feel is your own right. However, you are not entitled to act on what you feel, including going Evil Knievel on the rude driver in front of you.

Right now, I'd like to stick Mr. Coffee's head in the oven. Obviously, cooking his head not an option. I know it's just my hangups. We have never gone without or lived in our van down by the river, but I get so frustrated at the feast and famine nature of his job. I married a concrete man and every rainy season since we've been married we go through this same cycle.

A woman will get into a car accident in her Mini Cooper but does she blame it on the Cooper? No, in fact, you'll even see her go out and buy another Cooper. It's not the vehicle that's at fault, it's the driver. The same can be said for marriages. Marriage is not the issue but those navigating the marriage can be.

Mr. Coffee and I will get through this. I fret over the bills and he feels the overwhelming disappointment that he is not providing for the family. We talk it out...work together, we ebay half my worldly possessions and another year goes by.

Pretty soon all the kids will be in school and I will go to school myself. Until then, it's a lot of work..hard work, but I know it's well worth it.

Besides, I'm terrible at broiling.

21 October 2007

This Post Does Not Deserve An Award

I got sick about 3 years ago. Not that it's exciting blog fodder, just that I had bronchitis, strep, double ear, sinus and lung infection. Another exciting walk in the park.

Ever since, I get sick and it does feel like I'm going to cough up a lung. I hate feeling like my body is falling apart, maybe that's why I like learning about physiology so much. So much, in fact that when I go to school in fall of '08, I will be pursuing something in the medical field.

Since I'll be going back to school in my mid 30s, I'm going to strive for something that makes a lot of good bread. Forget the Hippocratic Oath and helping our fellow man! I need some cold hard cash. I enjoy writing but even the amazing author Laurie Notaro told me there were many years that she was hungry.

(can I drop names like that?)

Speaking of medical, I have been thinking. If identical twins marry identical twins and they each have children, are the children biological siblings or cousins?

My brain does not shut down. This post however...off to make dinner.

~Bee makes good lasagna

20 October 2007

Guilty Dreams and Rainy Days

I awoke to rain this morning. I love it. Growing up in the Pacific NW for most of my youth, I learned to love the rain and ignore the usual sentiment of suicidal cloudy gloom and a dockets worth of fender benders.

For my kids, rain is the signal to behave like room hobos. For me, I have the overwhelming urge to bake and drink obscene amounts of coffee. And read a book. I'm not good at baking. This is not a perfect scenario.

Not good at baking=burns lots of doorstoppy things.

Last night, Mr. Coffee and I saw the Transformers movie. Great popcorn and action show.

I also caught Elizabeth: The Golden Age with friend and fellow blogger, Dapoppins. Out. Standing flick, as I love history and have it be known Clive Owen is the ugliest person on the planet but I managed.

Speaking of, I've mentioned it before in passing but do you think it's odd that I constantly have a dream that I'm making out with Mr. Coffee but he has Clive Owen's head?

I'm not complaining but I have a growing apprehension in my dream that I'm doing something terribly naughty, but yet not...because it is my husband.

If Mr. Coffee dreamt he made out with my body and Angelina's head, I think I would laugh.

I have been meaning to post these for your viewing pleasure. You can see Mr. Coffee does not even look like Clive. (click to enlarge these)




I've named Mr. Coffee such because I can't stand the acronym DH. DH like, Darling Hubby, Dumb Husband, Doltish Heathen, Dodo Head?

Despite my dislike for 'code names', I named him after my coffee: Tall, dark, and hot.

I am not complaining. I discovered even the barista's at the nearby Coffee Cleavage Shack refer to him with drink of choice in a fond manner, "Hey, it's Hotty Chocolate". This is done while they are bending down, hanging cleavage out the window to hand over a drink.

~Bee says that Clive kisses just like Mr. Coffee. Weird...

PS. you can get your own facial recognition at: Myheritage.com

17 October 2007

Blogroll Schmogroll, Its Not Rocket Surgery

I have a whole lot of new readers coming through, so in light of that and my soon-to-be updated blogroll, I think it would be good to share again some of my profound knowledge (hahahhaha) about linky love.

