Egg Money, Gummies, and Python

These Facebook ads are wildin'. This story you are about to hear may or may not have been an actual reenactment, interpretive dance, or part of the Colonial Days talent show at your local elementary school.

Me, signing into Facebook:.....

Ad: "Alcohol is bad. We have something better. for the price of four dozen eggs and in two installments of $49.99"

Me: ....... *rolls eyeballs*

Ad: "Pot gummies! Its a great alternative."

Me: "How about just stop drinking and, I don't know, just save your money?"
 
Ad: "But how will you sleep?"
 
Me: "On my piles of money."
 
Ad: "Don't be like that. These are delicious. They come in pina colada, screwdriver, pink martini..."
 
Me: "So they taste like booze and cost money like booze. Who has egg money these days? Do I look like I run Pelosi's stock portfolio?" 

Ad: "Keep running your mouth, and I'm gonna redirect your browser. I'll also take your in network printer location and send it to South Korea."
 
Me: "Dude. Chill. Those gummies aren't working too well are they? Have you tried... ♫ peeeeen-yaaa cola-DA and getting caught in the rain... ♪"
 
Ad: "Okay, here are a bunch of friend suggestions of people you n.e.v.e.r. wanted to see again. Aww, here is that former co-worker that was always late and smelled like hard-boiled eggs."
 
Me: "I'm going to Total Wine today and buying Bero. Tom Holland makes that fake beer."
 
Ad: *clutches pearls in Python and LAMP stack*
 
Me: *Blocks Ad* I've never been high in my life, but I feel calmer already.

~Bee may or may not have changed the story for her own amusement.
Listening to:  Talk by Selena Gomez (Not cool, Stealena, sampling from Cake's Never There)

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Sugar Sugar Honey Honey

I'm not the sweet type. Sugar, that is.

I have fairly simple tastes: Black coffee, plain cake, plain vanilla ice cream, unsweetened tea. Don't get me wrong, I can devour a bag of Reese's peanut butter cups like the best of them. 

That's normal.

The irony of a Krispy Kreme cooking up gluten overload within five miles of my house is not lost on me. On the rare occasion I do eat there, and it is rare, I get the plain, non-glazed donuts. Mr Coffee, however, makes a concerted effort to consume four days of his sugar intake in one go. The man has been blessed with some inhumanly sick ability (read: enviable) to devour half a dozen double-frosted, sugar-bomb, raspberry-filled, double-chocolate something-or-others and not slip into a sugar coma.

Mr Coffee inherited my portion of the sweet tooth. Fortunately for him, he also got my portion of keeping it off the scale. 

The hot, brilliant, sugar-eating jerk.

After consuming trace amounts of sugar, I feel like my vital organs are shutting down and I'm fully cognizant of my body's equivalent of vibrating bubbles out of a concrete foundation. All this aversion to sugary sweetness has turned me into one of those label readers. 

Sodium content, high fructose corn syrup, and how many servings they sneak into a pint of Haagen Dazs. It's criminal that you can devour 220% of your daily fat intake in one of those little Tardis like "four servings but are really one serving" pints.

Who in their lactose-fueled mind can stop half way through one of those? Not me, and that too is normal.

At a young age, and by young I mean still in diapers, society is indoctrinating and molding us into becoming label readers. Doctors, media, parents, school, government-subsidized farmers monetarily motivated by the US Department of Agriculture. The USDA is paying off wheat farmers, who in turn, encourage us to eat 6 to 9 servings of bread. NiNE SeRViNgS of bread. That's a round of sourdough in one day.

Since the government tells us how to eat, it's only natural that movies and TV would follow. I remember those 1980s-era Skippy peanut butter commercials getting in on the action. Don't even start with TikToks about those peanut butters with pistachios and chocolate.

My 2nd grade sister holding up a jar of peanut butter at the grocery regurgitating through a Vanna White grin and modeling her best Annette Funicello, "Buy this, Linda! It has good nutrition!"  

On top of this, with my label reading and natural sugar avoidance, could someone please, then, explain to me why, oh why, my teeth are falling out? Do your teeth just start to revolt once you turn 18? Have a baby? Once you start paying your own bills? Or do they wait until you start getting crows feet and a mustache just to mix things up? And it's not just us girls.

It wasn't until I was 24 and knocked up with my first child that I began to have teeth issues. Forget the other dangers of unprotected sex. They never mention a tooth revolt with pregnancy. Not once. Nor do they explain when you are 10 years old that one slip of proper hygiene is akin to ping hammering your teeth once you turn 25.

Brushing away a few, slacking, bedtime habits the night before a dentist checkup doesn't count.

Fast forward to adulthood and compulsive flossing. I have flossing picks everywhere. I'm the OCD of the dental world. Little hand flossers packed in my purse, in the van, in a bag in front of my computer. My compulsion has paid off and my hygienist loves me. However, I still need root canal, crown, have a cracked filling, blah, blah, blah. My front teeth repair is another long story involving roller skates, a blanket, and ramming my 7 year-old face into a steel pole.

I've motivated my kids in the past, sporadically inspiring household hygiene with the Billy Bob teeth angle. I sputter out through fake plastic, black, misaligned teeth in my best redneckerson, "SMOOCH! Youse want some teeth like me?! Don'cha ever brush...hey, give yer mama some sugar."

Not that uneducated or poor means bad hygiene. Kids with parents with money to burn just have better dentists.

Armed with good dose of fear, my adult kids have good hygiene habits for life. I also have label readers that would make even Linda cry into her recommended servings of protein-filled TikTok peanut butter.

~Bee may or may not be approved by the American Dental Association
Listening to: Smile Like You Mean It by The Killers

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Oregon Is Pink and Florida Is Orange

How are you at puzzles? 

I remember growing up, we had a United States map puzzle. Every parent and grandparent in the world needs one of these. 

My sisters and I took turns putting each state carefully together. We'd spend hours doing our USA puzzle. Then we tried timing how fast we could go. We were competitive and home-schooled. It was bound to happen.

Without realizing, we learned all the states and capitols. Immersion teaching. Although, I think this was my kids version, I remember the colors. Somehow blue is missing. I have to ask my sisters.

The pieces were paper on cardboard. California and Washington were yellow, as was Texas. 

I forget the colors for Hawaii and Alaska.

Maine and Oregon were pink. 

Montana was a lovely purple. 

Florida was a garish orange. 

What baffles me is I can't remember where my coffee cup is, but Oregon is pink?

