I'm on the ball with Christmas, but I love Halloween!
I thought I'd celebrate around here with a new look. I even entertained thoughts of changing the look for other holidays and seasons. But I'm lazy. Plus is that going to be annoying for you?
You might not mind it until I pull out the neon colors . . .
The smell of Christmas is in the air . . .
What's that? It's not even Halloween yet? Huh. Well, my Christmas shopping is done. Yes. I am that awesome. Now, i can just sit back and relax for the next couple of months while everyone else worries about their last minute gifts. I can also do all the things I have been too lazy to do the last couple of years. For some reason, my Christmas list of things-to-do has been quite neglected while I've been working for this company. This year, I'll have tons of time for baking and Christmas cards! That's right. I know you've missed my lovely greetings! And because I've got such a Christmas fever, I'm going to send out a ton this year! So who wants to be on my list? Send me an email with your name and address to auntbee at heartauntbee.com.
Jill is a friend from work. We haven't been friends long enough for her to know just how insane I am.
But I'm giving her a lot of clues. She called up the other day, wanting to go eat Indian food. "I'll come pick you up." "Okay. Give me twenty minute sor so. I just caught a spider and want to feed him to my other spider." . . . "Yeah. So are you sure you want to hang out with me?"
Jacque wasn't around for my birthday. Well, not the actual day but you know how I like to extend the celebrations.
So last night, she made Evan cook me a birthday dinner, complete with the cake I had been craving. "We're having fish in a--" Jacque stopped and then asked "What?" I couldn't hide the look on my face. "Um. What kind of fish?" "You like fish! You like salmon!" "Yup. I like salmon. Are we having salmon?" We weren't having salmon. "I've thought about this menu for days! I thought you liked fish!" I assured her I'd eat the fish. If I didn't like it, I'd have more room for cake! "Okay. And you don't like peas, right?" "Um . . ." I'm pretty sure Jacque's head was about to explode. I can't blame her. My tastes are pretty hard to keep track of.
Really? You're two years old today?
Is it possible that the second year went faster than the first? You still continue to amaze and entertain me. I can't even remember what your mom and I did for fun before you came. Your personality is really developing. You're ornery, but you also have this big, kind heart. When you're playing host, you love to take people by the hand and take them to see this or that. You let people choose which movie to watch. When you have some kind of snack, you love to share. This is also the year you started to really learn how to talk. It's much easier to communicate with you, now. "BEE!" I'll hear from the hallway. When you see me through the doorway, you ask "Wanna play?" Of course I do. Your hallway is long and great for playing a game of Aunt-Bee-Rolls-the-Ball-and-You-Chase-It. It's not always fun and games. You are pretty stubborn and quite dramatic. Even though I see you at least once a week, sometimes you'll play shy. I'll arrive and swoop in for a big hug and you'll scream and run to hide behind your mom's legs. For some reason, you hate it when I tell you "No." Last time I hung out with you, your mom was packing for your trip to the east coast when I saw you reaching for some medication on the counter, high above your head. "No, Evan," I said. You looked at me and continued so I said louder and more forcibly "Evan! No!" You looked at me, then started screaming and ran for your mom. I could see your face between shelves on the island and every time I looked at you, another shriek would explode out of your mouth. When I went to see you on your due date, I was sure that you wouldn't remember me. Or worse, you'd still be mad at me. When I came in and gave you the plush bowling set, you were thrilled. We rushed to the long hallway and began playing. You laughed and ran around. I hadn't seen you so excited in a long time. You kicked the pins over and giggled when we "admonished" you for cheating. As your mom was setting the pins up for the tenth time, you walked over to me and patted my shoulder. "Bee." I like you, too, buddy. Happy Birthday, Evan!
I wish I had the talent and imagination for something like this:
This is one of my favorite videos of all time:
Kottke posted the lyrics the other day and I laughed.
I've been reading this site, Jezebel since it started up a few months ago.
On the one hand, I feel silly reading a website for chicks. On the other hand, it's pretty cool. And somehow it's like they're reading my mind. They keep posting articles about things I've recently been thinking or even writing about. Like with this article. The article kinda made me feel bad. But then I got to thinking about how I really don't think I'm wrong. I'm trying to be fair in my ideas. Fair for everybody! And the last sentence made me feel even more validated because it reminded me of stuff I was going through last year and kinda feel like I go through still. At twenty-nine.Livesey from The F Word writes, "Why (oh why, oh why) is it that it's women being compared to women here?" But we know exactly why: Because we're all guilty of what Tina Fey, in Mean Girls, called "girl on girl crime". In some ways, the world is the same it was in 4th grade: Catty, sneaky, full of judgments, gloating over microvictories and contests of one-upmanship.