The big dilemma. To Link or Unlink, that is the question.

I've seen these disclaimers now on blogs about blogrolls and linking. These are about as fun as reading your bank disclosures while getting a root canal. I'm talking about blogrolls that are passive-aggressive disclaimers on why the blog owner can't just take the link off without feeling guilty and yammering on, and on, and on about it.

I've been removed by haters and noooooooo, I'm not bitter.

No one likes to be removed from a friends list, a blogroll, or the line at Krispy Kreme, but I digress.....

When you have been taken off someone's blogroll/links, you will undoubtedly wonder, 'what did I say', 'do they hate my writing' , 'They can't smell me, can they?' or 'I wonder if their statcounter will show all 428 hits yesterday?'.

In light of this, I have come up with a blogroll, friends list and link disclaimer.

YOU WILL APPEAR LINKED or BEFRIENDED IF:

*IF I read your blog regularly. If you ignore me after 428 hits to your blog, I can take a hint. I won't link to you though. I will also sign you up at half a dozen free coupon sites just for spite. I sure hope you like email, I'm just saying.

*IF you make me shoot coffee or other assorted beverages in the morning, you are automatically linked. If I perhaps laugh at more than one post or choke on my own spit in a fit of laughter, I will give you extra kudos. If you make me wet my person while laughing, I might just have to add you to my blog stalker shrine.

*IF you make me think and use my head for more than a hat rack. I'm afraid my brain has gone to mush with kid movies, overdosing on coffee, spell check and calculators. I continue self-improvement efforts with a daily Sudoku game to keep my brain as nimble as a three year olds fingers. Thinking = good. Mush = bad. This however should be accompanied by adult conversation and witty banter for the desired effect.

*IF you come by my blog and say hi. Happy communication is a happy friendship. Now can we sing Kumbaya?

*IF you are famous and I want to look important and/or funny I will absolutely link to you. (ie, Dave Barry, Homestarrunner) I am a blogger, read me roar, but I am not short of acting desperate for readers.

*IF you appeared in the latest NY Times Bestsmeller. Books are for smelling don't you know? I have a love for reading, and as a self-proclaimed biblioholic, if you talk books or write them, I will link to you and perhaps name all subsequent children after you.

YOUR LINK DISAPPEARS:

*IF you have offered to be my sugar daddy, online stalker or other such sordid romantic gestures. Have it be known, I'm a female, 500 lb construction worker with a Subaru Outback and 5 o'clock shadow. I've also been banned from Yahoo Personals and MySpace. I feel the most dainty when my pit hair is braided and my nail polish, tube socks, and prison overalls match (Bonnie Bell #37 Faded Denim). I also have a husband, Mr. Coffee, that you could not measure up to. He still brings me flowers for no reason, after 14 years of marriage.

*IF I simply do not read your blog. Come on. It's not rocket surgery.

*IF I screwed up my template links changing my template for the 5th time this week. This should be reason #1.

*IF the number of "F" bombs and rated R content you use on your blog is taken into consideration. More than a handful of episodes in days post and you'll voted off the island by Me, Queen of The Prude Tribe. Unless you are waiterrant. Why waiterrant? I don't know him but he is hilarious.

*Lastly, you may have indicated a keen interest in the following, to which I am wholly against: Animal sacrifice, Hungry Man frozen dinners, fingernail decals/faux birthstones, fruitcake, plastic yard ornaments shaped like a granny's backside, blackmarket kidney donors, Ozzy Osborne, instant coffee, yugos, Barbara Streisand music, One Whole Chicken In A Can, owning Manheimlich Steamroller records, lookatmy.nekkid.self.com, el caminos, Jerry Springer, vegemite, pyramid schemes, Hammerpants, m@gic, fortune telling, and last but not least, boycotting toothpaste and or deodorant.

I like to peruse new reads, so if you see me on your statcounter for an hour, I'm either commenting or simply stepped away to change my tube socks.

