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.

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

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.....

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

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!

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

How Observant Are You?

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

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

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.

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.