I think my parents had some realization of how I was wired. I did my puzzle by color and alphabetically. The orangey-brown color I solved these first because I disliked that color the most. After some time, I had to glue the pointy tip of Texas due to peeling cardboard paper. New Mexico squished it all the time. 

Of course, it did. New Mexico was pink, too. 

Puzzles have a way of calming me when I'm hamster-wheeling in my head. My kids are the same. I bought them the same map puzzle I had as a child. Now they are adults and that puzzle lost its life in a juice incident years ago. 

I use a website. Sheppard Software. I've mapped out their puzzles online for literally 20 years. I don't know if they offer software but their online world geography puzzles are amazing. Homeschool parents, take notes. 

It should be noted, I found this picture after I wrote this post. Not bad for someone who forgets where she left her glasses 2 minutes ago. On her head.

 

 -Bee knew the whole time they were on her head.

Listening to: Neighbors power washing their walkway.

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Shuck It Bucket

 Are you still here? I'm thankful for you.

I told myself, "Self, you need to get things out of your head. Why don't you write on your blog again? Not just the negative, but take a breath and clear the gray matter"

My self is so smart. To catch you up, things have changed over the last few
years.

My kids are grown. Like, grown-grown. Only two-left-on-my-insurance grown. One married off and the other three making their way.

I have a four year old grandson who loves cars and abandons all sense of self preservation when he can. I'm certain his goal in any given room, is to find the highest point and find a way to get there. 

I am starting a new job. One in HR/Benefits. My antiquing business has been reduced to hobbyist seller. I like that I can come back to it, giving as much time as I want to.

I'm hiking now. Doesn't everyone say they love hiking? Those trails would be so much fuller if everyone hiked that says they hike.

Hubs is still in construction. He's been working a few months at a house on a hill out in the boondocks. I've visited the homeowner and they have about 40 chickens and lots of eggs. Their place looks like a whimsical Swiss Chalet. I understand the homeowner has a saw mill. The property is idyllic, nestled into the hill on a long, long back road. I can only imagine the peace they experience being 10 miles out of town. Wind gently blowing in the breeze, the smell of sawdust, and birds crapping all over the porch. 

I'll take it. Crappy birds and all.

I've been watching more TV and learning to crochet. Tik Tok watching. Book reading. Doing adult things like jobbing and buying houseplants. Getting a job. Getting a different job. Finding a groove in life (not a rut).

You don't realize that how you spend your days is how you spend your life. I've reached a more peaceful place in my life. An OCD diagnosis in 2023 and year of messing with medication came to a head. More obsessive than compulsive, I've learned a lot about mindset. I never really gave it much thought but I'm training my brain. Recognizing more and more when something derails me. 

A beach whale parking job. A loud neighbor. Spices in the wrong cupboard. That one comment that had me gerbil-wheeling in my head. Kids leaving trash in my van. Still.

I recognize things better now and focus on the good stuff. The positivity. The resolution to the plan. This has made me an expert in how to find the most efficient way to do something. I regularly use this to my advantage.

Will I ever shake myself of overthinking, over analyzing? I can't go back on medication (it causes tremors and makes me feel crazy) I don't expect a cure but I can channel my cyclical thought to be someone who lives with OCD instead of someone who suffers from OCD. I know I see things others don't. Perhaps that is part of comedy. Relating to observations of others or yourself that others may not see at first. That's why I write and that's why I like to laugh. Relating is a big one.

It also helps to analyze perspective to put it on proverbial paper. Like yesterday at a drugstore, an employee told me, after nearly hitting me with the door, that the lab was closed for lunch. She was rude and loud, "Um, we are at lunch." 

No hello. No sorry. No apologies for the wait but we'll be back in an hour. I wasn't even looking at her. I was busy trying to read all three signs.

I half smiled and looked up. Signage was everywhere so I was quite aware. "I understand. I've just been given the runaround on your hours." I admit unnecessary information but an explanation of why I'm hanging out next to the lab door seeing when I can return.

I kid you not, the woman makes her eyes wide and rolls them with her entire head, grimacing like I'm ridiculous. "Awesome", with her sarcastic reply, she should be employee of the month by now.

"Not really," I stated quietly looking back at my phone. She kept walking.

I'm ridiculous? This coming from a lady "helping" without being asked or even given eye contact, irritated I'm bugging her lunch break, and sucking on a $50 sippy cup while wearing giant eyelashes like an awning is attached to her face.

I didn't say another word and getting mad wouldn't change my trajectory. Who knows. Maybe Starbucks gave her decaf coffee.  Maybe she was late that morning or her giant eyelashes made her 90% blind. 

Either way, I'm proud of myself for not ruminating for hours on end and writing it out makes it sound even more ridiculous and innocuous. Its also far less emotionally exhausting to let it go. My friend calls it throwing it in your "you-know-what bucket". I call it the Shuck It Bucket and so far so good.

~Bee's favorite place is not the lab

Listening to: The Joke by Brandi Carlile 

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Green Cube

Here we have a Cube in the wild. 

No Cubes were harmed in the making of this post.

Getting to know my neighbors is a habit from childhood. It seems to have fallen out of fashion with the younger generations. While it's important to know your community, you never know when a neighbor will need assistance. As a teenager, a former neighbor once suffered a stroke and yelled for help for two days. We played outside in those days. Kids on bikes or with jump ropes. Anytime when the sun came out. Our neighbor survived due to the keen ear of my sister.

Perhaps the idyllic neighborly "Howdy Ho Neighbor" can also be considered nosy. I get that. It is a comforting thought though, to know helping hands are close by. Lend or borrow an egg. Help get groceries for a flu stricken family. Watchful eyes aware when we are out of town. Community is a rare find, but the memory of block parties and a billion neighbor kids in your backyard seems to fade away with the years when bustling, hustling, and isolation appear to be more of the norm. Pandemics don't help either.

I like to sit outside and work online. Load up on vitamin D and pet the doggos of passersby. I used to sit on my back patio but a Y2K like freezer now resides in my porch haven and it appears my herb garden is rivaling a McCormick warehouse operation.

On a side note, even if you are a brown-thumbed individual, I recommend buying an herb plant for $2 to $3. This is fool-proof. Keep it alive, your brown thumb is officially green now and you have fresh herbs. Go you! However, if you kill it, you now have dried herbs and you still paid a fraction of what the supermarket offers. I don't see a downside to this.

