tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195990332012-02-15T19:36:00.358-08:00Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.comBlogger991100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-24324233550094405632012-02-15T19:32:00.000-08:002012-02-15T19:36:00.372-08:00When we first moved here, we had a slight issue with our mail. It took FOREVER for our mail to get forwarded here. Maybe it just felt like FOREVER because I was waiting for a replacement to the credit card I lost just one day before leaving Bealeton (timing, gotta love it). Anyway, I called the Bealeton Post Office to make sure they had all they needed and were really forwarding my mail.<div><br /></div><div>The Postmaster was trying to be helpful. He found our forwarding order and was reading it back to me. Everything sounded ok until he got to the city.</div><div><br /></div><div>"That's in Tuck-sun, Arizona." he read to me.</div><div><br /></div><div>I paused.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Um, you mean Tucson, right?" I asked.</div><div><br /></div><div>Next followed a pause so pregnant I heard a baby cry after a while. Then the Postmaster laughed:</div><div><br /></div><div>"AHHH, I was just testing you."</div><div><br /></div><div><i>mmmm...hmmm...</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>One of the many reasons why I miss Bealeton.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-2432423355009440563?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-45199936553306100692011-09-26T21:09:00.000-07:002011-09-26T21:10:39.461-07:00Just read that Henry Cavill is going to play the new Superman...<div><br /></div><div>Oh my panties!!!!</div><div><br /></div><div>(so had to post this on this blog...while I still can...)</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-4519993655330610069?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-77912920061764745362011-09-24T20:49:00.000-07:002011-09-24T21:24:49.328-07:00In December of 2010, my friend Amber lost her son Gavin to cancer. Me and all the other moms in my moms group were beside ourselves in grief not just for Amber, but for ourselves. So many of us had children around the same age as Gavin, me included. We all had to do SOMETHING to help her. Something, anything to just make it seem better for her. <div><br /></div><div>The days leading up to the funeral were a blur of activity in our group. Just getting things put together and recovering from the holidays AND being seven months pregnant was keeping me busy enough. But I felt something coming up from the hidden corners of my brain...but it wasn't fully forming yet. From the time that little boy died and I heard he had AML leukemia, the memories started coming up...but slowly. I was too busy, too concerned for my friend to remember what I needed to remember.</div><div><br /></div><div>At the funeral, forever in my brain (and I'm almost too afraid to post this) but forever in my brain is one image of my friend. After her son's tiny casket was brought in, my friends looked forward in the church to dry their eyes. I however, looked back at Amber again and saw her hug her son's casket, I saw her begin to sob, and I saw her say "My baby...". Forever that image was is in my brain. </div><div><br /></div><div>A son left his mother behind...</div><div><br /></div><div>It was after the funeral, PJ rose up from the recess of my brain. </div><div><br /></div><div>AML, AML, AML....</div><div><br /></div><div>PJ, PJ, PJ...</div><div><br /></div><div>I met PJ in my early 20s when I was in the Lions Club. She died of AML leukemia in her late 30s, maybe early 40s. I got to meet her family at the funeral. Her half brother told some funny stories about a very loving, funny family. They had a cat that was so evil, it saw getting beat with a stuffed sock as a form of love, they had their own "Family Commandments" that included such phrases as "Thou shalt not have child until thine fish is caught.", and they spoke very honestly with one another. For example, when PJ got out of the service. Her brother had no problem saying to her "PJ, you're fat..." </div><div><br /></div><div>Can't get more honest than that...</div><div><br /></div><div>Another story I enjoyed was when PJ got out of the service, she took her parents out to dinner, she showed them a lamp that played music. She played it over and over again looking at her parents...they said nothing. Then her dad said to her mom when they were alone after dinner..."Cute lamp, but why would PJ get a lamp that sings 'London Bridge is falling down?'".</div><div><br /></div><div>I first met PJ at a small middle school in Maryland. She was assigned to mentor me on the Peace Poster Contest. No one knew it as well as PJ. She had been heading it for the district for years. PJ was very gregarious and very eager to help guide me in the project. I only remember I pulled it off thanks to her. And we kept in touch between the project next year. She seemed very interested in me getting married and hearing about my plan to finish school before having kids. She really questioned me alot about when I was going to have kids.</div><div><br /></div><div>In 2002/2003, PJ was diagnosed with AML leukemia. One of her brothers was a partial match. They tried a bone marrow transplant, but it wasn't having the effect they wanted. PJ went through chemo and constant treatment. She seemed tired when I talked to her the few times during the contest year, but she seemed to be going strong (or as best as she could). They held a bone marrow drive for PJ and I went right over to get myself on the list.</div><div><br /></div><div>However, PJ continued to struggle. Eventually, she was hospitalized at the VA hospital in DC. She was in and out of conscientiousness as her kidneys fought to hold on. The Lions Club emailed us to let us know we can go see PJ and sit with her, but she was on a ventilator, fighting as best as she could.</div><div><br /></div><div>I took the metro, to the bus, to the hospital to see PJ. A sister was sitting with her when I got there. She seemed relieved when I offered to stay with PJ while she go get a coffee or something. The sister let go of PJs hand and quickly left the room. Instantly, I saw PJ's hand grope for the sister's hand. I saw tears start to fall from her eyes. The incident only lasted maybe three seconds, but I could sense what she was thinking...</div><div><br /></div><div>"Please...don't leave me alone...please...don't let me die alone."</div><div><br /></div><div>I quickly grabbed her hand.</div><div><br /></div><div>"It's me PJ, It's Jessica...It's ok."</div><div><br /></div><div>PJ held my hand so tight. If I even fidgeted, she would get upset and grasp my hand tighter so I learned to be still and just stroke her hand. I sat quietly. Not knowing if I should talk to her. Not even knowing what to say. But there was nothing to say. Whether she knew it was me or not didn't matter. What matters was that she knew someone was there.</div><div><br /></div><div>My mind was in deep thought on the way home from the VA hospital after I left. PJ may have lived a full life, but it was all still too short.</div><div><br /></div><div>Three weeks later, she died.</div><div><br /></div><div>The funeral was beautiful. It was held in PJ's family's backyard. There was a lake behind it and they scattered her ashes there. Everyone took turns telling stories about PJ.</div><div><br /></div><div>I didn't really see anyone I knew from Lions. I kept to myself. There was a wrapped package in my hands. It was something from my house I found myself looking at alot after PJ died. The hubby and I were pretty broke back then, but I felt I had to bring something to this funeral, so I wrapped the item and brought it with me.</div><div><br /></div><div>After the services, I went looking for someone to give the package to. I knew just where to go. I waited in the driveway trying to catch this person's attention. Finally, she turned around and looked at me. She was only thirteen years old...</div><div><br /></div><div><i>"Cute lamp, but why would PJ get a lamp that sings 'London Bridge is falling down?'"</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Because it wasn't playing London Bridge is falling down...it was playing "Mary had a Little Lamb".</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>PJ had broken a family commandment. She had a baby before her fish was caught. </div><div><br /></div><div>Gavin left his mother behind...PJ left her daughter behind.</div><div><br /></div><div>Either way you look at it cancer is cruel.</div><div><br /></div><div>"I wanted you to have this". I said to PJ's daughter.</div><div><br /></div><div>She took the box opened it and saw it was a House of Lloyd's Giving Angel. She looked at me.</div><div><br /></div><div>"It's a giving angel...because your mother...she gave so much."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Thank you." was all she could say.</div><div><br /></div><div>I couldn't say anything, I left as fast as I could and started crying as soon as I knew no one was around and I was nearly at my car.</div><div><br /></div><div>So when you wonder why I do some much or how I can manage to get caught up in so many projects, you'll understand why. PJ inspired me to give, give, give. She was a mom, a solider, and a very active member in her community. I knew if she could do it (without a husband mind you), then I could too. I do all I can because I know PJ can't. And I thank PJ to this day for the inspiration.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-7791292006176474536?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-81857075118116008432011-06-03T20:12:00.000-07:002011-06-03T20:28:46.162-07:00Life is coming at me like a freight train. I find myself running for the train with the hubby beside me. I'm running and running, I think my side is going to split...then suddenly...I can't run anymore. I have to stop...within that split second, the train speeds past and is on its way. The hubby and I are standing beside the tracks watching it.<div><br /></div><div>I'm looking closely at him. He's looking at that train with a forlorn look. I can see he really wanted to get on. Then he turns to me and gives me that forced smile I keep seeing from him so much lately. "It's ok" he mouths. But I know it's not ok...We've missed the train...</div><div><br /></div><div>When I was 16, my uncle convinced my parents to put me on a train to Washington, DC. The took me to the station and my dad came onto the train to see me off. I dawdled in getting myself situated and was very overwhelmed with the whole experience (how do I get my ticket, what do I do? Should I sit here?). My dad was getting impatient with me. Then suddenly, the train started to move. For a few minutes my dad was horrified to realize he was stuck on the train. I started to cry when I realized that I put my dad in this predicament. My dad turned to me and said something that was so my dad...</div><div><br /></div><div>"Life's an adventure."</div><div><br /></div><div>An adventure...</div><div><br /></div><div>When I was 19, one woman said to me "I'd love to take you to a cliff and just let you fly."</div><div><br /></div><div>I'd love to be able to jump off that cliff, to say "Yes" without thinking or worrying incessantly about the fall. I'd like to be able to jump off that cliff without turning around and calling every girlfriend in my phonebook and go "I was thinking of doing this...is that ok? What do you think? What would you do? Do you know? Do you think you know? Do you think you might know? Do you know someone? Do they know?"</div><div><br /></div><div>Funny, I should think of my dad right now. Of course I would, I always do. I always have. But now...I have to think about the hubby...about the boob...about my little man and about my new bubsey...They are what matters now. Them...and me...