No.
Mo.
NaBloPoMo.
I’m finished.
Done.
Spent.
Depleted.
Exhausted.
Relieved.
Happy.
Satisfied.
Proud.
Relieved.
You may never see me again.
Or I might post something tomorrow.
I don’t know.
And that’s a beautiful feeling.
Finally I can relax.
(Did I mention relieved?)
*1920s picture totally ganked from here
This is my sister. We call her SASSY. (She’s the cute one on the left.)
She’s silly.
The Bean LOVES his Aunt Sassy.
Who wouldn’t?
HAPPY BIRTHDAY AUNT SASSY! We love you!
Zoo-Related Random Thought #1: My dad is fucking awesome.
Zoo-Related Random Thought #2: My stepmom is fucking awesome.
Zoo-Related Random Thought #3: Elephants are fucking awesome.
Zoo-Related Random Thought #4: Giraffes are fucking awesome.
Zoo-Related Random Thought #5: Seeing it all through the Bean’s eyes? Fucking awesome.
Zoo-Related Random Thought #6: Grandparents are fucking awesome.
No more random thoughts. Just big hugs and kisses to my San Diego family. And lots of thank yous and I love yous.
I’m sure there’ve been plenty of Thanksgiving posts today about what people are grateful for and blessings and shit like that, and I’m definitely grateful for a lot of things and certainly recognize that my life could be a whole lot fucking worse than it is. I have a lot of conflicting feelings about Thanksgiving, with the whole holiday being based around the beginning of a relationship that ended with the wiping out of an entire culture, and all - but I DO appreciate the sentiment of thankfulness that the holiday now centers around (we are NOTHING if not a nation of denial), and the family time, and, of course, FOUR WHOLE DAYS OFF IN A ROW! WOO HOO!
I could give you a really long list of the things I love and am thankful for… most of them would be pretty predictable, others not so much. And I might give you that list, maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day, maybe next month.
But there’s really only one thing I want to say today, and that is this:
HI, MOM.
WE MISS YOU.
THANKGIVING IS NOT THE SAME WITHOUT YOU.
WE LOVE YOU.
LOVE, ALL OF US.
Our very nice family
How we really are
Tags: missing Mom, Thanksgiving
I suck. I’ve got no post today. But in my defense, it HAS taken me three days and conversations with exactly 28 people (and that is NOT an exaggeration) to get one AT&T technician to my house to spend fifteen minutes fixing what they fucked up. So blame AT&T because today, people, I’ve got nuthin’ but rage and hate and pain.
Instead of trying to come up with some lame post that I’ll be ashamed of later, I’m just going to point you to one of these totally bad ass blogs that I read all the time but don’t think enough other people do. Take your pick — every single one of them is Fucking Awesome.
I could make this list MUCH longer, because there are tons of blogs that I read a lot that are fantastic and also completely under-appreciated. But I’ve got to get up at the ass crack of dawn to catch a plane tomorrow and I’ve already gotten the lecture not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES from the Big Bean about how I HAVE to get up early enough this time, I CAN’T drag my feet, blah blah blah blaaaaaaaahhhhhhh.
Also, I’m lazy.
I’ll be back tomorrow with some Thanksgiving bullshit. In the meantime, check these out, would ya?
- A Mostly True Story
- Alias Mother
- Waltz in Exile
- Rockzee
- Mile 17
- Dreams, You Got It, Happy
- Thinking Out Loud
P.S. Honorable Mention: For a Different Kind of Girl. I say Honorable Mention because she already gets tons of comments, way more than I do, and doesn’t need the traffic. But ohmygod I love her blog. I relate to every post she writes. She’s so much like me it’s scary. Except, way funnier and much more awesome.
- I want to kill AT&T. Over the past two days the Big Bean and I have spent well over 8 hours on the phone with a total of 19 people (so far) and our shit’s STILL not fixed.
- REDRUM REDRUM REDRUM
- There’s a guy in my office who smiles ALL THE TIME. I don’t know if he’s really that happy or just high. On days when I’m feeling pissy I take the long way around the building to avoid him.