**Please be aware that this post is entire tongue in cheek because tongue in keyboard gets really gross and messy.

16 October 2007

Reece High Call

It appears only 13 of my readers and subsequent commentees are bookish, er....book lovers. Or as someone says, "biblioholic/geek". I am not a geek. I only have a couple hundred ~mumble, mumble~ okay, over 1500 books.

Okay, I'm a geek.

I'd like to take a moment to officially own up to coining the word biblioholic. I've had it in my profile for like, 400 years. It's all mine now.

Making up words off the cuff is always fun.

On the spotzkey!

Like fabloid magazine and my personal favorite Manheimlich Steamroller. I just cannot wait for the Christmas music that descends upon us like a bucket of hot tar. Fond as I am of this group, when I hear them play, I have the abnormal urge to grab the closest sharp implement and jam it repeatedly into my ears.

Friends, do not let friends listen to Manheimlich Steamroller.

I was taking in a good read today and got the 10-4 about common expressions. It made me think of speech and expressions because the post was about, well...speech and expressions. I tend to say very 'Brit' things because this chick can't get enough of Britcoms. I hear it all the time.

If anyone on the planet has a good grasp of the English language, it's the Brits. ((sending love across the pond))

Yesterday, I intended to post on the environment or recycling, or perhaps fess up to the 10 years of Pampers diapers I've contributed to landfills.

I know that's irresponsible but I'd never use generic or Huggies.

Now thanks to modern medicine, a tubal ligation, and those furry Charmin bears that have cool potty training kits, I shall contribute no longer.

Today, in late fashion but still in the recycling spirit, I introduce you to my list of Click to Donate sites. Clicking to donate is a great idea and suggest that you DO IT NOW all change your home page to one of these. Every day you fire up your browser, you will see it, click it, and make a difference.

Not doing this is the equivalent of being a celebrity and not adopting. ~gasp~


Fight Against Breast Cancer

Gave a Child Free Health Care


Helped Feed a Child

Protected the Rainforest


Rescued an Animal


Funded Free Books For Kids

~Bee is all about peace, love, and recycle

15 October 2007

Blog Action Day Means Recycled Post

I'd like to point out that I'm recycling a post on the recycling environment. Does this count? Of course, it does.

I am a self proclaimed Recycle Queen. Just call me RQ. If there is a recycle award, and there should be, my name would top the list.

Mr Coffee can attest to my status as OCD and Recycle Queen coming together in moments where I go dumpster diving to avoid having a 3x3 paper packaging go in the garbage.

I was raised in Oregon where they recycle everything. It is ingrained from birth when they give you your first tree at the hospital with a complimentary bottle of patchouli-scented baby powder in a 100% post-recycled, organic, unbleached hemp tote. It reads, "Recycle This, Dammit!"

Seriously? Oregon is a conscientious state, recycling paint, tires, bottles, cans, toilet paper, medical mary jane, you know the usual.

The word is already out that Soylent Green is people otherwise Oregon would recycle them, too. Tastes like chicken.

Every week I triumphantly place my FOUR overflowing containers at the curb with satisfaction that I'm doing my part. It's the most beautiful abundance of properly washed, squashed and sorted recyclables. I laugh victoriously as my neighbors put out their measly little box every week thinking they are going to out-recycle me.

Time to put out the oil jugs and Recycling approved box of batteries.

Of all things to recycle, plastic grocery bags are not included which I take back to the store or reuse as dirty diaper bags. I just don't think this is what Albertsons or my garbage company had in mind.


At least the boy earns double points for imagination. I never thought to place a FRESH logo over my banola and loop my arms in the handles.

You should have seen mine. I wore it frontwards and it looked more like a really lame bra and obscene message across my chest.

If you think I'm going overboard? Consider this:

A typical family consumes 182 gallons of pop, 29 gallons of juice, 104 gallons of milk, and 26 gallons of bottled water a year.

That's a lot of containers.

~Bee Repartee is recycle friendly