</div><div><br /></div><div>When I was 14, I moved in with my dad and stepmom. My stepmom said to me and my dad "You think this is going to be all roses and ice cream...well it's not." </div><div><br /></div><div>And she wasn't kidding...it wasn't. All roses have thorns and honestly, ice cream isn't that good for you...but you know what...you can learn to hold a rose without touching the thorns...and if you make ice cream with coconut milk...it's not that bad for you...</div><div><br /></div><div>So there are me and the hubby...beside the tracks...and we suddenly both look at each other and smile...All three of the kids are with us...He picks up the boob and he starts running after the train. He's an awesome runner...he's going to make it. I get the bubsey in the snuggly, then grab the little man and I'm off after them. The hubby gets closer to the train, the boob is able to grab onto to the back and get herself on. He jumps on after her. They are calling after me.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Come on mommy!!! YOU ROCK!!!"</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm running on pure adrenaline now. Running without thinking. Getting closer and closer...I'm close enough to hand the little man to the hubby. He's on. They are calling after me...I'm running, I'm running...I used to be an awesome runner too....I'm so close...when I remember...</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm a dancer too. </div><div><br /></div><div>I jump and I grab onto that train. They are all cheering and laughing. Even bubsey. I climb on. We all hug and look out to what we are leaving behind. Then we go inside the train...</div><div><br /></div><div>There are roses and ice cream on board...</div><div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-8185707511811600843?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-12263362461994607652009-02-18T18:38:00.000-08:002009-02-18T19:00:29.545-08:00On Facebook there has been this "25 Random Things" posting. While I could totally post it on my Facebook, I see this as an opportunity to blog, so here it goes. ..<br /><br />1. I am severely arachnaphobic. No lie, it's bad. It was something that brought much joy to the boys in high school. However, it brought no joy to me. I fear the black widow and the tarntualla the most, but the tiniest of spiders make me freak out. And before you ask me...no, I have not seen the movie Arachnaphobia and I never will...<br /><br />2. Living in Bealeton has not helped my arachnaphobia because a) black widows have been spotted (not by me thankfully) in my area and b) fuzzy barn spiders inhabit my basement. I thank God for my cat, Sable who keeps them away.<br /><br />3. Years ago, my friend J unknowingly taught me a way to deal with my arachnaphobia. I name spiders that insist on inhabiting my domain (they are told they are NOT allowed in my sleeping area...but a later post will show they don't always abide by this ruld). Names I have given spiders have been: Nid, Arach, Joe, Mo (for big ass mo fo'), Monette (female version of Mo) and Fred.<br /><br />4. At the age of 4 I was diagnosed with juvenile rhuematoid arthritis in my right knee. It has since spread to both knees and hands. I have been in remission from JRA since July 2000. I only experienced flare ups at the ages of 4, 11, &amp; 22.<br /><br />5. I have ganglian cysts on both of my hands. No clue how I got them. My left is the worst. I have to wear a hand brace at night to keep my hand from falling asleep.<br /><br />6. When I was 14, my natural mom and I lived with my aunt, her boyfriend, and her four sons (my cousins). My natural mom and I shared a room in their house for nearly a year. What a trip that was...<br /><br />7. Between the ages of 13/14 I moved three times. But third time was a charm. My parents still live at that house.<br /><br />8. I have one brother who is nearly 15 years younger than me, but I love him like crazy. I like to think we are close. He's one of few people I can just sit and not have to say a word to...and just be...<br /><br />9. I think I'm too strict of a mother and need to chill out...but not always easy when your daughter is a drama queen...<br /><br />10. On the otherside...I'm a sucker for my kids...Sometimes...sometimes...especially when shopping, I find it hard to say 'no'...but it's not for toys...I happen to have kids that ask for sensible things...like pajamas...and certain foods...I mean how can I say no to princess pajamas...???and English muffin??? If the hubby's reading this he'd say "Easy, say 'no'".<br /><br />11. I cannot stand the sound of someone who smacks their lips while they eat.<br /><br />12. Wet socks are my main pet peeve.<br /><br />13. I'm a workaholic and am trying to work on this issue....wait...that didn't sound right...no really, I want more time with my kids...I want to be able to take them places and not worry about the phone calls/emails coming in...<br /><br />14. I have two batchelor's degrees. One in History of women &amp; gender, and one in social studies education. At graduation, I was the only one out of 35 social studies teachers that got my history degree in women &amp; gender. I'd like to think of myself as a trailblazer because of that fact.<br /><br />15. I have bruxism and have to wear a mouth guard to bed (isn't my husband so lucky...he's got a sexy wife who has to wear braces and mouthguards to bed) woo hoo...<br /><br />16. I have a degree in Reiki I &amp; Reflexology I...some PLEASE ask me to practice on them...I need to practice...but warning, I suck at the reflexology...hence the need to practice...<br /><br />17. I've taken animal communication classes, but please don't ask me to read your pet's mind when you see me...it doesn't work like that...<br /><br />18. While my dad came up with the little man's real name, the hubby thought it was awesome when we found a way to tie it to Buffy the Vampire Slayer.<br /><br />19. I have a bad habit of reading books I've read over again. I say this is a bad habit because I have a whole bookshelf (maybe two) of books I need to read (that my mother in law gave me). One book in particular, The Other Boleyn Girl, I had to give away because the hubby was sick of seeing me read it last year...<br /><br />20. We have a family bed in our house. This means our kids (including our furry one--just the dog &amp; cat) sleep in our bed. The boob actually now sleeps in her own bed mostly. The little man joins us around 4/5am, However, I have to say, I love having my kids close to me.<br /><br />21. I handwrite almost every entry of this blog before I type it and post it. If I write it cold, I'll make it known. This could be part of the reason why I don't blog enough. I prefer to handwrite everything. Gives me a hard copy.<br /><br />22. I clean when I'm upset. <br /><br />23. I tend to fret over social situations...if you think haven't fretted over you, you're wrong.<br /><br />24. When I first met my hubby, I gave him my business card and he won't let me forget that...<br /><br />25. One person I miss most in this world I my pop-pop...I found out he died on a Monday and every monday for the rest of that year it rained...not kidding...I don't think of him as often as I did, but on certain days, it still hits me...he was just the ultimate grandfather. The ultimate person.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-1226336246199460765?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-42950430023691898842009-02-18T18:33:00.001-08:002009-02-18T18:38:00.707-08:00A while ago, when I was still pregnant, I was on the phone talking with Schmack. Just as I was hanging up the phone, I heard this sound:<br /><br />Clop-clop, clop-clop, clop-clop, clop-clop.<br /><br />Quickly, I looked out the front window to see two horses clopping their way down the street (riders with them, of course). <br /><br />NO LIE! Seriously. Two people were riding horses down my street. Yes, my street is paved, Yes, I live in a developed part of Bealeton. Granted, my area used to be Meadfield Farm, but still...<br /><br />Two horses went down my street like it's something they do every day.<br /><br />I had to take a picture. However, I couldn't find a camera. When I did, the horses wer out of sight. No biggie, I thought to myself. They couldn't have gone far. I called for the boob to come see the horsies with me and she said "I'm watching a movie now".<br /><br />Kids.<br /><br />Unfortunately, the horses were gone by the time I got outside. I stood there in disbelief. A woman was walking down the street with her baby.<br /><br />"Did you see the horses?" I asked her.<br /><br />"No, where were they?"<br /><br />I told her and she turned right around to go find them. Shortly after, the hubby came home. I asked him if he saw the horses on his drive home. He said no.<br /><br />I was NOT hallucinating these horses...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-4295043002369189884?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-75683747081700362872009-02-18T18:26:00.001-08:002009-02-18T18:31:43.092-08:00Ok, it's been a while...and I'm doing this cold (not writing it out beforehand). I've been away for a while...I have a list of reasons and here they are:<br /><br />I had a baby in June...which means I now have two kids...so that means raising children is twice the fun for me...<br /><br />I went back to work when my son was only three weeks old. So that means raising children is twice the fun, plus add in the extra smiles I get from dealing with work.<br /><br />Work started out as something that wasn't too bad...something I could do here and there at night when 'the boob' and 'the little man' (name for my new son) are asleep or preoccupied. However over the months it started snowballing. I never expected to be making many calls during the day. In my job, I usually deal with people over email, or an occasional, rare call. But suddenly, in October, I found myself on the phone for what turned out to be a full day...during the day...with my kids at home with me...so...figure this:<br /><br />Kids at home (well the boob is in preschool now, but that only takes up a few hours and the little man needs about an hours worth of my attention), house needs cleaning, food needs cooking (because I do not believe in fast food all the time), and other stuff needs tending....hmm....what other stuff...oh I need to feed my animals...if I don't they would revolt...so yeah...my life is chaotic, and I have no time...<br /><br />And trust me...I have so much material...so much...unfortunately, the hubby says be careful about putting stuff to writing about work...boo hiss...killjoy...but he does have a point.<br /><br />But no worries, I have been writing blogs that I am going to post....NOW....<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-7568374708170036287?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-30303211192052001782008-05-02T11:18:00.001-07:002008-05-02T11:25:37.903-07:00Actual email sent to the hubby, slightly edited...Subject line was YOUR Cat...<br /><br /><br />The boob was looking out the window while brushing her teeth and suddenly says<br /><br />"Mommy I want Tiki back" (<em>BB note: Tiki is one of our ferrets that died last year...however, the boob took to calling our living ferret, Duece - Tiki. A month ago, Duece ran away</em>) and she started getting teary and insisting we get outside.<br /><br />I was like "Ok, ok. Finishing brushing your teeth"<br /><br />Then she goes, "Mommy, Tiki is outside with Sable" <em>(Another note: Sable is one of our cats, our youngest cat to be specific)</em><br /><br />I was like "Ok...show me" I looked out the bedroom window...saw nothing...<br /><br />So I check the boob's teeth and I'm like "Ok, we'll go look for Duece" (because I know Tiki is really Duece).