I've gotten to know some neighbors by hanging out on my two story patio. Etta (not really her name) lived across the courtyard from us and would BBQ on her patio 3 to 4 times a week. The smell was heavenly and we talked about our kids. Her ex. My grades, when I was at a local college. Her very cool job tallying and reporting box office movie ticket sales. How living with lupus had its ups and downs. Most importantly, when I was coming over for dinner. 

Did I mention the BBQ smell?

Etta moved away and I met Vlad, the new tenant in her old place. Again, that is not his name, but he is from Very Cold Place, Russia. I only learned about him and his family after an icy snowfall where he appeared on his patio in a t-shirt and shorts asking about the pool. 

I lied. He had on PJ pants. 

He did tell me he was surprised at the snowfall and it reminded him of home. Then came the incident where he hit my parked car late one night and told me the next morning, not realizing he hit my van. He may or may not have been...imbibing. Judging from our neighborly patio convos, my conclusion appears to be the most likely. I had no proof. We were neighbors. He had insurance.

Once my patio was overtaken by my homesteading jungle, I found a new perch, a little green utility box. It appeared to be a safe perch. I christened this my Green Cube. I should probably name it something cooler. I'm up for suggestions. 

Situated near the sidewalk and down a bit on a hill to give a nice low view of the side street. It is also covered by trees and graffiti, so I found it appropriate to set my arse directly on the graffiti-ed side. Take that, gangsters. Middle aged lady sitting on your tag. The same one you read about in Argentina prisons. The tags, not middle aged ladies. 

My Cube also hums. I'm sure its fine.

Of note: I will not share this tag. What the heck. Now that I have camped out here for a few months, I'm going to be calling the utility company and request a new paint job.

I'm enjoying my time on my cube and have met some great people.

Rob and his wife, Lily. They've been married for 45 years. He fought in Korea. He has great stories and a fist-sized hiatal hernia. I have to make a concerted effort to not stare at the center of his stomach. Why don't people get these things taken care of. Doesn't that hurt?

Mr DJ walks his black fluffy doggo, Shadow. Shadow was attacked by a pittie when he was a young pup. As a result, Shadow doesn't like other doggos but loves people. Shadow is a King Cocker Spaniel and Chihuahua mix. Mr DJ has disc jockeyed for many different radio stations. He likes country. His wife is a retired nurse.

Karaoke Man is known around town. He lives nearby and bikes everywhere. He turns up the juice on the amp and sings to soft hits and Motown from the 70s. Everyone knows a city's celebrity busker.

Paul lives nearby. He drives a green Kia and his wife is a pack rat. He does have a WWI Russian helmet for the low price of $600. Paul reenacts Civil War battlefields. Full dress. He plays a Confederate but he said he's not racist. It was only because they needed more Confederates and the uniforms were a lot cheaper. He also has three ex wives but now he goes to church and is happily married. He is pretty funny and his dog is very sweet. Paul will be moving by the end of the month. He is happy his new townhouse has all new appliances. 

TDG, Tall Distinguished Gentleman, walks every evening. He struts on by in a walk-jog and says ritual hellos with a trademark smile, and "have a great evening" in passing. I love his accent. It sounds almost Afrikaans or Dutch to me. As it turns out, what do I know. He is from Zimbabwe. 

He waves from across the street, "Wenza kanjani!" (Zulu for "How are you")

The Lady with the Red hat. Immaculate nails, makeup, and red lipstick. Coiffed, platinum hair, and smile. She never walks with anyone else but has a great hat.

Teenage Hoodie. Shuffles by with his wiener dog. I've never seen his neck or his eyes. His face is perpetually in the phone. 

Janet wears nothing but athletic wear. Cool shoes. She also has a friendly hello. Her Siberian Husky, "Avalanche" has places to go, things to do. Byeeeee....

Lastly, there is Rob. Rob is outgoing, but gives me 'watch him close" vibes. Just something, but he's funny. He's never been forward usually stops at my green cube to show me the crowned jewels of dumpster diving expeditions. He has mad skills. Rob reminds me of a surfer dude, Keanu Reeves, or the Turtle Dad in Finding Nemo. A few snippets should tell you a lot about Rob.

"I live down the road..a have a totally nice house. My parents own a ton so they let me live in this one."

"I'm so off the grid. I hate cell phones. Haven't owned one in years."

"I only go to the clean dumpsters. No needles in this area. I quit that shit 20 years ago."

I asked what did he do for work and the drawl is out like January molasses, "I am a maaaan of leisure. My biggest decision is which of four bathroom I'm going to use in the morning." He nods, as if in agreement with himself.

Rob carefully opens the plastic bag to show me his newly acquired goods, "If its clothes in a garbage bag, its always clean."

Modeling a white table runner with blue stripes on the ends, "Look, I'm Jewish! I'm not really Jewish, but if I was I'd look bitchin." 

Pulls out one curtain panel, "ooh, a rug!" Rob proceeded to lay this out on the side walk, kneel, and face plant. "Like this?" 

I stifled a laugh.

"So Rob, did you grow up around here?"

"I graduated in Portland. '92. I've done okay with myself."

Switching gears, he makes this jerking movement, he is gloriously excited. "OOOH, I have a uniform now." He gently holds up full Subway uniform punctuated with a Cheshire smile. On the T-shirt, over his head and clothes. The hat is yanked on and suddenly, a fashion show was born. He's animated now. He grabs the jean jacket out of bag, "Duude. And a coat! I look rad, don't I?" 

Strutting ensues further. He is exhibiting something between drunken chicken and a Monty Python sketch.

"Oh, and these aren't used, but..." Mr Point Break looks dead serious and holds up a clear, industrial plastic bag of unused Depends, "You know of anyone who has a diaper fetish?"

"Nooo?" I say slowly with a grimaced smile, holding in a flash of second-hand embarrassment. "Can't say that I do."

His face relays all the seriousness of the meaning of life, "Well, these are going back." He bolts across the street to return the unwanted item back to the oversized, apartment dumpster.

People aren't always vulnerable, until they are. 

At times, not what they appear, until they tell you. 

Not loud about needing help, until they're overwhelmed. 

Sometimes they just need kindness, but there are also moments of mind your own business. 

You couldn't know moments you've thrown a lifeline, where you've positively impacted another human (or doggo).

Sometimes I used to see Rob and wave to him driving his beater Expedition haphazardly overfilled with cardboard, garbage sacks, and other questionable detritus. I haven't seen him in some time which may have something to do with him showing up in the paper with a mug shot for suspected nefarious deeds.

Should I have not been kind, or neighborly? I may have acted differently had I know better and done better (this is also why you should listen to your gut, ladies and gents).