So in four days one doctor saw three of my family members with rubber gloves.
Fortunately, my dad's appointment was just a regularly scheduled one and he seems to be all clear. My brother went in today also to find out, like my mom, he has shingles. I still think it's crazy and weird. And it's not especially pretty. Marcus sent me a photo to my mobile phone today. Gross. Aside from the grossing me out part, I'm pretty proud of him. You see, as I may have mentioned before, I've always been pretty protective of Marcus and we've always done everything for him. Well, not everything. But he was one of those kids that wouldn't order his own food. That kind of stuff we would do for him. Even now, when he's faced with something as daunting as having to call to have his mobile phone replaced, he begs me to do it instead. So when he got hit with a rash all over his back and decided he needed to be a doctor, of course he couldn't find his insurance cards. He was sounding pretty stressed about it, so I assured him he just needed to call his insurance company and get his numbers and that everything would be okay. Then I reminded him several times to make sure to ask if the company covers his provider. I was quite certain he'd forget. Marcus called me the next day. Marcus never calls me. After a few minutes of greeting, I asked "What do you want? You never call unless you want something." "No I don't! I just wanted to call to tell you I'm a big boy. I remembered to ask everything you told me to!" I was shocked. He had actually handled everything himself. A few minutes later, he interrupted me. "Crap! Tomorrow's Mom's birthday, isn't it!" I don't even know who my brother is. He's like . . . grown up or something. It only took twenty-four years!
My mom is like the runt of our family.
Because she's the smallest and nicest, we of course pick on her. It just happens! I just can't seem to stop myself! It's not like we beat the crap out of her or anything. And we're not horribly mean. But it is fun to laugh at her. Like when we laugh at the way she dials a number on her mobile phone. I really wish you could see my impression of her. It's hilarious! We wouldn't do it if we didn't like her! No really. In our family, if we don't like you, we make fun of you behind your back! Teasing her is our way of showing her we love her. Hugs are so cliche! My poor momma has put up with us for almost thirty years and I think maybe we're starting to wear her down. These days, she doesn't laugh with us. I'm feeling a little bad about how I treat my mommy. She deserves some kudos for all she's done for us. So I think today, since it's her birthday and all, I will be extra nice to her. Even though I already got her some pants for her birthday (which, apparently, is becoming my favorite gift to her), I'll give her an extra gift. The gift of me not making fun of her. Oh? That picture? Um . . . It's not me making fun of her. It's me saying, "Hey! Doesn't she look even better now?" Score! Brownie Points for me! Happy Birthday, Momma!
Somehow, I don't think you're going to win, Senator Chambers.
Chambers Aims To Make Point About Frivolous Lawsuits
No, seriously. Probably the most brilliant shirt. Ever.
International Translation
My mom was complaining about her foot all last week.
"What is this? It won't go away!"
She had this weird little circle of redness that started getting all blistery. So of course, I decided to be Dr. Bee and try to diagnose her. I hit up WebMD and started going through the diagnosis checklist. When it asked about a history of chicken pox, I asked my mom if she thought maybe it was shingles. My grandmother had shingles a few years ago. Otherwise, I probably wouldn't have thought of it. But my mom was certain it was something else. "No! The rash would be on my back or stomach!" I was stumped. When my dad called Sunday, he was telling me about how mom had been complaining about her back hurting all weekend. "IT'S SHINGLES!" I cried and then made my mom get on the phone. "Are you sure it's not shingles?" She was sure and I told her I'd call her the next day to see how her doctor's appointment turned out. When I called, my mom sounded in better spirits. "Did the doctor know what it was." "Yes." "Well?" "He thinks it's shingles." I almost jumped up and down. "I TOLD YOU S--" "Yes! I know! I already told mom that you'd be overjoyed that you were right!" I was. My brother, meanwhile, had been sick with some other mysterious virus all last week. After my mom told me about her shingles, she mentioned that Marcus had a rash, also. We figured it was probably from his high fever. Tonight, though, my mom has diagnosed it differently. She's sure he has shingles, too. Okay, folks. Shingles is not supposed to be contagious. How absolutely bizarre is it that they could both have a shingles outbreak at the same time? So now I'm freaking out that it's something else and that I'm going to get it, too. Especially since T-Biscuit is sick with whatever Marcus had last week. You're all quarantined! Stay away from me! Is it getting itchy in here? What's this red stuff on my face . . .
When I first saw Teletubbies, I was a bit frightened.