<br /><br />I didn't think anything of it...thought maybe it was an overimaginative mind.<br /><br />We got outisde, were looking around, when suddenly I heard a whine that sounded like Snickers (<em>yet another note: Snickers is my bro's beagle...they have a very distinctive whine) </em>whining...I looked over in the sunflower garden...and there was YOUR Cat (Sable) with a baby BUNNY in her mouth...<br /><br />Blood was pouring from it and the boob saw it all in plain sight. I started screaming at Sable, the boob automatically started crying...Then she ran upstairs and sat on the deck until I went to get her five minutes later.<br /><br />I screamed at Sable to drop it. I also grabbed a nearby 2x4 and started swinging at the cat in hopes of convincing her to drop it (<em>PETA note: I did not swing directly at my cat...just over her head in hopes of separating her from little nut brown hare). </em>When she finally did it was too late...And she kept going towards it, but I managed to get her and put her inside.<br /><br />The pour thing died three minutes later...it should probably be buried, I don't know what to do with it.<br /><br />The boob came inside with me so I could email you and broke into tears "I don't like Sable!" I tried to explain that kitties do that and she was only bringing us a present, but I agreed, it's not the kind of present I would want...<br /><br />I wish I knew where she found it because there has to be more and I don't want her killing more...of course now the boob thinks Sable will kill Flopsey (<em>ANOTHER NOTE: our rabbit who lives in the wash room with her</em>)...<br /><br />That's what you are missing today...<br /><br />Love,<br /><br />Your wife<br /><br /><em>Final note: Hubby later called and asked me if I did anything with little nut brown hare's body and I said "No." He said "Are you going to do anything with his body...just toss him behind the shed" (where we put all the animal carnage...birds...mice). I said "He's too big to put back there, he needs to be buried." Hubby goes "Oh just put him a bag and toss him". I then said "I'm not doing THAT by myself".</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Actually I'm not doing that period...some things are just meant for men to do...</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Also, I told the boob in the future I will definitely be listening to her when she tells me Sable is up to something...no more dawdling to get outside...</em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-3030321119205200178?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-50379375222365802922008-04-24T13:10:00.000-07:002008-04-24T13:21:08.695-07:00Ok, so it was around the holidays and I was in Wal-mart. This alone should tell you all that customer service and the general atmosphere of the place was at an all time low. However, I was in need of customer service, therefore, I had to stand in one of the longest lines possible. Because you know...God forbid, Wal-mart has TWO lines open at the customer service station.<br /><br />My general issue at the time? it was a simple one. The retard cashier yet AGAIN forgot to ring up my coupons. It never fails, whenever I go food shopping at Wal-mart, I ned up in the ONLY line without a divider AND the cashier forgets to ring up my coupons (and I swear, I do NOT use the same chasier or go to the same line everytime).<br /><br />Ok, Ok, so I sound like I'm being petty. I'm standing in a ridiculously long ine because I want $1.35 back (or should I just say $2 for Better off Dead posperity?). It's totally not worth my time for the money, however, I feel it's a matter of principle. They need to know my injustice, they need to feel guilty. I need to get a life.<br /><br />Anyway, my whole coupon ordeal isn't what inspired me to write this. It was something the boob did. Of course I can't expect a two year old to sit still while waiting in this line. After a bit, she started doing the normal 'fidget' routine. I did little in stopping her because I felt maybe it would motivate the customer service people to move faster (I know the world hates people like me). At one point, the boob starting playing with her barretts and she flung one to the opposite side of the customer servcie counter. Since I couldn't get to this barrett, I asked an employee walking towards me if she could get it.<br /><br />"I know you aren't asking me to get that." replied the employee (she was a rather large, middle aged woman).<br /><br />I was temporarily speechless as I thought to myself "I was asking in English right?" Then I realized yes, I was. Then I marveled at this employee's rudeness. I reminded myself it was the holidays and it was Wal-mart. I bit back any snarky reply and said:<br /><br />"Not really a big deal, I just thought I'd ask."<br /><br />The employee huffed liked I asked her to pick up a flat of 10lb bags of mulch, not a 1/2 inch barrett right next to her foot. She proceeded to kick said barrett to the other end of the customer service counter. She asked another employee to pick it up for her, then she brought it back to me.<br /><br />"I'm sorry" She said, "but I got these bad knees".<br /><br />Now, as mentioned before, the BB tries not to hate. So I held back all my comments about her former profession before Wal-mart, and any comments about how she may have landed her three ex-husbands, and I put on a smile and said:<br /><br />"Thank you."<br /><br />Minutes later, I had my $1.35. Although I got a blog post out of the experience, I think the next time they forget to ring up my coupons, I'll just write a letter to the manager...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-5037937522236580292?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-14312817851698559692008-04-22T14:39:00.000-07:002008-04-22T14:44:28.978-07:00Ok...some people said it had been a year since my last post and I was like "Oh that's just unacceptable". But I see it's just been six months. While it's still totally negligent, it's not THAT bad.<br /><br />Ok, something HAD to have inspired me to post this blog. I have a few in the hopper too. It's just been bad with work and having to keep up with the boob. Not to mention this pregnancy thing. You'd think I blog about this whole pregnancy, but hey, I didn't blog about my pregnancy with the boob, so why should I with this one?<br /><br />Anyhoo...the other day, my friend Margie was over. I realized while she was over that the Pope was about to land at Andrews Air Force base. So, I turned on the TV to watch Popepapalooza start. I saw our holiness coming out of the plane and walk towards the Bush family. I was like 'cool.'. Then...I saw them...bright red, Ronald McDonald like shoes. And it wasn't like he was wearing red. He was wearing all white, with his gold cross. But underneath were these obnoxious shoes. <br /><br />Ok, so I can't expect an 81 year old man to have fashion sense...but come on. RED shoes? RED RONALD MCDONALD like shoes? Surely some sisters on the plane could have warned him about this...<br /><br />Maybe a closeted bishop?<br /><br />I know...I'm going to hell...in a little hand basket with ribbons in my little short bus.<br /><br />BEEP BEEP!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-1431281785169855969?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-86680949458265572342007-12-17T08:17:00.001-08:002007-12-17T08:22:42.998-08:00Ok, I know it's been a LONG TIME. I have no excuse...well is being pregnant an excuse? I didn't think so...but of course SOMETHING happens to just totally inspire me. Truth be told, something happened that would be a crime NOT to blog. So here we go...<br /><br />The Monday after Thanksgiving, my trash guys failed to pick up the trash. Now this wouldn't seem so abnormal if hubby and I didn't just see the owner's son over the weekend. He sat and talked with us for a half hour about having kids and living in the area. Then we gave him a check for SIX MONTHS of trash removal. I thought it odd, then figured the guys probably took and extra day off for the holiday. I knew they would come Thursday (the company has been in business for 40 years and while they have their quirky way of doing things, I know they always pick up the trash...eventually).<br /><br />So flash to the following Monday. Thursday's trash had been collected (as I figured) and the trash was out waiting for Monday's pick up. I was on the phone with my friend Schmack. While I was talking to her, I see a truck pull up. I didn't recognize this truck, but I recognized the men coming out as the owner's sons coming out to collect the trash. As I squinted for a closer look I noticed something that made me laugh out loud.<br /><br />The trash guys were picking up the trash in a Hertz rent-a-truck. No lie, I can't make this up!!! So I guess that explains why the trash wasn't picked up the previous Monday...their truck of 40 years finally bit it and now they are using rent a trucks to pick up the trash until it's fixed or they can afford a new one. Mind you, that week it was a Hertz rent-a-truck, last week it was a U-Haul. Who knows what they'll use the pick up my trash in this week.<br /><br />I still love the trash guys...with all my heart...the crazy men...<br /><br />-BB.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-8668094945826557234?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-61022250979282490052007-10-15T07:35:00.001-07:002007-10-15T07:48:11.508-07:00Because I'm inspired and because it's been a while, I'm doing a double post...<br /><br />This is a short one...it's a thought for you...In honor of Barney's 20th Birthday I pose this question to you...<br /><br />Do you find it odd that Barney had a friend named BJ? Not only that BJ has a sister named Baby Bop...<br /><br />you think about that for a bit mmmkay??<br /><br />The BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-6102225097928249005?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-50962158871713175362007-10-15T02:22:00.000-07:002007-10-15T02:32:57.692-07:00Okay Okay, I know I like too the whole summer off...but like I explained a few posts ago, I'm working again. Working has kept me distracted from writing. Top that off with my desire to be working on other projects, and there hasn't been much of a blog. However, I'm feeling crappy and nothing helps crappy like blogging.<br /><br />Now what to blog about...Oh I know...<br /><br />So at the beginning of the summer, the hubby comes up to me and wants me to cut his hair. This in itself isn't a bad thing, however for about six months now, the hubby has gone with the close cropped look. This look doesn't necessarily require me to cut his hair. He just basically has to run a shaver (with 1/8' guard...remember this tidbit) over his head. <br /><br />Anyway, hubby asks me to help. I figure it's easier than what I used to do for him before his co-workers started accusing him of having a comb-over. So, I go over his head with a razor, no biggie. Then I take the guard off and touch up his neck area, and his sideburns. After that I told the hubby to go check himself in the mirror. It was a nice day and we were outside, but the hubby went in the check his hair. He came out and said I missed a patch on top of his head. No problem, I went to go touch up the area. (you so have to know where this is going). I start touching up and I think to myself "damn I really missed this area, look how much hair is coming off hubbies head". Then all the sudden this sick feeling overcomes me...and in one moment I realize....<br /><br />I forgot to put the guard back on...<br /><br />I've fucked up my husband's do and now I have to shave him BALD...