Neighbors are an oddity. My connection to them may only be that I live closely. The rest is up to me to foster good relations, or mindful of not fostering anything at all. Being a good neighbor on my Green Cube but still minding my own business.

~Bee does her best work outside.
Listening to The Search by NF

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Guiltless Pleasures

Hi, Dear Readers.

Its time to clip my nails. Judging the number of times I've retyped this sentence, a pep talk is in order. I planned on writing something else but perhaps, someone needs to hear about the concept of taking care of you.

I have few guilty pleasures and no, clipping nails isn't one of them. Specifically, I have exactly zero guilty pleasures because nothing accomplished in a healthy way causes me to feel regret. Unless it's using the word "pleasure". I feel The Ick when I say that word. Not because of meaning but because it should be banned from the English language along with words like "moist" and "penal colony".  But I digress...

I've never subscribed to the ideal that a luxury, hobby, or a soul-feeding activity should make me feel guilty. Chocolate? No. Not speaking of food as a whole and carbs in general. Feeding your soul is more than daily caloric intake.

Everyone should have something that feeds their soul. This is especially true for parents. Nothing is as rewarding as children. Nothing is as draining either. I know, because I am a parent of four adult children. We didn't get here without situations that built my character and inadvertently theirs. I also made Me Time. 

Reading, hiking, a daily coffee with a friend, the gym, or a continuously clean house. Self-care is the catalyst to being at your personal best to be healthy and able to give back. If the last year and a half taught us anything, it taught us what is important. To enjoy life to the fullest, hold close those who you care about and love, and not feel guilty about taking care of you. Feeling guilty implies you have bad or unhealthy motives. Taking care of you is far from unhealthy.

My non-guilty pleasures? I get my nails done. As a former compulsive nail biter, this was a Good Thing. Makes me feel feminine and put together.

A glass of wine or a small nightcap. 

When I went to an office, I used to do my daily Starbucks run. Now I buy compostable coffee pods. I have my coffee at home while saving my pocketbook and the planet. 

Reading. I'm a fiction reader. Sometimes, I'll throw in science writing, a rare biography, or cookbooks. My To-Be-Read pile is forever growing. I read to escape. Calms my brain.

 I swim and go to the gym. Endorphins and stress relief.

Morning coffee, mixed with protein and vitamin shake. I'm not a big breakfast person, aside from eating out. This helps get me going.

Plants. I own several....dozen.... plus. I find great joy in not killing my Boston fern, climbing roses, snake plant, hoya, clematis, flowers, and pothos plants.  I also have a nice herb garden, if I say so myself. 

No guilt. Just self-care. However that looks to you. Just do it.

~Bee says take care of you.

Listening to whatever musical my daughter has playing.

Wonder Woman and Moonshine

Big Sis (R) and Me (L). circa 1978

These are the faces of backyard sprinkler antics fueled by 

 Chocolate Nestle Quik and salads with Roquefort dressing.

This past weekend, I visited my sister. Its only an hour away and its great to be able to see her and her hubs, Chris...and my mom. They invited me down to sell and help in their town's annual city wide garage sale. I had a van full of goodies to sell and planned time with family. Win, win.

It was fairly hot outside. I showed up early in the morning. We lounged in retro, reclining dining chairs lavishly equipped with four roller casters and wood trim. Upholstered in swirly blue, cream, and sand colored durable fabric, these were the epitome of 1980s dining. 

After brainstorming to get more traffic at our sale, Chris went down to the Dollar Store and bought balloons for the end of the drive. It helped a little. We kept to the shade, sipped drinks, and soaked in vitamin D while the masses descended. All five of them. 

Our little sale was what they call a bust.

I take that back. Dev and Chris made out better than I did. I earned enough money for a value menu nuggets at Wendy's. It was too hot outside, I think. and we were tucked back in a flag lot in a subdivision.

This is the part where we called it an afternoon. Rolling up our proverbial tables and jonesin for fish and chips, we had limited dining options, no thanks to the risible Gov Kate Brown. Although, our saving grace: when you want pub food, the best place to go is....well, a pub.

After a good Porter, excellent fish and chips, and prize winning onion rings, we threw a few bucks in the slot machines. Did you know pubs have slot machines in Oregon? I had no clue. Silly victory dances ensued. Wins punctuated with dinging and whistling.

$1.25 win?
DING, DING, DING.....!

Three matching symbols...
*110 decibles*
"WONDER WOMANNNNNN......."

Needless to say, my weekend of debauchery did not end in eating fried food, in front of Wonder Woman slots, at a pub in the wild countryside of Oregon.

We stopped at the store on the way home so I could pick up supplies for Shark Week. You know...Girl Flu. Lady Business....but Oregon doesn't want you using a plastic bag to carry your supplies out of the store. Living just across the Washington Oregon border on the Washington side, I've grown accustomed to the differences between the states.

(I do have a point to this. Quit whining or go make me a sandwich.)

In Oregon, you can't pump your own gas, you do pay zero sales tax but a hefty state income tax, and you can't buy wine at the gas station. Oregon is also an anti-plastic bag state unless you are wealthy enough to pay five cents for every reusable plastic bag you bring home. It is widely acceptable to skirt environment laws if you have enough money to pay for every bagging convenience. Conversely, five cents a bag is an affordable way to line your diaper pails and bathroom garbage cans. You can't buy them cheaper. But I digress...

A red-faced teen boy was my cashier. He looked mortified. I got outside and pulled off my mask while waving my sole purchase in the air like I just don't care. 

I'm over thirty, the approximate age where you stop getting embarrassed over inconsequentials. You know why? Because I really just don't care and it'll probably make my sister laugh by holding pads up to my face like some Orbit Gum commercial. 

 

Kind of like this, but I never wear 

a pith helmet or white jumpsuits.

Dev was in the car with the AC going. I'm waving pads around like, "HEYYYY, BAGLESS OREGON, CANT YOU SEE? I GOT A PACK OF ALWAYS THIN PADS WITH WINGS, FAM!"  

If you didn't realize, I'm ridiculous sometimes. Dev just grins and rolls with it. She is also over 30 years old.

We got home and hung outside until we abandoned the sale in the driveway before dinner. Dev got an invite to a block birthday party from the neighbors. Apparently, the neighbors were all related in that corner of the subdivision. Lots of siblings, aunts, and cousins; all with big families. It was a crazy shin dig. 

 BBQ smelled amazing, lots of food, drinks, and two large dogs chasing so, so many kids. Kids everywhere, cycling, running around, playing Barbies, trying to sneak cake, drinking too much soda. Everyone was so welcoming and genuine. 