- It IS possible to be too happy.
- Tiny things are funny. You can take pretty much anything, make it tiny, and I will find it hilarious.
- There’s a new sign up in our bathroom at work, all about washing your hands. It says “WASH YOUR HANDS” and then gives explicit instructions for washing your hands, with illustrations. My first reaction to this was “Seriously? There are people here who DON’T KNOW how to wash their hands? FUCKING IDIOTS!”
Then I took a closer look and realized that I’ve been doing it wrong this whole time.
Now I’m constantly worried that there’s going to be a test.
- When my husband has a visible booger (which is a lot more often than you might expect), I never just tell him “You have a booger.” I always find a way to work it into the conversation. I’ve apparently been doing this for years without even realizing it. Example: Today we were discussing a series of Elmo’s World videos to take on the plane and I said: “You know, I bet there’s not a single episode of Elmo’s World about people with boogers hanging out of their noses.” Another example: The other day he was telling me about someone he knows and mid-conversation I asked, “Did she happen to mention how gross it is when people walk around with huge boogers hanging out of their noses?”
- I still fucking hate you, Elmo, you little red bastard.
- I made it through about half of today, an off-site lunch, and at least two meetings with my fly open.
- I have chosen to believe that my little bee friend lives on, in a much better place than where he started. After all, my office complex parking lot really sucks, and I *ahem* “dropped” him off at a very nice park, so I’m pretty sure I did him a favor.
- My cats are trying to kill me. Not in a vicious-mountain-cat-bite-your-face-off way, but in a whiny-house-cat-torture-you-with-annoying-habits way. They want in, they want out. They want in, they want out. They squawk like they’re dying to come in, so we let them in, then a minute later they squawk like they’re dying to go out. When they’re not squawking, they’re peeing. On my stuff.
It’s just another threat to my sanity that I’m really not sure I can sustain.
- Speaking of my sanity (or lack thereof), I suffer from gephyrophobia, which means I’m afraid of bridges. I have recurring nightmares about flying off of unfinished ones. I don’t like crossing them, and I don’t like traveling under them.
I do, however, enjoy burning the hell out of one every now and then.
- I’m only 19 on Mars. For some reason I have totally fixated on this. I never really cared about Mars before but now I totally want to go.
- Wearing a bandana on your head like this automatically cancels out anything else you might have going for you, like pretty eyes or amazing abs (notice I did not mention acting talent). It just makes you a douche bag.
- I spent a total of four hours on the phone today with either a phone rep from AT&T or their hold music. I spent a total of twenty minutes writing this post. I think that says something really awful about both AT&T’s Customer Service AND this post.
Tags: AT&T SUCKS, matthew mcconnaughey, shitty posts, weird rambling
On my lunch hour today I made a new friend.
He was a bee. A very determined, very resolute, very special to me bee.
He was just standing there on my windshield, a skinny wisp of a bee, so unassuming I didn’t even notice him until I pulled out of the parking lot. My first instinct was to windshield-wipe him away, but something about the way he stood there — frozen, braced, unwavering — made me stop. I was impressed with his tenacity - he had to have been holding on for dear life just to make it that far - so I pulled my hand away from the wiper switch and silently assented to his presence there in my field of vision. The odds were already stacked high enough against him. I’d give him a fighting chance.
Pretty soon I was immersed in the mindless process of driving, and the bee’s tiny body blended in with the rest of the scene before me. But as I slowed for a red light, I noticed him again - still there, still holding on.
Suddenly, I RELATED to this little bee. We were kindred spirits, him and I. Despite forces of wind that had to be tens of millions of times his body weight, twists and turns that would have felled much bigger bugs, there he stood in blazing defiance. Holding on to that windshield glass with a death grip, using nothing more than sheer grit and slightly sticky feet to stay to the surface. Absolutely determined to spit in the face of his losing odds, he stayed right there with me, despite the tremendous forces working together, so hard, to tear him away.
Was he wondering how he got there? I know I was. Did he make a terrible mistake by staying on that windshield, even after the door slammed and the engine started? Of course. Was he in the wrong place at the wrong time? I’m sure there was at least a little bit of that, too. But it really didn’t matter — whatever mistakes he had made, whatever bad luck had transpired, he was here now, and he would NOT let the world win - at least, not without a fight.