<br /><br />I fall to the floor laughing. I laugh so hard, then I start crying. Not because I'm laughing, but because I screwed up my hubby's hair (what little he has of it). Hubby is laughing and he finds this no biggie because for years he would shave off all of his hair in the summer. I stop blubbering/laughing and finish off his hair. I admit, I'm not all for the completely no hair look. I like hair on my man. But I kept telling myself it's no biggie. I met him when he was bald, so I should be used to it. Besides, so many good looking men out there are bald. I mean Chris Daughtery is hot...right? RIGHT???<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-5096215887171317536?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-69245450656884484552007-06-26T17:38:00.000-07:002007-06-26T17:47:26.470-07:00When the boob was one week old, I read her a book for the first time. I was home alone for the first time and was still in pain from surgery. So reading a book seemed like a nice, relaxing thing to do. Also, it's never too early to start reading to a child. <br /><br />The book I chose to read to the boob was "The Runaway Bunny" by Margaret Wise Brown, illustrated by Clement Hurd. These two are the dynamic team behind "Goodnight Moon". This story is so sweet and brought me to tears. The tears could have been mixed with post partum hormones, but I think too because I've become such a mush since becoming a mom. Basically, the story is about a little bunny that wants to runaway from his mother rabbit. His mother rabbit insists she will find him wherever he goes. She even says she will help him along his journey in life. As the bunny challenges his mother with possible running away scenarios (becoming a rock on a mountain, a fish in a trout stream, a bird), his mother, like any good mother, tells him how she will 'find him'.<br /><br />At one point in the story, the bunny announces that he is going to become a sailboat and sail away from his mother. The mother says "I will become the wind and blow you where I want you to go." The next line starts:<br /><br />"If you become the wind and blow me, "<br /><br />At this point, I always crack up.<br /><br />Because I am one perverted mama...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-6924545065688448455?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-59943877756582849572007-06-25T18:20:00.001-07:002007-06-25T18:34:49.619-07:00Wow I went through all of June without a post? Bad, bad me. Well at least the month isn't completely over. In case any of the four people who read this blog care, (which I know you do), I've been spending the time off working. I've been working on a few things. First, I've been doing real work which is a feat amongst itself. Then I've been doing work for me. Me work. What's me work? Well me work for me is working on writing. Specifically, working on a book. I've done a little here and there. My personal goal is to have something publishable (is that a word?) by the fall. Here's hoping.<br /><br />Anyhoo...I have a few blog ideas, I wanted to get out and this one was too good to not do. I'm doing this cold (not writing it, typing it out as I go) so please forgive the unpolished blog. However, the boob has taken to not wanting to fall asleep without me in the room, so as I wait for her to give in to sleep, I'm typing this blog.<br /><br />Saturday, I got a call from the neighbors across the street from me. In the three years we've lived here they have never said 'boo' to me. I've seen them working around the house from time to time and have always wondered about them. So they call me Saturday. Actually, the husband calls me. He starts by saying "We found your dog's collar." I found that pretty amazing since my dog hadn't left the yard yet. Then he goes on to read the collar "M-Y-S-T-I-C". <br /><br />"Oh, um, that's actually, my cat, Mystic." (Oh boy, I think, here we go, what the fuck did he do now?)<br /><br />"Oh, we'll, is your cat home? Did you lose your cat?"<br /><br />I turn to hubby and ask him if Mystic is home.<br /><br />"Yep, he's home."<br /><br />"Is he ok?"<br /><br />"Looked fine to me."<br /><br />I get back to the man on the phone. It's now his wife. Apparently he wasn't explaining things right to me. She gets on the phone. I explain to her the collar belongs to my cat and he's home and fine.<br /><br />"Well there was alot of fur in our backyard. Gray fur. I think your cat was fighting with this cat I've been feeding on the front porch. He's a stray in the area."<br /><br /><em>Socks...shit shit shit...</em><br /><em></em><br />Ok...backstory. Socks is the neighborhood feral cat. We never really thought he belonged to anyone. And two years ago, Socks took to hanging in our yard. He stopped after Mystic beat the snot out of him. He sometimes will tussle with Mystic but has taken to attempting to kick the snot out of my 9lbs 4 year old cat. I think he figures if he beats a smaller gray cat, it'll help him feel better for not being able to beat Mystic. I'm almost positive one day Mystic will kill Socks if he can.<br /><br />"Um...I'm sorry." I say to the woman, "Did my cat...um...hurt your cat?"<br /><br />"Oh no, he's not my cat. He's a feral. I've been trying to get the ASPCA to come get him for a year. They told me to feed him until they get here. Well, it's been a year."<br /><br />First off...um...feeding a feral cat isn't the best idea if you aren't going to bring him into your house. I want to beat the ASPCA for even suggesting that to the poor lady. I can't understand what's taking them so long to come up with a cat trap. I can trap Socks myself if I could borrow a trap. The neighbor told me he appears to be sick. Which gets me because if he has FIV or feline leukemia then he could possibly spread it to all the other cats in the neighborhood. Lucky for me I got Mystic all his shots.<br /><br />Later, I picked up Mystic's collar and they showed me his fur all over their backyard. I told them he was fine. They told me Socks had some sores (absesses I bet) on his head. I apologized for my cat's bruteness. The neighbors were like "Oh no, Socks has beaten up almost every cat in this neighborhood. He's not a friendly cat." So apparently, my cat is doing a public service by kicking the snot out of him daily.<br /><br />When I went to put Mystic's collar back on, I did another scan of his body. Apparently he did take a hit in this new fight. He lost a claw. Basically, Socks got the shit kicked out of him and my cat just lost a nail.<br /><br />Ain't that something?<br /><br />-The BB.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-5994387775658284957?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-20953484670315735282007-05-29T19:32:00.000-07:002007-05-29T19:39:06.420-07:00A few months back, I made <a href="http://bealetonbabe.blogspot.com/2006/07/birdbird-bird-bird-bird-bird.html">this post </a>about my cat Sable. She is a hunter through and through. I am a totally supportive cat mom, however, it's one thing for me to find her kill, totally another when I actually witness it. I have to thank her profusely with a tinge of horror in my voice. This post I'm doing for my friend Polarhound who witnessed the first event and got a major laugh out of it. And to this day, the memory of me flapping my arms in horror is burned in his mind and it makes him smile. So glad my idiotic behavior amuses someone...<br /><br />At some point tonight, I decided to do the boob's laundry. I went outside to look for a baby towel that needed washing. Sable had been out for 1/2 the day. I came outside to see her totally stalking something. I actually got kinda lost in watching her. It was really something to watch her hunt her prey...get all in stalking mode. Her tail was swishing like mad...she kept crouching lower...and lower and lower.<br /><br />I didn't have my glasses on, so I couldn't see what she was stalking. I can't see a damn thing without my glasses lately, so I figured maybe she was planning to jump up the tree. Well I stood there as quiet as can be, afraid to scare her out of her zone. Then suddenly, she bolted and pounced and I hear "TWEET TWEET TWEET TWEET". I ran up to the sandbox and sure enough she's got a bird in her mouth. I say "Sable baby, good girl, drop the birdie. Good job" (hey I gotta be a supportive mom right?)<br /><br />So she goes "Sure mom, I'll drop it." and she starts heading for the upstairs deck door. She wants to drop it in front of the door on the upper deck...after she cracks it's neck. The poor birdie was still alive AGAIN and I tried to get Sable to drop it. I was flapping my arms, screeching at the cat (yes Polarhound, I was flapping my arms...) :P.<br /><br />Somehow Sable dropped the bird and I had to 'birdblock' her (get it instead of cockblock hahaha). I kept batting her away from the bird and she kept trying to go after it. Finally, I had to pick her up,bring her upstairs and then inside. All the while, praising her for her hunt.<br />The Poor bird was still alive when I went outside. It was hopping around...but it wouldnt' fly. I'm not sure if it was in shock or not.<br /><br />Hey, it could have been worse...Mystic could have gotten it and he could have personally plucked every feather and disembowled it because that's what he likes to do.<br /><br />Yeah me...I LOVE my cats.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-2095348467031573528?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-33738456571592374292007-05-29T19:02:00.000-07:002007-05-29T19:15:23.811-07:00<a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MWA9llhbmYk/RlzeImQDuGI/AAAAAAAAABU/EHe0or0qpJI/s1600-h/Tori.May29.2007+029.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070171519800555618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MWA9llhbmYk/RlzeImQDuGI/AAAAAAAAABU/EHe0or0qpJI/s320/Tori.May29.2007+029.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Ok, I know it's totally gay that I had a Michael Jackson doll as a kid, but can you blame me? There was a time when 1) The man was black and 2) he was a major sex symbol. And I admit I still love his music. So of course in the 1980's I was totally into 'black' Michael. Everyone had a doll Right? Right???</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Obviously, the hubby's been at it again. He's found yet another thing for me to blog about regarding the Michael Jackson doll. This one is too funny not to blog about. First, he had issue with house Michael <a href="http://bealetonbabe.blogspot.com/2007/03/lets-make-michael-jackson-gayer.html">dressed</a>. Now this isn't an issue regarding fashion sense. However, hubby is now completely raggin' on my doll.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>The other day, the hubby brings me the doll and says:</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"Look at Michael's hand. What do you suppose they expect him to use that hand for?"</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I pause, look at the doll, smile, and say:</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"His microphone."</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Hubby replies, "Oh yeah, I bet he uses it for his microphone."</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Look at the picture and judge for yourself.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-3373845657159237429?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-44278017725291542942007-05-28T19:33:00.000-07:002007-05-28T20:05:50.579-07:00today i did my obligatory one day substitute teaching for the county. I'll tell ya, I don't mind getting paid for doing nothing, however this was a pretty uncomfortable day. First off, I was subbing for a guy that doesn't have his own room. A teacher that doesn't have their own room is called a floater. Floaters are usually teachers that are relatively new to a school or they have less seniority than the others. They invade classroom after classroom, mooching space. There is no amrk of their own in the classroom. They are also under constant watch of their peers because the person that 'owns' the room stays there because a) it's 'their' room or b) it's their planning period and they couldn't possibly go anywhere else.