 Most of the guys were crammed into the house with the fight on the big screen. Occasionally, the grunt volume would increase depending on who was winning. Moonshine was passed around in a canning jar. One of the brothers, offered my sis the first sip of a newly made jar and I tried it next. I wouldn't have tried it otherwise, not during COVID from a community glass. From the strength of that sip, I would assume homemade hooch kills COVID as well as your liver. And also strips varnish or make you see God if you drink too much. Then our host issued the warning to those imbibing: avoid open flame and driving. Safety first kids.

We sang to the sweet, 15 year old, birthday girl and the adults lit off fireworks and mortars. That was about the time the police drove up the cul de sac warning the owner about a noise complaint. The policeman was a nice guy doing his job, no mention of fireworks, social distancing, drinking outside the house on the lawn, or even face masks, just letting everyone know it wasn't 10pm...yet.

At 10pm, we disbanded and walked back home. I ended up falling asleep at 11 or midnight on the couch while my sister made bigger signs for the next day. Garage sale flop didn't matter much, it was a great weekend with my sis and the family.


Bee thought moonshine was delicious.
Listening to September by Earth, Wind, and Fire (you know why, Dev!)

I Don't Care About My Neck

I had the itch to write today and thought, 

"Self. You should write today. What's the big gap in writing on your blog? Do you not love it anymore? Do you think you're too busy? Can't you shave your legs sometime this month?"

I talk to myself a lot. I also ask a lot of questions.

Everyone says they are busy - a natural response. Busy-ness makes you feel this is a solid reason for not keeping in touch with your friends. It isn't, but it feels like a good excuse. It's not like we have time because we've all been quarantined in a giant pandem... oh, yeah. Nevermind.

What have I been doing? I've been going through my mid-life crisis. I'm not ashamed to admit it. I've realized gravity is a not my friend, I'm starting to forget details.  I'm not buying anything spandex anytime soon. Aging is a reality but not something to freak over. I once read Nora Ephron's book, "I Feel Bad About My Neck". I wasn't impressed. The author was attempting to spin humor in her dry way by commiserating with her readers about aging as a wealthy woman. Organizing a purse. Making too much money to keep her upper Manhattan rent-controlled apartment. Graying hair and *oh noes* looking homeless due due to slacking on personal upkeep. The woman wrote brilliant movies. Whining about first world aging problems fell flat. Mud facial flat and not the good kind.

I've embraced my place in life and aging in a matter of fact way and somewhat like Nora, can laugh about it. I can hold off aging so much, as to not look like a shrunken head by the time I'm 50. But I earned my neck. I shop at Target with face and decolletage moisturizer coupons. Who cares, really.

As a evolving 40 something woman, and I say this because I am one, I've decided to take up new hobbies, New Things that I've done this year.

Play pool (badly)

Go to the casino and play slots for the first time.

Reading myriad books..okay, not a New Thing but still... mysteries have replaced historical fiction, fare of the day.

I've decided I've enjoyed cooking but I hate dirty dishes.

Making my business grow, but it's not my entire life. Work to live, not live to work.

I relish an occasional evening nightcap.

New tune genres: new country, EDM, lo-fi, and chillwave.

Family is everything.

My kids...oh, my youngest is now 17 and driving, schooling, and working. My oldest is 23, married to a sweet Russian boy. I'm going to be a grandma in March. Her and hubs will make chubby, adorable babies. I don't feel old enough to be a grandma.

Bible apps. I read and pray. Love all. Not in spite of differences, but because of differences. Jesus died on the cross for everyone's sin but He would have done it for just me. If I was the only one in ever to sin. That's what love looks like.

I love talking to people about knitting yarn, genealogy, and stupid, blowhard, pontificating, duplicitous politics. There is so much to talk about lately.

I'm so freaking proud of my kids. They amaze me everyday.

I have what hubs has dubbed "an old lady garden" on my back patio. Foliage is green and bountiful. Flowers beautiful. I don't care if anyone thinks it's stupid. I love it. I'm on the hunt for a pink plastic flamingo because I want one. My hummingbirds love the feeder and red flowers. I'm growing basil and rosemary out my bung hole. My climbing clematis, dahlias, and rose bush are gorgeous.

These are unabashedly, unashamedly, and unapologetically me. I decided in December to make a change. I've lost 45 lbs despite COVID. I need to lose more but that will happen when it's safe to visit a gym. Since I quit my last job, I'm down 70lbs. Go me.

All of this, I've been informed by the world, is my mid life crisis. I believe in personal growth and evolution. Do New Things that scare you, thrill, bring peace, joy, fulfillment, and fill your emotional tanks. Do New Things that make the world better for other people.

This is me and all the New Things. (Sorry, Mom. I said "bung hole")

Bee is doing weird stuff now.
Listening to DGAF by Noah Slee, Shiloh Dynasty
(because the bass is sick)

The Book and The Movie Kind

So you all have streaming movies, don't you?

Have you ever met someone who doesn't have Hulu or Netflix? Neither have I. 

If you did, you would probably wonder if they were some weirdo who eats with their fork handle in their fist and wears white after Labor Day. Why? Everyone has streaming of some kind. That everyone includes my sister, who tells me what to watch. Not because we have everything in common - music, not so much. DNA for sure - but we both like to watch the same stuff.

My bestie and I have loads in common - no DNA though - but we almost friend-divorced over Lars and the Real Girl. She watched it and swears I sucked precious Princess Bride-like years from her life. I loved the fact the community came together for the main character (Ryan Gosling) even though they all knew he was special and frankly, not all together.

One man's crazy is another man's happily every after. If happily every after is about a meaningful relationship with a YouKnowWhat doll named Bianca. No. Its not that kind of movie. Go see it. Its probably streaming somewhere. Rated PG-13.

Speaking of everyone streaming, I do, like a 5ft 10" lemming but less cute, chubby, and furry and follow the crowd cliff jumping stuff...nevermind. I have all the big streaming services. Mr Bee and I have Netflix (and chill). Actually, it's more like Netflix and, "hurry up with the popcorn, cause if your butt isn't on the couch in 30 seconds, I'm starting this Ted Bundy documentary without you!!"

I like Peaky Blinders. Outlander. Kitchen Nightmares. Hoarders and Storage Wars. Discovery of Witches and Cormoran Strike (insert big heart eyeballs) And my new latest Atwood novel adaptation, The Handmaid's Tale. I had to read the book before I started the show. It's my one big pet peeves to book adaptations. Or is it film adaptations? What do they call it when the book was written first? I can never remember but they are adaptations. I bet you'll notice how much people use these interchangeably now. It's very weird.