They're kinda freaky! But the more I watched them, the more I thought how great a show it really was. No, not because I was stoned out of my mind. Because there's so many colors and goofiness, it seems tiny kiddos could really get into it and even learn things. I'm still freaked out by the baby sun, though. No really. Watch this and tell me you're not scared: So when I was hanging out with The Boy this weekend, I thought we'd catch some of the Tub action. I was a bit dismayed when I saw they weren't on, so I flipped over to Nickelodeon. Blue's Clues was on. I had watched this many times with Mitch and Bret when they were wee. I was happy to see that a hundred years later, I still remembered all the lyrics. "Blue skiddoo, we can too!" The Boy was sitting on one end of the couch playing and watching Blue while I was on the other end filling out my driver's license test. I looked up to see Blue had said farewell and a different show was on. And much like my first time with the Teletubbies, I was frightened. I had no idea what was going on with this show, Yo! Gabba Gabba. The Boy, however, was enchanted! He was dancing and laughing. He had a giant smile on his face and would look from the television to me and then back again as if to say "Can you belive this shiznit? It is so crescent fresh!" As I continued watching, I decided he was right! It was great! The music has cool beats and it's just incredibly weird! I showed some of the clips to my mom. She wasn't as impressed. "Isn't it kind of poorly done for something on Nickelodeon?" But I think that's part of the charm. It's so old-skool! So now I'm obsessed with the show. I'm still not entirely sure what's going on, but I love it. But someone needs to help me get this song out of my head:
Yes. It has been a long time since you've heard from me.
No. Poop week didn't completely take it out of me.
Last week, I took the week off from work. I scheduled the vacation way back in January and just within the last couple of months, I ended up scheduling all kinds of stuff during my holiday. I had my calendar booked solid with weddings and taking care of Maizey and Milo and birthday dinners and lunches. Oh and did I mention I had The Boy from Monday through Thursday? Kids are kinda hard to take care of, huh? So it was a busy week and part of the time, I was without internet access. But I'm back and promise a post every day this week. I can't guarantee quality, but there will definitely be something here. Thank you for all of your birthday greetings. I appreciate them all. The countdown is on. Only three-hundred sixty-two days until my birthday!
So apparently, when I was little, I had a lot of poop.
Every time I'm with my mom's side of the family, they tell me all about how my poop would always overfill and spill out of my diaper. I think part of the problem was that I waited too long to go. I would have some crazy big poop. Crazy big for anyone, but super insanely big for a little girl. How big was it? Big enough that once, my mom had to cut one up with a knife so it would flush. Yes. My poop was so long and dense that it would not bend or break to flush on its own. So my mom got out a butter knife and sliced it up. There's still marks in the toilet.
When I was a kid, my babysitter lived way out in the country.
Well, it seemed that far. But really it was only like a block from town. I remember once I was playing outside. Somehow I was all by myself. I remember it was a cool day, but not really that cold. Not really even cold enough for a coat, but I had this awesome coat. I can't even remember what it looked like, really. I remember it being a violet-ish mauve-ish color and having a lot of ribbed knit. But I remember I loved it. It's not the coat I was wearing in the above picture. But that coat is also awesome. I wasn't even the same age as in that picture. No. I was older. I must have at least been in first grade. I was wearing my beloved suede ankle boots. I got those for my birthday in first grade. I was running around, probably playing some fantasy game as I did in those days. I felt an urge. The kind of urge that says "Hey! Something wants out down here!" I was certain it was just gas. So I pushed it out. And ended up pooping myself. I was mortified. But do you think I went in and said anything? Oh no. I just stood around outside in my poop and waited for my mom to come pick me up. I don't know if my mom ever knew. I don't remember if I tried to clean the clothes up myself or what. I can't remember those details. But I remember the bare trees, the crisp air and the total embarrassment. Apparently, shart stories like these aren't all that rare. In fact, most of the poop stories shared with me over the last couple of weeks have been all about the shart. Apparently, it's more embarrassing the older you get. Especially if you're only halfway through a party you can't leave and you're wearing light colored clothes. So next time you're at an event and you see a person with light colored pants standing against the wall all night, give them a pat on the back. Let him know he's not alone!
I know Poop Week has been disappointing for some of you. But I never said I was going to show you pictures of poop. How about pictures of people with meat hair? I'm having trouble thinking of a poop story to tell you today. My day and mood were ruined by one phone call. I deal with a lot of irritating customers. They will yell. They can be dense. Most of my customers are quite pleasant. But there are those who are not. But what's really disheartening is when a member of your team is downright bitchy for absolutely no reason. And for some reason, I really can't shake this one off. I think it's because I don't really know what happened. You try to help a person out and they interrupt you and say things like. "Oh yes you WILL!" Then you realize the situation has suddenly spun out of control and you're not sure why because you've done the same thing probably a hundred times before. So then you try to remedy the situation by explaining what you were doing only to have your teammate continue to interrupt and berate you. How do you feel? Most people I know would just hit disconnect and go on their merry way. I took the high road (not to mention a very very deep breath) and finished what needed to be done. I then pleasantly asked her to have a nice day. But what I really wanted to do was ask her to hold then take a flight to New Jersey then walk into her office and take a giant dump on her desk. Wouldn't that be an awesome poop story?