<br /><br />So you see the basics of what I delt with today. Here is how it all started. As advised by the county, I arrived over a half hour early to get settled in. THANK GOD I did this because nothing was right when I got there. Now because this teacher is a floater, I can see how things could go awry, however, I would have hoped that maybe this teacher could have had things laid out better. In his defense, I will say that the sub before me might have fubard it all.<br /><br />The woman at the main office kindly (I'm being sarcastic) sent me to the teacher's lounge to find the substitute (sub) secretary. I found her and was given the teacher's schedule, and the schedule for the day. She tells me to report to his first Block classroom which is 213. His homeroom period has a big NA in the classroom box (because floaters have no classroom to do homeroom). <br /><br />Next the sub secretary tells me a substitute handbook should be on the desk. Bingo, right there. This book is supposed to tell me everything I need to know. Ninety percent of it, I already know from subbing for the county and from being a teacher. However, it lacks one very important piece of information: lesson plans. I have no clue what I'm supposed to do with these kids. So I trot back to the sub secretary. She calls the department head (I was subbing for a history teacher (how appropriate). Then she sends me to his room.<br /><br />I actually found the chair in an office across from his room. Turns out my guy does have an office (would have been nice to know that information). The department chair is a big, burly guy who is genuinely nice. he hands me two videos with a lesson plan and says "Here are his plans. Unfortunately, I cannot find his roll book." The chair goes off in search of roll sheets for me. while I was waiting, some stern looking guy comes in and checks my guy's desk. He doesn't look happy and he barely acknowledged my prescense (spell). I assume this is all over the missing roll book.<br /><br />Eventually, the chair came back with some roll sheets. He also informed me that a video system was supposed to be delievered to the room, but he told me if it wasn't, I could borrow his (I had to borrow his).<br /><br />I got back to Room 213 and prepared for the day. Turns out Room 213 belongs to stern guy. I can tell right off the bat that he's not from the area. He's very Italian. I got the New Jersey Italian feel from him, but it turned out he was from PA (close!). He was a pretty nice guy. He stayed in the room for about half the class period which was slightly intimidating, but not too bad.<br /><br />As a whole, the day was cake walk. The kids had to watch a movie. Two classes had to watch thirteen days. Another class had to watch King Arthur. One of the classes watching thirteen days finished it within the first 10 minutes of class because they had started watching it another day (damn block scheduling--another blog for another day). The class was 14 boys and 7 girls. One boy said "I have Black Sheep with David Spade and Chris Farely". Of course EVERYONE wants to watch that. The teacher that 'owned' that class was on her way out (she actually left for me), but I turned to her and said "I don't want to get into trouble with administration for showing them that movie? Any ideas?" She tells the class she has a nice documentary on the 1960's they may like. A boy in the class coughs *lame*. She goes "you guys are lame." Then she turns to me and says "Show them the movie, it's the teacher's fault for not leaving you anything to do with them". And then leaves.<br /><br />I love the movie Black Sheep and the kids were pretty much angels...except for constantly playing with the volume. oh and no one caught me...we were in the annex buildings...no one cares about people in there..<br /><br />-BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-4427801772529154294?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-75094170173031070952007-05-27T19:02:00.000-07:002007-05-27T19:20:55.379-07:00You know I have always meant to focus this blog on my life in this area. And lately I've had so many experiences that are just...well just wrong or plain damn funny. To refresh you all, Bealeton is located in Fauquier County, VA. Fauquier County has dedicated itself to preserving agriculture. Most of the area is farming communities and quite a few people I know own farms or own a large amount of land with animals (mini farm of sorts). This truly leads me to some interesting situations sometimes.<br /><br />Every have one of those moments in your life where you go "How the hell am I going to get out of this?" while at the same time feeling like the biggest retard ever? Top it off, you know somewhere, someone is watching you going "what a dumbass". I've had many of these moments in my life. This is just one of them.<br /><br />I belong to a stay at home moms club. I enjoy it. It has provided me and the boob with plenty of opportunities to get out and meet people. The boob gets a chance to play with other kids and I get a change to talk to people taller than me (I'm so begging for smart ass comments from my friends that read this blog). I've made some really good friend in the club and I've found a way to get involved in the community.<br /><br />Anyway, one of the things this moms club does is it provides meals for a member that has just given birth. It's a nice way of helping a new mom adjust to a new baby in the house. Also, it's one less thing for a new mom to worry about. Recently, my friend, Saybeeh, gave birth to a ginormous boy. She has one daughter that is about the same age as the boob. and most of her family lives in Holland. Top it off, she and her hubby have <u>major</u> food allergies, therefore not alot of people were brave enough to cook a meal for them. So, I signed up to make her a meal.<br /><br />Now me cooking for someone is not necessarily funny. It's more the act of me delivering the meal that's a riot. Saybeeh lives on one of the local farms. Their section of the farm is a sheep farm. Finding the farm wasn't hard, especially once I realized where it exactly was. That was phone call #1 to Saybeeh. <br /><br />Me: "Hey, like how far from Great Meadows do you live?"<br /><br />Saybeeh: "Oh just past it. Big sheep farm, can't miss it." (unless you are me).<br /><br />Now I followed the directions fine, I thought. I went through the blue gate, started to drive on down. Then for whatever reason, I thought I should go through another gate. I got through this gate and I realized I'm lost. Phone call #2:<br /><br />Me: "Where is your house?"<br /><br />Saybeeh: "Where are you?"<br /><br />Me: "I went through the gate and now I'm by the horses."<br /><br />Saybeeh: "Oh I see you. Oh no, you don't go through that gate, go drived around and go back where you came from and go straight."<br /><br />I drive around and thought I went straight. This time Saybeeh calls me. Phone call #3:<br /><br />Saybeeh: "What are you doing?" -- Obviously she can see me from wherever she is.<br /><br />Me: "Where is your car? What car do you drive?" (I'm so trying to save my dignity)<br /><br />Saybeeh: "I'm not in that house, go back through the first gate and drive straight towards the white and black house."<br /><br />I followed her directions, drove back through the first gate, and sure enough I see the house, clear across the field. All I have to do is...drive trhough the herd of sheep.<br /><br />Oh yeah...this is gonna be good...<br /><br />According to Saybeeh I can just drive through and they'll move. However, these fuckers wouldn't move for nothing. Seriously, Saybeeh is a liar. That or I'm a wimp (everyone go for #2). I start my way down and come to my first sheep road block. They don't move. I of course slow down my car because I'm afraid of killing a poor sheep. Still no one moves. I was also afraid to honk my horn and seem obnoxious so I inch ever so slowly until the sheep huffs and goes off. Ok, next road block. Unbeknowest to me, all the sheep start flocking towards me car (apparently full size cars are interesting things). As I'm trying to get through road block #2, I suddenly see them swarming to me. All of them are shouting a collective "BEEH!" Sheep peek in my windows, walk back and forth in front of my car, and bleet at me. Some even stop and take a leak as I'm inching towards them. I really must have gone only 2 mph trying to get past them. When I finally did get through the sea of sheep, Saybeeh was at her door and said<br /><br />"You could have honked at them."<br /><br />Trust me...honking doesn't work either. Sheep have got to be the <u>dumbest</u> animals <em>EVER.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>-The BB</em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-7509417017303107095?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-19289031101204499142007-05-20T08:47:00.001-07:002007-05-20T08:54:41.599-07:00<div align="center"><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MWA9llhbmYk/RlBtumQDuFI/AAAAAAAAABM/_KVW9_e9qvk/s1600-h/scotimusvsalex1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066670228101118034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MWA9llhbmYk/RlBtumQDuFI/AAAAAAAAABM/_KVW9_e9qvk/s320/scotimusvsalex1.jpg" border="0" /></a> Here you are looking at something I *cough* took from my bro's room. The bro had this just lying around. Apparently it was drawn by Scotimus one weekend. In the picture we are staring at Scotimus (far left), the bro (middle-note the huge 'fro on his head), and Grania (note her boobs and triangle skirt...whatever THAT'S supposed to mean). Scotimus has decided to pick on the bro. He says to the bro: "Man, you're short." To which Grania replies "He's seen me naked". The bro, not wanting to take shit from a guy, attacks Scotimus and says "Man, you're gay." Grania sees the violence and goes "OMG" and runs off. Now is she going "OMG BOYS ARE FIGHTING, VIOLENCE MUST GET AWAY", or is she saying "OMG BOYS ARE SUCH ASSHOLES!!!" (I'm thinking #2).</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">Will the bro take Scotimus down? Will Scotimus get angry over the fact the bro's seen Grania naked? Stay tuned...<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-1928903110120449914?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-14220552922315862602007-05-20T08:43:00.000-07:002007-05-20T15:31:05.861-07:00<div align="center"><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MWA9llhbmYk/RlBs-mQDuEI/AAAAAAAAABE/ICzJzvJA95Y/s1600-h/Scotimusvsbro2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066669403467397186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MWA9llhbmYk/RlBs-mQDuEI/AAAAAAAAABE/ICzJzvJA95Y/s320/Scotimusvsbro2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Most annoyed with the bro's assault on him, and most annoyed that the bro's seen Grania naked, Scotimus decides it's time to start "Takin' out the trash". He holds the bro's life over the wastebasket...but then he decides the trash isn't enough for the bro. He decides to field kick the bro into oblivion. The Bro is most unhappy with this decision...<br /><br />Will the bro be kicked to oblivion? Will he be able to return? Will Scotimus find Grania? </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-1422055292231586260?