I'm a conservative but The Handmaid's Tale (book, and then show) makes me think and that's always a good thing. I'm an egalitarian. Isn't that a cool word? This means I'm a firm believer in everyone treated equally NOT extra special equally because they yell the loudest on social media. As one with deep faith, I found Atwood's parallels to modern day politics both disturbing and far-fetched. Slavery, immigration, abolitionists, human rights, reproductive issues, environmental realities, and mankind's resilience in juxtaposition with ability to be truly deplorable and inhumane in the name of the greater good.

In a nutshell, this story shows us that any issue, religion, race, gender, sex, drugs, drinking....are subjectively evil. The Handmaid's Tale (still the book and show kind) shows us that no matter what the issue at hand, however innocuous it maybe, can be manipulated by humans, grossly weaponizing any issue to further an ideology, usually with intent of dominance and subjugation, In other words, humans can be beautiful, kind, amazing humans. We as humans can also be...well, down right shitty.

Faith is a deeply personal choice. Environmental stewardship is a choice. The right to have a family or not. How we choose to worship. Alcohol, sex, drugs....none are inherently bad.

 Is our subjectivity, our free will also our downfall? Holy Synapses, Batman, I sound like I'm writing a term paper on Chomsky.

How about this: when we make certain garbage choices, does the result make us garbage humans? Yes. Sometimes it does. Choices are tempered by our ethical and moral compass. Our personal responsibility to choose to follow or build the laws that govern us. Choosing to respect life in all its forms.

When we weaponize our choices, someone will lose and some will have power. Handmaid's Tale strikes the very heart of this for me. And while many could argue the evils of forced human reproduction or religion, the story speaks to me beyond proclaiming what is evil and what is good. Look at the bigger picture: If its not these "evils", its another innocuous reason. 

Race.

Environment. 

Gender. 

Appropriation.

Education. 

Socioeconomic. 

To exist, be it fetus, old, handicapped, or riddled with cancer. 

These boil down to choice and owning the responsibility of choices. Weaponizing anything, I mean anything, is possible. This is what has had me riveted for 3 seasons.

Absolute power corrupts absolutely. And guess who is on the waiting list at the library for Atwood's sequel (just the book kind) to Handmaid's Tale? Not me. I've got streaming. I'm waiting on Hulu (the movie kind).

Bee will weaponize her blog with fodder to make you read it
Listening to: I Have No Clue, Im Listening to Pandora's Tycho Station

Adventures of a ReSeller: Where I Furnish Apartments for Free

Its hard to be nice when there are 10 million Facebook groups devoted to free stuff. 

I should try this next time I need a car.

(A month later it sold for $35.)

Advdentures of a ReSeller: Lowball Edition

You're wearing glasses but I don't think you can read well.....

She walked and the next week I raised the price to $40. 

I had a buyer within 3 days. Who knew?

Adventures of a ReSeller: I'm Really Good At Math

On this episode of Adventures of a Marketplace Seller. I only pretended to be sorry. I also pretended to be good at math, and she never noticed so the jokes on her.

This stuff sells like crazy at Christmas.

~Bee does not barter
Listening to The Rolling Stones - You Can’t Always Get What You Want

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The Facebook Police

Found this entry on Facebook from 2016. I forgot I wrote this....enjoy.

I was put in Facebook Jail by the Facebook Police "FBP" because I was pretending to be me.

I swear I am not making this up. They were going to have me scan in a government-issued ID with my birth date.

They were going to be so surprised opening an image of my 15 year old face on my old passport.

Changing my wireless to a cell phone IP and suddenly FB changed their minds. Since I'm no longer a danger to Tide Pod Memes, the FBP requested I change my password and identify a bunch of friend's photos.

If I haven't said it before I'll say it now... I have freaking gorgeous friends. But what would you expect, you being you?

This FBP tomfoolery started this morning. But this morning wasn't my normal morning.

I woke up at a quarter to 6 as hubby said goodbye. He wanted a hug before he left for work because today is Valentine's Day and that's what you do on Valentine's Day even though he does this every other day of the week.

He reached in the dark. I sat up quickly in bed trying to wake up and figure out the quickest route to getting a full coffee mug in my hand. As I leaned over to the light switch, he reached his arm around me to give me a hug. He preceded to punch me in the face while simultaneously poking me in the eye with his knuckles. He couldn't see me in the dark. I couldn't see through the tears.

* insert rude joke about being poked on Valentine's Day*

He felt bad but probably not as bad as my cornea. Once I was awake and done breathing through the pain, I said thanks to the Lord for the appearance of Shark Week. Nothing says Happy Valentine's like, "I love you honey, I'm super hormonal and bloated".

I walked to my van and marveled at the skiff of snow on the ground. I opened up the driver's door and also marveled at the skiff of snow all over my driver's seat. Hubs left the window open an inch. All night long.

This is where I prayed for Jesus to take the wheel. I utilized a lined, heavy duty windbreaker as a makeshift wetness barrier. It's not too uncomfortable if you don't mind sitting on a giant, rubber diaper. It's only at this point I realized that I am completely out of gas because the gaslight is not just yellow but past the "E" for Everyone Push.

On the road. Made it on fumes to the gas station. Fill up or not. My debit card got today's memo and went on strike. Credit cards are designed not to function when you're late for work, been punched in the face, and completely out of gas. It makes no difference whether or not you have several hundred dollars in the bank. I had my trusty visa on me, in case. I never use it, except for emergencies. I mean emergencies because the interest rate would undoubtedly lock-in my payments until the year of Our Lord 2076. I don't know about you but charging a $6 latte, no matter how much I try and convince myself, is not an emergency.

My drive to work is uneventful. I park and congratulate myself in getting to work without being attacked by Bigfoot/Bigfoots. (Bigfeet?) or hit by a meteorite. Today anything can happen. 

In the 4 seconds it takes for me to take off my seat belt and grab my purse, I can't tell whether I've dropped my keys in the seat next to me, in my purse, or in my giant, rubber, diaper cushion. Traditionally, keys are lost and discovered later when a twelve year old disguised as a AAA Guy comes and opens my car with a Slim Jim. And I mean the metal kind, not the pepperoni kind. Because really, who opens a locked van with a pepperoni. Rhetorically of course.

Better yet whose driver's seat is a giant, rubber, diaper cushion.