So you remember Problem 3?
There are some homes where my rule doesn't seem to apply.
I can crap all day at my parents' home. And there's something about BJ's that makes me want to mark my territory. And sometimes, actually more and more often, no matter how I try to hold it, I have to go at Jacque's. I'll come walking out all Ace Ventura style. "Oh man! I am so sorry! Whoo!" "It's okay," she'll tell me. "That means you're comfortable here." The other night, I was telling her about hanging out with Raw's family, when I came upon a realization. "I think I'm gonna have to poop here tonight!" And then, because there's that competition for my love, and because as you know she feels assured in strange ways, Jacque posed a strange question to me. "Did you poop at their house?"
I have some real restroom issues.
Problem 1: I can't go if someone is in the restroom with me. Like, I'll walk into a giant restroom and someone will walk in behind me and ends up in the stall clear down the way from me and I'll sit and not be able to go until the other person is done and gone. Problem 2: My poop stinks dude! My family will all chime in on that one, I'm sure. I think it's all the chemicals in the food I eat. Problem 3: This is probably related to problem #2 (Get it? #2? Hee hee!); I really hate pooping anywhere but at my home. But sometimes you can't help it. Problem 4: Most of the time, I have to poop within half an hour of eating. I think maybe I'm trying to make room. When I eat at Carlos O'Kelly's, I have to go like five minutes after eating. Like clockwork. My dad is well aware of this problem. "Well, I'm full. Should we get going?" "We might as well wait here. She'll have to dump in a few minutes." When I went home a couple of weeks ago, Mom and Dad took us to Carlos O'Kelly's for dinner. We decided to eat fried ice cream for dessert and I realized I wasn't going to be able to wait. So I headed off to the restroom and arrived just in time to see a father leading his little girl through the door. He waited outside as I walked in behind her. She rushed into the handicapped stall and left her door open. I stepped into the other stall and latched the door tightly. I heard the pitter-patter of her bare feet (I know! Ew!) as she walked in and out of her stall. Eventually, she "went" and started talking. I had no idea what she was saying so I remained quiet. She flushed and headed to the sink where I listened as she got paper towel after paper towel. Oh did I mention I wasn't pooping while this was happening? See Problem 1. Then I heard her yell "Dad! I can't reach the sink!" When there was no response, "Dad! I can't reach the sink!!!" Then I heard her feet and hoped she was leaving. Instead, I saw her feet at my door. "DAD!" She yells at my stall. "I CAN'T REACH THE SINK!" "Um. I think he's outside," I told her, trying to help as I was sitting on the pot with my jeans around my thighs. Then Barefoot Canyella decides to see if I'm lying. I see her eyeball smashed up against the crack between the door and the wall of the stall, staring in at me. No really. Even after I point toward the door and explain her dad isn't in here with me. Apparently she didn't believe me. Doesn't she know the proper thing to do would have been to bend down and look at my shoes?
Some people lent me poop stories under the condition they would remain anonymous. After reading this story, you'll understand why I honored the request.
I know a person who recently attended a party outside the city he or she lived in. He or she rented a place to stay. This person had an especially good time at the party and drank a lot. Like, enough that this person couldn't walk straight and was lucky to even walk into the rental before passing out on the floor. Later that night, the person had one of those episodes where there was stuff coming out of both ends. Except the person wasn't at the toilet. He/She was still lying on the floor. Instead of cleaning up the mess like a normal person might, Carpet Pooper rolled up the carpet and her/his clothes and stumbled outside. CP hiked across a field for what seemed like miles to a fence where she/he threw the carpet over a fence and made his/her way back to the rental. The next day, Carpet Pooper packed up the vehicle and set out to return home. CP looked across the field and realized "That fence isn't really that far away." In fact, Carpet Pooper could see the evidence peeking out from behind the fence. I guess it just seems far when a person is drunk. I'm pretty sure they're going to use this as an example for reasons not to drink in D.A.R.E.
It's that time of year again, kids! The college football season has started and it's Poop Week!
I'm out of town, visiting family so I don't have time to sit and write a full story. But oh do I have some good stories coming up! In the meantime, please enjoy my favorite poop story ever (above) and see what would happen if I actually pooped on porches (below).