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-4596802062613477522007-05-20T08:39:00.000-07:002007-05-20T08:42:59.865-07:00<div align="center"><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_MWA9llhbmYk/RlBr-WQDuDI/AAAAAAAAAA8/aNaRoFil-PI/s1600-h/scotimusvsbro3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066668299660802098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_MWA9llhbmYk/RlBr-WQDuDI/AAAAAAAAAA8/aNaRoFil-PI/s320/scotimusvsbro3.jpg" border="0" /></a> This part of the story takes place, after Scotimus kicks the bro to oblivion. Unbeknowest to Scotimus, he kicked the bro into a nearby tree. And what luck, it's the same tree, the bro packs his heat...Scotimus is walking by said tree when the bro assaults him "Take that bitch". Scotimus goes down like a brick and the bro celebrates "Yeah".</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">Is this the end of Scotimus? Has the bro won? What does he win???<br /><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-459680206261347752?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-27776715865912024402007-05-20T08:32:00.000-07:002007-05-20T09:01:23.236-07:00<div align="center"><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_MWA9llhbmYk/RlBq_WQDuCI/AAAAAAAAAA0/tPpk0eBaszo/s1600-h/scotimusvsbro4.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066667217329043490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_MWA9llhbmYk/RlBq_WQDuCI/AAAAAAAAAA0/tPpk0eBaszo/s320/scotimusvsbro4.jpg" border="0" /></a> Scotimus vs. the Bro - Part IV</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">Apparently, Scotimus survived the firearm assault from the bro. He then shows up and says "I'm wearing my bullet proof vest". A barrage of firing between the bro and Scotimus ensues and the bro even gets out his trusty shield. But the shield doesn't stop Scotimus. The bro is crying out..."You got me in my foot!!"</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">Will the carnage ever end? Where the hell is Grania? Do these two even remember what they were originally fighting about? What were they fighting about??<br /></div><div align="center"><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_MWA9llhbmYk/RlBqaGQDuBI/AAAAAAAAAAs/AvlpzqrCAMc/s1600-h/scotimusvsalex1.jpg"></a></p></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-2777671586591202440?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-31688078892280885072007-05-10T19:18:00.000-07:002007-05-10T19:23:14.533-07:00Ok, I've held my breath through some really good ones. There was the "a Ch isn't a ch unless UR in it" sign. Then there were various others that said something like "Accept Jesus or you're going to hell", but I couldn't take this one. There is a particular church on 28 past Nokesville that has some really good signs. I shrug them off as idiotic, but this one totally takes the cake. A few weeks ago I was driving down 28 on my way home when I nearly slammed my brakes at the sight of this:<br /><br />"Wal-mart isn't the only saving place in town"<br /><br />Not kidding you people...they went there. They threw extra cheese on the corn. IT...WAS...BAD. I have no idea if they think this kind of advertising is actually going to bring serious people in or if they think people will come check out the church just to see who has the sheer balls to post something like that. Honestly, is there like a handbook someone wrote on signs to post in front of the church. You know, kinda like a church missle. It's the 'church sign missle'. You know during advent post this, after advent post this. There has to be because some are starting to look the same or rip off each other.<br /><br />Another memorable sign as I drove down 29 the other day:<br /><br /><div align="center">Love your Mother</div><div align="center">11am on Sunday</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="left">See we've neglected our mothers so much that the church feels they need to designate a time we need to love her...</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">I'm sure there will be more on this issue. I wish I got pictures, I so wish I got pictures...</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-3168807889228088507?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-38730446229072092692007-04-29T20:07:00.000-07:002007-04-29T20:10:44.544-07:00It's been rather hot the past few days. Actually, it's been pretty freakin' humid. One morning, I went outside to get the morning paper and this smell just slapped me in the face. First I thought "Oh man, did I leave a bag of old kitty litter on the porch?" (It happens sometimes). I didn't see anything, so I went about my business. Then later, it hit me again. However, this time I heard a distinct 'moo' in the distance. Suddenly, I realized...<br /><br />I smell cow.<br /><br />And that is all I really have to say about that.<br /><br />(3 posts in one day, aren't you all impressed?)--thank DiDi for telling me to get over being anal with this blog...lol.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-3873044622907209269?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-37969738957643968552007-04-29T20:03:00.000-07:002007-04-29T20:07:21.994-07:00Another issue I wanted to bring up about my George show is this: To anyone that goes to the Warner Theatre...<br /><br />Don't wear shorts and a t-shirt to the theatre, it's offensive...<br /><br />You are going to the theatre. It's kind of a formal experience. I'm not talking about ball gowns and tuxedos...I'm not even talking about wearing a tie. The hubby and I wore dress slacks and shirts. Hell you can wear a polo shirt and khakis. But please...have some respect for a fine establishment. It's not the comedy club down the street...it's the Warner Theatre. And yes maybe it's George Carlin, but it's George Carlin at the Warner Theatre. <br /><br />Oh you say "But BB, George is wearing a long sleeve T-shirt and jeans." Yeah well...George is making me laugh and has been doing what he's doing for 40 years. He's the one on stage working. He can wear whatever he fucking wants. You however, wear khakis and a polo shirt. Hell, a nice pair of jeans and a polo shirt. Not shorts and a T-shirt.<br /><br />Sorry that bothers me...big time.<br /><br />-BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-3796973895764396855?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-38608891152557588922007-04-29T19:48:00.000-07:002007-04-29T20:03:38.400-07:00Ok, so I went to see the only living member of the Holy Trinity of comedy (George Carlin) last Saturday. The hubby got me tickets for X-mas. I was as excited as a little school girl. George was performing at the Warner Theatre in DC. We had tickets for the 7pm show.<br /><br />We got to the theatre really early (about 40 minutes early). Our seats were like 6 rows back (xxoo hubby). One complaint however, the people sitting behind us.<br /><br />The didn't speak during the show--they weren't THAT stupid. However, they spoke for the full 40 minutes before the show. It was quite entertaining.<br /><br />Before I go into dialogue, I just want to describe them for you. THEY WERE FUCKING ANNOYING!! The guy was a typical jackass weirdo trying to score with/impress a chick. The chick was the whiney, needy type. I knew right off the bat they were freaks. Ok...now the dialogue. As Hubby and I were getting into our seats, I hear this:<br /><br />Him: I don't know, South Park is just not doing it for me anymore. They just don't suprise me. It's...I don't know. I mean they've been doing it what ten years now. There isn't anymore to do you know? I just can't watch it anymore. [insert more dialogue of a man attempting to sound smart by talking about what's wrong with an animated sitcome using really big smart like words].<br /><br />Girl: You think they've jumped the shark? (apparently this is phrase used for a show that's over doing it just to stay afloat -- Happy Days phrase...they hubby knew about this...I didn't...ANYBODY else hear about this phrase?)<br /><br />Him: Not sure if it's jumping the shark. Just not doin' it for me anymore.<br /><br />Then he switches to an attempt to schedule the next date.<br /><br />Him: Hey, you know "The 40-Year Old Virgin" is coming out on DVD soon. If you buy it, you get free tickets to see "Knocked Up". But I don't want to pay alot for it, so I'm gonna shop around for it. Wanna go see "Knocked Up"?<br /><br />[Ok...um...advise to fruitcake: If you are trying to get a girl to go on <em>another </em>date with you, acting like a CHEAP BASTARD won't get you far.]<br /><br />Her: [insert whiney voice] Oh I don't want to go see that movie.<br /><br />Him: Why not?<br /><br />Her: The whole premise of the movie is offensive. I just won't go see it.<br /><br />Him: What's offensive about it?<br /><br />Her: The whole thing, it's just offensive.<br /><br />Him: So he goes on a one night stand with a hot chick and gets her knocked up. What's offensive about that? It's not like she has an abortion. I mean there would be no movie then. (yup he said that...)<br /><br />Her: [getting agitated] I just don't want to see that movie.<br /><br />Him: The movie is gonna be great. I mean almost the whole cast from "The 40-Year old Virgin" are gonna be in it. Come on let's go see it.<br /><br />Her: I don't want to see that movie can we just drop it?<br /><br />Him: Ok, ok can you just be nice for two hours?<br /><br />Don't worry everyone, as bad as this date seemed to be going, they still talked to each other later. They even talked about going away together. What was even better was they <em>didn't </em>talk during the show. This made me happy because if they did, I would have taken a pen to either my eyes or theirs.<br /><br />PS. Did I mention George Carlin rocks?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-3860889115255758892?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-48786165502260287632007-04-18T18:36:00.000-07:002007-04-18T18:51:39.237-07:00<a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MWA9llhbmYk/RibKy_mYxCI/AAAAAAAAAAk/_QhmiK0Rv2w/s1600-h/Tori.March2007+056.jpg"></a><br /><div><div>Ok...so we've discussed my sex drive. Now we can discuss my consideration for my spouse. I was in a rather silly mood yesterday. Well actually I was a ton of moods. It was weird. At one point while lying in my bed, I realized something...I wanted to KILL SOMEONE. Then suddenly, it dawned on me. "Oh crap...I'm PMSing." And because the hubby and I are thinking of procreating again soon, I'm not on any medication to make this easier on both of us. Therefore, I felt the need to leave a warning for my hubby. I left a note on the door so he would know what he was coming home to. I took a picture and tried to post it, but Blogger doesn't like me today. Basically the not said "Warning: PMSing, Enter at Own Risk".<br /><br /></div><div>Now how many men in this would would KILL to have their woman WARN THEM that they are PMSing. Yup, I warn. I always warned the men in my life. That's why I can't understand why my ex in high school never got a clue. Everytime I broke up with him I was PMSing. I feel, if given adequate warning this should tell the man one thing...DON'T FUCK WITH ME...and it should also tell them...bring chocolate.</div><br /><br /><div></div><div>The hubby came home and saw this sign. When he finally dared to enter the house, he said "Thanks for the warning". Later, however, he forgot about the sign and decided to argue with me over whether I told him to put the laundry in the dryer or not. </div><div></div><br /><div>"Yes I did." </div><div></div><br /><div>"No you didn't." </div><div></div><br /><div>"Yes I did." </div><div></div><br /><div>"No you didn't." </div><br /><div></div><div>"What did the sign on the door say?" </div><div></div><br /><div>"I wish I could PMS so I had an excuse."</div><div></div><br /><div>Well we do have a chemical reason...and mess with us women during this special time...and you could lose your life..lol...or at least not get dinner...</div><div> </div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-4878616550226028763?