A quick honk behind me let me know the light had turned green, and I realized I’d been staring at him, muttering under my breath one word, over and over: please please please please please.
Was he feeling the same as me? Trapped in an impossible situation, no one to blame but myself, fighting feelings of hopelessness and looking everywhere, anywhere for a sun ray, a glimmer of simple possibility? please please please.
I wanted to pull to a stop and save him - and if I hadn’t been running late, I might have. But I WAS running late. So I kept going. I kept my eye on the road and told myself, If it is meant to be, It will be. It’s not MY fate. It’s his. He’s just a bee. And I tried to let it go.
But there was no denying that my new friend’s fate now MATTERED to me. I NEEDED him to make it - because if he could, that meant I could, too. My own hopes and fears and determination were all tied up in this one little bee’s perilous journey. I was pulling for us both. please please please.
My speed increased with traffic, and the roads took us on twists and turns that should have sent him flying - but he stayed resolute. I watched him, worried for him, feeling for him, rooting for him.
Then I reached the big curve. 45 miles an hour, an almost 120-degree arc that simply could not be avoided. I tried to slow down enough that the bee could sustain his grip, but it wasn’t enough. Without even time to say goodbye, his tiny body abruptly disappeared behind me. Just like THAT! he was gone.
In hindsight, I should have seen it coming. That was one killer curve and I was going way too fast for a tiny bug like that to hold on. But I DIDN’T see it. I’d had pure, blind faith in that bug. Pure, blind faith that his strength of mind and resolve would see him through even this, the toughest of times. I believed.
I was SHOCKED when his body lost its grip and flew behind me. SHOCKED. A sharp intake of breath, then little tears formed - I knew the tears were ridiculous and completely unjustified - it was just a bee, after all - but still. Still.
Even now I continue to grieve for my little friend. Don’t be so silly! I keep telling myself - it was just a bee. Just. A. Bee. It’s not like he got squished - he just flew away. Unwillingly, yes, but still. He just flew away.
We were next to a park, a very nice park, maybe it was all for the best. Maybe he found an even better spot than my office complex parking lot. Maybe he’ll find himself a new home, a better home, there in that nice park. He’ll make new friends, maybe. Find a new hive. please please please.
Maybe one door closed for him today, but another one, an even better one, opened. Isn’t that how the saying goes?
Maybe it’s really true. Maybe there’s no valid reason for the despair I’ve felt since he lost his grip.
Maybe.
The little bee didn’t make it.
Will I?
Tags: despair, determined bees, lost friends
Dispatch: Calling all cars… we’ve got a new APB for all cars. All officers please be on the lookout for a perp wreaking havoc around town. Subject is male, white, between 18 and 24 months, height between 30 and 35 inches, no weight given. Last seen wearing gray sweatpants, red Crocs, and – I think this says a black “gorilla” sweat shirt –with the hood pulled up. No distinguishing marks except for the most beautiful eyes anyone has ever seen. Over.
Car 1: Roger that, Dispatch. Can you give us anything else to go on? Over.
Dispatch: All it says here is that if the hood is removed you should take cover. Suspect is considered armed with kisses and extremely dangerously cute. Over.
Car 2: Um, Dispatch, this is Car 2. Can you give us a rundown on the suspect’s activities? Over.
Dispatch: Roger, Car 2. All I can tell you is that suspect has been reported at numerous points in town, disarming victims with his long eyelashes and huge friendly smile. Several victims have reported swooning, lightheadedness, and shortness of breath after coming into contact with the suspect. Over.
Car 2: Roger that, Dispatch. We’ll be on the lookout. Over.
A few minutes later…
Car 3: Dispatch, come in. This is Car 3. We think we may have spotted your gorilla shirt perp. Over.
Dispatch: Roger, Car 3. Can you give me your location?
Car 3: We’re on the north side of town, close to a park with ducks. Saw a suspicious looking subject, matching the description in your APB, chasing several ducks and throwing bread at them while giggling maniacally. Several people at the park have passed out from the cuteness. Over.