I got through the rest of my work day unscathed however, Hubs and I agreed on celebrations this weekend. Tonight he is spending time with his nephews watching a Chuck Norris movie and I'm spending it with errant hormones and the FB Police.

Happy Valentine's Day, you freaking gorgeous people!

~Bee does not buy $6 lattes

Listening to The 1975 - Love It If We Made It

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2019 Project Don't Settle

I write a personal motto every year in lieu of resolutions. It helps me focus and streamline my goals. In 2018, my motto was Simplify.

I threw out or donated so much stuff and clutter. I don't miss it.

I focused on my family with simple steps: better meals and cleaner house.

Focused on my business, and doing what I love. A leap of faith is scary when business and your livelihood is impacted. But also beneficial to my health and lowering stress. I left a job where management found it easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. That's a hard no from me. I wish the doctor the best, but biller/coders know willful up-charging gets you in deep, deep doo doo.

My lesson was simplifying meant saying "No" or backing away. Don't go away mad, just go away.

I also cut down on hobbies and getting rid of half finished "projects". What a huge stress relief this step created. Fabric to sew, files to purge, cleaning closets, and stop procrastinating. I cut my book reading down to a book in 2 weeks from 3 books a week. Time saver to do what I really wanted to get done. But this extra time simplified my life.

I've also lost 32 lbs this year (nix the desk job!) and stayed on top of my health. Huzzah for blood draws and garbage thyroids.

My motto for 2019: Don't Settle

I cannot settle for less when hard work and perseverance are my only obstacles in achieving my best life.

What does that look like?

My couches, while free and a huge blessing, need replacing. Kids are moving out and I need to rearrange the house. In turn, couches will become a blessing to someone else.

Make certain I don't give hubs the last bit of me, aka little time or energy. He deserves more than the scraps left after kids, business, or obligations.

Taking time with financial records. No headless chickens during tax season.

Allowing people to walk away. I will not convince someone to be my friend.

I will take my vitamins and thyroid meds on schedule. How I will do this, I still haven't figured out.

Sticking to social commitments even when I go Full Introvert.

Hang plants in my house because I freaking love plants even though I feel like this is an extra expense.

My expenses (aka money spent on me) are not extra expenses. Bi-annual hair cuts should not make me feel guilty.

Be thoughtful and mindful of others. This is the person I want to be.

Be kind and stay honest. Honesty without diplomacy just means you are rude.

Push through exercise. I am only as successful as the strength of my own resolve.

Remember the things that fill my emotional tank. Do those things.

Be an active listener. Big families become unintentional interrupters. Regardless of intent, it is a habit to break.

Managing time wisely means purpose and achievement. Wasting time is settling.

Distractions are the worst kind of settling. Usually in the form of excuse. Like why I am not getting healthy sleep at a regular bedtime.

This year will be interesting. 

~Bee wishes you a Happy 2019!

Listening to: Feeling Good by Nina Simone

Conner Is In Jail Again

The lady next to us at the teriyaki place is not what I call a very private person. This phenomenon is what the US is known for: Loud Discussions About Your Business In Public Places.

Is this ego? Narcissism? Be jealous, ya'll? I have no filter? Whatever the reason, I have enough information here to be her bridesmaid. Maybe eavesdropping is rude, but there are voices and volumes very easy to ignore. Hers was not one of those.

She was happy to have lunch with Grandpa across the table. Things the entire restaurant now knows about her:

• Her house just sold for 230k. They asked 220k. She cannot believe it. 

• She will pay off all her loans with the new house. 

• Thank God she dumped Jeff. 

• It is going to be like, so hotter than hell this week and she has no AC. 

• She needs to go swimming this week. 

• The new house has an FDA loan. 

• They are also pouring her concrete 

• She ordered new countertops and has pictures here, here, and here. 

•  She ran into Jeff, her ex, at the dealership. He was surprised she is pregnant with Greg's baby. 

•  She is happy she is no longer with Jeff because she would still have so much debt. 

• Grandpa went to the casino on Saturday. 

• The white and black rice looks gross. 

• She and Greg might get married in a barn at the farmer's market farm place or in Hawaii. 

• Conner is probably in jail. No one has heard from him. But we know Conner. 

• Grandpa's shoulder is bad and he needs to go to the ER. 

• No really, he can barely move it. 

• Doctors are idiots. 

• She has high blood pressure but it's not bad for the baby, yet. 

• She has a red truck to sell for $2400.00 - we all hope it sells.

• Her company picnic was this weekend. 

• Pam and Verna need to eat at this place near her house. 

• They have clam strips and outside seating. 

• She has a 6:30 shellac nail appointment today for two. ....that's about it. 

 Personally, I think Jeff dodged a bullet.

Bee is listening to Spectre by Tycho

 

Tuba Toothpaste

This is the face of your average 17 year old Ralph Vaughan Williams fan.

In summer this year, Titus decided to add another instrument to his repertoire: tuba.

"How exciting," stated he.
"We have an apartment," bated me.
"Make it work?" question he.
"Do my best," intentioned me.

He appears to be making his way around the band instruments to find his favorite... or in the least, his favorite this week. He plays piano, flute, drums, accordion, piccolo, trombone, baritone horn, euphonium, and since it wasn't enough to play half the brass section, he now plays tuba.

Backing up momentarily, who just picks up an instrument and decides this is the one?

Musical talent runs in the family but I also I'm convinced, music I played when the kids were young also shaped brains, hearts, and planted seeds. Magic music seeds (this also sounds like an epic band name).

All classical, you think? There was plenty of that, and operas by Puccinni sung by the incomparable Pavarotti. We included silly songs from Space Ghost, Bear in the Big Blue House, and Spike Jones and the City Slickers. We listened to Brad Paisley and Def Leppard. Took five with Dave Brubeck and let off pressure with Queen and Bowie. Sinatra and Ella stayed classy. Oojami belly dancing breakbeats broke a sweat and Bob Dylan changed the times. Bob Marley redeemed the world while John Barry gave Dunbar a theme to dance with wolves. 

 

How could my kids not love music?

Fast forward a dozen years. Titus started tuba in June 2017 and auditioned for our county regional High School honor band. He was one of four accepted in a dozen or so tuba players auditioning.

Last night was their final concert after days of rehearsals across town. The concert was as fantastic as I expected. My son played tuba like a boss.

I'm really proud of Titus' disciplines and his fearless exploration of music. Not only in honor band, but in the young composers program, band leader in high school and passing all but one class due to creative time - management,

"Don't worry, Madre... teacher accepts late work and that's how I had time for A's in all my other classes."