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-428489726493595092007-04-17T19:43:00.000-07:002007-04-17T19:45:48.474-07:00Ok so I went onto Susie bright's blog and read her blog for April 16th (go read it yourself). I saw this link on there:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.thestranger.com/seattle/SavageLove?oid=175188">http://www.thestranger.com/seattle/SavageLove?oid=175188</a><br /><br />I just want to say...this guy, whether he is kidding or not, couldn't be more off the base. First off...I don't want to even touch his comments on monogamy. Second, I AM a woman that is always wanting sex...and, well, let's just say my hubby is a lucky guy.<br /><br />I'm so sorry Dan Savage's wife isn't giving it up...but the Bealeton Babe sure it.<br /><br />Sorry for the TMI, but I just had to clear that up...<br /><br />-BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-42848972649359509?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-38549986070201855942007-04-13T20:41:00.000-07:002007-04-15T20:17:37.296-07:00My friend Polarhound is so stinking proud of me. Why? Because I got the balls the other day to call NHB radio and vent my guts out about Don Imus being punished repeatedly for his comments on the air about the Rutgers University women. I was telling Polarhound how I feel and he said to me "Call NHB radio and vent about it. They just went live on the air."<br /><br />No Holds Barred Radio (NHB) is an internet based talk radio station. They have quite a few people that do shows, but the main show is No Holds Barred Radio. The guys are beyond shock jocks. Their awesome.<br /><br />Of course when Polarhound said this I was like "No, I'm a wuss." Then he said "Do it." I said "No, I can't." Then he kept going "Do it, do it, do it, do it, it'll make you feel good". Finally, I succumbed to the pressure and called. (Mostly, I just wanted Polarhound to stop saying "do it, do it, do it."). <br /><br />I picked up my phone and dialed. Someone picked up right away which surprised me cause I always get the busy signal whenever I call a radio station. I stuttered "Oh...um I wanted to talk on the air." (DUR!!!) The guy said "you're on" (FUCK!!!! MEEE!!!!) And it went down like this:<br /><br />Damon (radio guy): "Hey are you a nappy headed ho?"<br /><br />Me: "No, but I'm a freakin' Puerto Rican"<br /><br />*Laughing* this makes me feel redeemed.<br /><br />Damon: What's on your mind?<br /><br />Me: Yeah I wanted to vent about this whole Imus thing. You see, my dad and I listened to Imus when I was a kid and I love him. I really don't see what's the big deal with Imus calling these girls 'nappy headed ho's'. I mean, I could think of a million other worse things to call them. Also too, this is Don Imus we are talking about here. Of course he's gonna say something like that. It's who he is. But what really gets me is I know these girls are going to the club and their boys are calling them 'nappy headed ho's' and they are laughing.<br /><br />Radio guys totally start agreeing with me. Then Damon continues<br /><br />Damon: Listen Jessica, i gotta ask you. You are, like these girls, a woman of color. I have to ask you, what do you think of Imus calling these girls 'nappy headed ho's'? Were you offended.<br /><br />Me: no, not at all.<br /><br />We went on to talk about the issue. Agree with me or not. Whatever. But please refrain from the negative comments. I just honestly feel there is a double standard going on here and a much deeper race issue than we care to talk about. I was afraid to talk about this on here, but honestly the whole thing bothered me. I was crushed Imus was fired especially because he apologized repeatedly and he's being made 'an example of' but I doubt anything will follow after this. <br /><br />But more about my radio debut...<br /><br />The guys started chit chatting me a bit and they asked me where I was from, I told them and explained the area a bit. I then said I was originally from NJ. Damon said I should be glad to be out of NJ. He said anywhere farther from NJ was good. Then they asked me what my husband thought of me listening to this type of radio. Well they were more like "you're husband lets you listen to this." I then admitted he was not home. They laughed. I know more was said, it was pretty cool. Go me. Polarhound said he was extremely proud of me. His influence is getting me to pick up bad habits.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-3854998607020185594?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-55930502094326004262007-04-04T10:00:00.000-07:002007-04-04T10:13:21.231-07:00Ok, ok, so I'll admit, I'm not the most devout Catholic in this world. I maybe go to church 2-3 times a year, tops. One of the only days I go happens to be Palm Sunday. (Which also coincidentally was April Fool's Day this year...but that's a whole other post). Lucky for me, I attended church this year. I promised my mom I was going for my Palm, and basically when you tell mom you're going, it means...YOU'RE GOING.<br /><br />So there, I was in my church which is the only Catholic Church in town. Of course, being that it was the only Catholic church in town it was standing room only. Usher kept coming up to people telling them they could stand against the wall in the chapel. I, however, was standing in the doorway just watching the service through the glass doors. Personally, I felt the families should get first dibs on standing in the chapel over the single, lonely people like me. So I stood my ground in the entry way. Besides...was closest to the exit way...<br /><br />My church was pretty accomodating when it came to handing out palms. They filled two 4' baskets with palms which allowed people to just grabbed their palms and go sit down (or stand in mine and 40 other people's cases). I also found this pretty nifty because technically, I could have grabbed my two palms (one for me & hubby plus one for the boob) and ran for the hills. However, I was a little more devoted then that and I stayed...but not much longer.<br /><br />I completely forgot that at the Palm Sunday service, many churches go through the "Passion of the Christ" which for you pagans out there is the story of the Holy Supper through Jesus death and his later resurrection. So therefore, it's a long friggin' story. But I STILL didn't leave. No, no, I listened to the Passion. Of course during the whole time I was listening, I was debating whether I should just drop my 'yearly donation' into a nearby basket and run. Alas, no, still waited. <br /><br />After the passion, people couldn't decide if they were supposed to sit, stand, or kneel, so we debated that for a few minutes. Then the priest talked about something that I blocked out. FINALLY, after the priest said his due, I saw the beautiful little donation baskets being passed around. I had already decided in my head, since I"m a heathen and can't do communion, I would drop off my donation and leave. I was even nice enough to wait for the basket to come by me. I dropped off the donation and walked right out the door. As I was leaving I was thinking to myself, "heck they were lucky I even came. Now the hubby and I can drive in one car to his mother's. He won't have to meet me here. I have plenty of time to go home." But then suddenly I heard.<br /><br />"Where are you going?"<br /><br />AHHH!! Snagged. Now for anyone that isn't Catholic and doesn't get this...there is a rule in the church. You cannot leave before the priest does. It's bad. Of course everyone does it, but still, it's bad. My mom used to yell at my dad for trying to leave right after communion but my dad always answered "I'd like to leave the church within the hour." And he was pretty comfortable with the fact he was going to hell so he didn't mind adding "left before the priest" on his list. <br /><br />I truthfully dont' mind adding it to my list. However, I didn't like getting caught. It also didn't help that I got caught by a member of the church I really get along with. And she even said it to me like I was a bad little toddler. I stammered to her that I had to meet my husband and I really had to go. Said all the pleasentries and all then left. I was probably more irritated that somone was getting annoyed with me for breaking a rule that about 20 other people had broken before I even did. But whatever. I know I"m going to have great company in hell. <br /><br />-The BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-5593050209432600426?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-44225321121747086542007-03-31T18:14:00.000-07:002007-04-04T10:00:11.834-07:00<div align="center"><a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_MWA9llhbmYk/RhPZTD3DKdI/AAAAAAAAAAU/reTz8w_4rJU/s1600-h/Tori.March2007+006.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5049618528689400274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_MWA9llhbmYk/RhPZTD3DKdI/AAAAAAAAAAU/reTz8w_4rJU/s320/Tori.March2007+006.jpg" border="0" /></a> Not gay<br /><a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_MWA9llhbmYk/RhPZJD3DKcI/AAAAAAAAAAM/bTg4hLc7vig/s1600-h/Tori.March2007+007.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5049618356890708418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_MWA9llhbmYk/RhPZJD3DKcI/AAAAAAAAAAM/bTg4hLc7vig/s320/Tori.March2007+007.jpg" border="0" /></a> Totally Gay<br /><br /><div align="left">Ok...here is another post where I'm totally gonna poke fun at my hubby. I have two pictures to show. But first some background info. The boob is totally getting into playing with Barbies now. Which I totally support. I let her play with my old Barbies and some new ones that I brought years ago in hopes that I one day have a girl. One day, we were playing with Barbies together. The hubby came in to watch. He picked up one doll which happened to be a Michael Jackson doll. (yes I had a Michael Jackson Doll--it was from when he was still black). Next the hubby proceeds to say this:<br /><br />"His shirt is on wrong."<br /><br />"What, no it's not. I've had that doll over 20 years so I know it's on right."<br /><br />"No, I think it's on wrong."<br /><br />I so know where this is going, but I figured I'd let the hubby bury himself. So I go:<br /><br />"How is it supposed to go?"<br /><br />"Well don't you think the 'V' part is supposed to be in the front?"<br /><br />Instantly, I start laughing in his face. The hubby looks at me perplexed as if to say "I don't see how my fashion sense is funny." Suddenly, I think he realized that any man with owns a pair of paisley shorts (oh yes he does, and yes I let him keep them) has no fashion sense. Then I think he realized he was in for it. His face starts to drop even before I say this:<br /><br />"THAT'S SO GAY!!!"<br /><br />Of course hubby starts to defend his manhood by saying it's not gay and V necks are in style. I remind him that V necks to the belly button aren't even in style for most women. He still decides to stand by his decision that the shirt is on wrong and even changed it. I will leave the judging up to you guys...Let me know what you think. I know the doll on a normal day looks totally gay...</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">-The BB</div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-4422532112174708654?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-84684139372762211482007-03-23T19:25:00.000-07:002007-03-23T19:31:52.752-07:00I was driving home one day from shopping in Manassas. At one point, I ended up behind this land cruiser that had a bumper sticker that caught my eye. The bumper sticker said "Don't let this car fool you. My real treasure is in Heaven."<br /><br />Ok, ok...I have to say, maybe it's me, I dont' know, but the first thought that hit my brain was..."You fucktard...you're driving around in your nice car and you are trying to say 'don't let my extreme wealth get to you..I'm all about Jesus." If that sticker was on a total jalopy I can totally see going "yeah man, so true." But seeing it on this nice vehicle, just seemed totally off to me. <br /><br />I don't know am I being just too literal here? Maybe I'm just bothered cause it was a bible thumper sticker...