Dispatch: Roger that, Car 3. That sounds like our guy. Proceed with extreme caution. I’ll send Cars 1 and 2 for backup. Over.
Car 3: Roger, Dispatch. We’d appreciate any help we can get. Looks like the perp is on the run again, we’re now in pursuit. Over.
Dispatch: Roger, Car 3. Please keep us advised. Backup should arrive soon. Over.
Car 3: Roger, Dispatch. Now pursuing suspect on foot, my partner has him cornered in someone’s backyard where he stopped to kiss a puppy dog.
Man, that APB wasn’t kidding. This is one seriously dangerous thug, heavily armed with kisses. Over.
Dispatch: Roger, Car 3. You guys be careful out there. Any way you can take a picture with your car cam and send it back so we can identify the guy? Over.
Car 3: Roger, Dispatch. Snapping a photo now and sending it with our scanner. Over.
Dispatch: That’s our guy, Car 3. Bring him in and we’ll book him. Well done. Over.
Car 3: Just doing our job, Dispatch. Over and out.
Tags: APBs, tiny perps
This is my friend Em:
Look how cute she is!!
Em is single.
Why is she single? I don’t know. She’s pretty, smart, educated, funny, and in great shape.
She DOES have horrible taste in men, though. Her last boyfriend was a real douche bag one of those “I don’t know what I want” types, who broke her heart with his lame indecision and refusal to admit he was a fucking loser afraid of commitment. The guy she’s seeing now is also a fucking loser lives with his parents not really a Love Connection at all — but he’s very pretty so she keeps making out with seeing him. (Actually, THAT one I can kind of understand.)
I do not want Em to be single. I do not want Em to date douche bags. I want Em to be attached. To someone who doesn’t suck.
I do not know why this matters to me, but it does. I am a control freak think I can do it better than she can want to help my friend find happiness in love.
I tried to set Em up with Ken here, but she was scarred for life after viewing his profile unreasonably stubborn about it and has refused to let me contact him.
I tried to get Em to answer some of the zillions of “winks” she’s gotten on Match.com (at least two of which were clearly THE LOVE OF HER LIFE), but she is too cheap is not concerned at all about my feelings has so far resisted my pleas to sign up for the pay version so “we” can “wink” back at these fine fellows.
I have asked Em to let me follow her on dates with my spy kit, so I could observe and make tacky snarky totally not helpful at all very helpful suggestions, but she hates me has yet to invite me on one.
Maybe you can do better. Do you know someone who’d be a perfect match for my homegirl Em? Consider this my call for open submissions. Send me a description, a picture, anything. It can be a hobo friend, a drunk divorced old uncle relative, someone you found on a porn site Facebook, whatever. The funniest weirdest most horrifying most interesting suggestions will be featured here in a few days, winning absolutely nothing my undying respect and the recognition of thousands of hundreds of at least two other readers of The Bean.
Who knows, the guy YOU find could be THE ONE. I can see it now: They’ll talk on the phone a few times and have some really great, long conversations which I will totally listen in on and then he’ll fly out for a long weekend and they’ll finally go on their first date and I’ll sit at the next table in my trench coat and sunglasses with my spy satellite and headphones to listen in on their conversation and spy pen camera to take pictures, and I’ll take notes and report the whole story here, of how they fell in love on their very first date, and I will also take full credit for the whole thing. And then they’ll get married and have babies and one of them will be named Bejewell after their favorite “auntie”. And word will get out that they met in this really unconventional way, and on Valentine’s Day Oprah will feature them and me on her show, and then they and I will appear on Ellen, where Ellen will give them a new house and me a new car and everyone will love them and me and later President Obama will throw a party for them at the White House and also a ticker tape parade in my honor.
(Seriously, when am I going to get that ticker tape parade? What more do you people want from me?)
It’s gonna be great!
So you’ve got two days to send me what you’ve got. Oprah and Obama await.
Ready. Set. Go.
Tags: Britney Spears' dad, Em, love connections, ticker tape