I can't argue with that logic. I can argue with the emerging worst jokes known to man.

"Knock Knock"
"Who's there?"
"Tuba"
"Tuba Who?"
"Tuba Toothpaste!"

There's no moral to the story here but a reminder: music is art. As my oldest daughter says, "When we art we also can brain better." Although, our jokes don't have that benefit.

~Bee is a bona fide audiophile.
Listening to everything

 

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Sweat the Appearance of Small Things

I tell everyone.

November means I've been blogging for twelve years.

I surely haven't been blogging that long because the number of posts suggest I most likely died in 2010 and my children have ghostwritten the last 5 or 6 posts.

I'm convinced I lost my blogging feeling when I went back to college. Then I got busy with reading books and writing about said books I'd read. It was lovely until it wasn't. And then I got a grown up job paying for the education I needed to get the job I wanted to pay the bills I have to pay.

If this is not the definition of insanity....

I could tell you what insanity is: my new work neighbors in the adjacent office space coming over to our office caterwauling about assigned parking. With the unrest in the world, an upcoming election, unemployment, refugees, fracking, frankenfood, Monsanto, hurricanes, etc.. and walking the length of three extra parking spaces is all that is wrong with the world? This is why the Kardashians are still on tv.

I understand the annoyance of having someone park in your spot. It annoys me when people park over the line like a beached whale. Door dings are another annoyance. The Justice side of my personality gets annoyed at these things. Why? I'm neurospicy and obsess about things, like parking.

I consider what it would be like to have a giant door ding or squeezing into the last space only because someone couldn't think outside their own bubble. It's  the selfishness of it all that irks me. Why are people unable to think beyond and consider their impact on the world around them? And really, is being considerate of others and respecting someone else's things a small thing or big thing? 

When the principal of the matter is huge and the action small, I notice because the root of the issue impacts a person's life and those around them. I couldn't care less about how someone else parks a car but laziness or selfishness that effects others I cannot endure.

I do sweat the appearance of petty, small things in an effort to fix big things. Sometimes, I end up avoiding big things because of fixing the small things.

Speaking of small things, my office recently moved to a new location for our growing medical practice. I had a conversation with Accountant Man and then his boss, Accountant Boss Lady: Protector of the Parking.

Now, let it be said, I know two accountants personally and they are not petty or sweaty. In fact, the are kind, warm, smart, and generous, and not the types to complain of parking or watch the Kardashians.

However, the mounting complaint over our errant parking was inevitable. These people are accountants but not just any accountants, special accountants in an organization for accountants across the United States. These are the Academy Awards of Accountants but in a club. The AAA's? If our office neighbors are any indication, this appears to be a mind-bending, boring club. Like Costco but with less bulk toilet paper and more Teams meetings about who's stealing Post Its.

Regardless, these particular AAA's are are severely anal retentive and are usually paid to sweat the small stuff. I happen to speak Accountant and according to our office lease, the parking is ample and unassigned. We agreed to talk to the leasing agent so we wouldn't step on toes, or parking as it may be, and they could inquire on where to buy some big girl panties.

They did not like this news but I was as diplomatic as they are ridiculous. They chose to be accountants. I rest my case.

Bee isn't sweating the small things
Listening to Coldplay's Green Eyes

ps. I do not have ill-will toward accountants 
pps. no accountants were harmed in the making of this post.
ppps. if you are an accountant, don't sweat the petty stuff.

Inability to Adult

If government cheese is any indication, there should be no doubt how the US government would end up handling something bigger and slightly more complex such as healthcare. 

A few months ago, my oldest turned 19. I work in medical billing and Ive sold insurance but I can't imagine a young adult layperson understanding insurances. What's a deductible, what's a copay, and what's co-insurance, a prior-auth, and tertiary coverage? You almost need a class to figure out coverages and as a teenager, I could see why this is intimidating.

My daughter has a knack for putting the pro- in procrastination. Upon turning 19 and when the state ended her healthcare coverage, she let it lapse citing "inability to adult".  As the giver of life and parental unit assisting in her big health decisions, I offered my help.

"If you get sick with strep or the flu, you're taking the bus to county health and sitting amongst the unwashed masses with TB and STDs. I'm not driving you. Now here is your apple juice and box of granimals."

Although, today, she went into LAST DAY MODE to sign up for new healthcare "on her own", and by on her own, I mean "sit next to Madre while she does it and daughter surfs Craigslist for new cars."

 This is the new face of procrastination.

Here are some simple steps to signing up on an exchange...

Once you sit down with your child, laptop, and fortified with coffee, you can begin to wade through the 404 Not Found failed website state exchanges. There are more than you'd think.

Help daughter input her information and press NEXT.

Follow instructions in dialog box to include every family member in household even if they are already on state insurance or not applying for anything. Because rules.

Include demographics, social security number, employer information, your failed dating attempts, the tears of a black-spotted, African tropical yak, and press NEXT.

Follow the instructions in dialog box to include unchecked boxes that appeared only after you selected NEXT and get a red warning, "You're a dumbass."

Input the salaries of everyone in household and select NEXT.

Time out and do the first three steps no less than four times.

Check box to agree that you do not have income from any other sources including spousal support, busking, pole dancing, selling stolen items on Craigslist, Pyramid schemes, or black market organ sales. Press NEXT.

Follow instruction on the dialog box that informs the applicant that applicant will go to prison longer than Charles Manson if you lied.

Once again, agree that you mean it, and you did not lie. Select NEXT.

Follow the prompt that says the application cannot be completed because some applicants already have state insurance. Regardless of the fact that you did as they asked and included everyone in the household, including siblings that currently have state funded insurance.

Remove the option of reapplying or indicating state insurance for the other three kids in the house. Press NEXT. 

Follow the prompt that states that you must have one other person applying for healthcare to process the application regardless of the fact that everyone except the applicant has insurance. Press NEXT.

Change the status of adult in household that already has insurance as someone who NEEDS insurance because the application wont go through without two applicants. Check box "Applying for insurance." even though you feel the state has better things to do than spend time to review an application for someone who has insurance, doesn't need more, and certainly doesn't need it from the state exchange.

Follow the prompt that states your 19 year old is approved...and the adult in the household could not be approved because you already have insurance through your employer. Laugh at suggestion of calling an 800 number to further the stalled application of the adult with insurance who doesn't need it. I'm up for a 40 minute flute solo, how about you?

~Bee is not a fan of the ACA.

Listening to: The Ocean Breathes Salty by Modest Mouse