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-8468413937276221148?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-21221249849650206532007-02-19T19:45:00.000-08:002007-02-19T19:54:46.314-08:00Ok, this should have been a simple, easy mission for me and the boob today. We had to go print some stuff and try to shmooze the people at Remington Press to give us free copies. Before I left the house, I checked the address: ... James Madison Rd., Remington. Cool, I knew exactly where James Madison Rd. was and everything in Remington seemed to be right. Should be no problem finding the place right? RIGHT??<br /><br />Wrong...<br /><br />The boob and I must had drove up and down James Madison Road five times trying to find the place. I'd check the numbers of houses and they would go from 104 to 1125blahblah instantly. I couldn't find the building I was looking for. I called the hubby in hopes he could look it up on the computer. He didn't answer his cell phone. Then I called my friend Wazis.<br /><br />"I can't find this place. I must be retarded"<br /><br />"Well we all know that...Let me call them see where exactly they are"<br /><br />I drive up and down the road a few more times beginning to wonder if it was run out of a shack or something. Then Wazis called me back.<br /><br />"Where are you right now?"<br /><br />"At the post office."<br /><br />"Ok, you've gone too far. It's way down the road behind a gas station."<br /><br />Behind a gas station, of course.<br /><br />I started driving in the direction Wazis told me to go. As I kept driving and getting closer to the end of the road, I really started to believe I was going the wrong way again. Then I noticed the numbers on the road. They were going in the direction I needed them to go in. I started to keep an eye out and 'lo and behold. I found the gas station with the little Remington Press building behind it.<br /><br />The place is really small. Doesn't seem like a place that handles a major publication like the monthly county newsletter/coupon mailer. The woman general manager was so nice. They even have an office, which me and the boob thought was the coolest thing. She printed my order on site. I mentioned we used to have business with them before. She didn't seem to remember so that meant no free copies, but hey, I get to support a local business. And every month, the boob and I can visit their cute as hell cat.<br /><br />-The BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-2122124984965020653?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-7317984809509587952007-02-18T19:11:00.000-08:002007-02-18T19:15:29.137-08:00It was the funniest damn thing I ever saw. It was our first winter in this house and of course it snowed. Wasn't bad or anything. But here came this little machine coming down the street and I was like "You gotta be kidding me."<br /><br />I guess around here there is no state funded big ass plows that come through here. No, no, we got the mini plow. The mini plow is basically a small tractor...at least I think it's that. It's probably about half foot taller than me, with a six foot something guy driving it. It has to go up and down my street four times just to clear the road. But dang it, he clear it. Boy doesn't start working until noon so you can't go anywhere until then but he works all day and into the evening going up and down all the roads. <br /><br />Occasionally, a bigger truck with a plow attachment will come by and help out, but it's just a one time thing. I'm assuming the guy gets paid by the city of Bealeton, or maybe the county. Just damn, hope he gets paid well. Or are the just being cheap bastards and giving us the mini plow cause they don't want to pay for the big one.<br /><br />Every time I see the thing I think "I think I can, I think I can."<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-731798480950958795?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-13910785163156063582007-02-17T13:18:00.000-08:002007-02-17T13:27:49.088-08:00Not aht it hasn't snowed in Bealeton this winter, but the other day we got the big one. Yessire people, we got the storm we've been waiting for. Schools have been closed since Tuesday. People stayed home from work on Wednesday. Even the federal goverment closed early on Tuesday. <br /><br />Guess what we got people? A whole 1/2 inch of snow with 1/4 inche of ice on top. Yeah the ice was nasty stuff, but guess what, during the day, it melts.<br /><br />Ok, ok before some of you who experienced this weather down here start jumping down my throat hear me out. I completely understand the early closures on Tuesday. I myself took off of work that day, but rescheduled for fear of getting stuck driving with retards that can't drive in the snow/ice. The hubby also confirmed on Tuesday that the roads were slick. Ok, so I get that. Another thing I completely understood was the closing of school Wednesday. Being that the mini plow in Bealeton doesn't even show up in my neighborhood until noon (another post for another time), I get how it was impossible to get the buses out.<br /><br />Here's what I don't get:<br /><br />First off, Fauquier County closed schools on Tuesday. Yup, completely closed them. NO delay openings or early dismissals (which would have made sense). Nope, they closed the schools in sheer anticipation of bad weather. Sure it was snowing in the am on Tuesday, but 1) it wasn't even sticking, 2) it was warm, and 3) it ended within an hour. So there was waste of a snow day #1.<br /><br />Wast of a snow day #2: Thursday. Crews had all day Wednesday to clear the roads. And trust me, the mini plow that could in Bealeton worked his little ass off and got my area cleared. He did an awesome job. Come Thursday my driveway was the most dangerous place. Not my street. Delay opening, ok, that would be understood. Closoing school? Just stupid.<br /><br />Waste of snow day #3: Friday. Yup, all area schools were clsoed Friday. Why? I got no friggin' clue. Maybe in other parts of the county it was bad, but COME ON. This is getting retarded. The roads were fine to drive on by Wednesday night. Even the side roads were ok. I'm at a loss.<br /><br />Maybe the school system feels bad because they know deep down we aren't going to get that 6 inch - 1 foot snow. Hell, we won't even get that 3 inches of snow. Maybe the board figures, "oh give the kids the days, we them to spare". Al I have to say is my friends from Newfoundland and Massachusettes think us in Virginia, Maryland, and DC are a bunch of pussies.<br /><br />-The BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-1391078516315606358?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1170828177593869922007-02-06T21:49:00.000-08:002007-02-06T22:02:57.606-08:00My senior year of high school I had a peculiar teacher Mr. Miller. The man was...well, an interesting bird. My best memory of him was when he was acting out the story of David and Goliath while standing on his desk. He shouted loudly in a booming voice "And the Goliath wanted to KILL DAVID." The spanish teacher across the hall, Senora Ravitz shouted out her door, "Senor Miller, you are very loud!" He replied "Hey Ravitz, I'm acting out the story of David and Goliath, want to throw a stone at my head?!"<br /><br />That should basically give you a good idea what he was like.<br /><br />However, there as something he once said, I have never, ever forgotten. Apparently, he was widowed and had since remarried. Like a good widower, he still visited his first wife's grave.<br /><br />"I don't bring flowers." he admitted to us, "You should give someone flowers when they are alive, not when they are dead. When they are dead they have no need for flowers. Give people flowers when they are alive."<br /><br />You all have no idea how many times I think of that simple little bit of advice. Around the same year, I had a boyfriend. The guy gave me flowers all the time. I mean ALL THE TIME. They were mostly always red roses. Sometimes they were pink. One time he gave me peach. Always roses. Sometimes only one, sometimes a half dozen, sometimes even that whole dozen. He gave me roses for our monthly anniversary, Valentine's day, the "I'm sorry I'm an asshole" roses, and even "just because" roses. In the beginning, I loved it. Loved getting them, loved flaunting them around school. However, eventually, I got to a point I would think to myself "Christ flowers again?" <br /><br />After that boyfriend, if a guy gave me a rose, he wasn't going to last long with me. I loathed them. Was so tired of them. I think the hubby got brownie points because the first time he gave me flowers they weren't roses. Rather they were my favorite flowers of all time...daisies...well actually my favorite flowers of all time are lilacs...but you know...I'm talking about flowers you receive from people...got me? Man, I should have had those flowers pressed...<br /><br />Anyhoo, time has a funny way of passing and I guess I do learn from my past because now I savor every flower I ever get. Flowers that are sent to me last so long in this house that they start to grow flowers...well ok not flowers but they do get to a point of being VERY dead. I love them, love them, even the roses. <br /><br />Like Mr. Miller explained, when someone is alive it's amazing the impact a small bunch of flowers could have on someone. And how hard is it? Hail down the all too familiar Hispanic guy on 8th street and help him out a bit. Stop at a 7-11 and tie a ribbon around a bunch. Pick them from that open field. What a way to let someone know, "I thought of you today." And unlike the dead, you can see the appreciation on their face.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-117082817759386992?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1169698002052593072007-01-24T19:58:00.000-08:002007-01-24T20:06:42.063-08:00Today was a stressful day for the BB. I've had a stressful few days...but today like put the icing on it...you know it was a kind of day under normal circumstances I could bounce back from...but under these...I just got pissed...<br /><br />It all started out nicely. I was lying in bed thinking "How nice it would be to be snowed in today". When I got out of bed...what luck! It was snowing. Yeah!!! It was falling fast too. But then it all settled in. I had promised to take a friend to an appointment...and that's where it all went downhill. <br /><br />The boob didn't get much of a nap and while she wasn't overly cranky, she was hyper and clingy. Not two good combos. I was scatterd and disorganized today. Then finally came the biggie...<br /><br />Tiger Direct must die...Jerk offs totally screwed up the serial number on the bros new computer and it turned out Gateway couldn't start working on fixing it until the 22nd. Which means the bro won't be getting a new computer until 7-14 days from THEN. Fuckers...(bro should have taken me up on the 'my computer' offer). Anyhoo...I was just mad...mad at my friend, mad at Gateway, mad at people that are computer retarded (another story)...so I said "Wal-mart take me away"<br /><br />I left the boob, with the hubby, stopped at Dairy Queen, got comfort food and went off to shop at Wal-mart for my food for the week. (so sad I escape to Wal-mart and not Lord and Taylor or the local bistro). I did my weekly food shopping and playing "clearance rack whore". I got myself a new pair of sneakers that I desperately need at $10, looked for Brita filters with no luck (where are they in that friggin store???), and shopped for clearances clothes and toys for my daughter (spoiling her makes me happy). There were times I went back and forth, spun my cart in circles and sang along with the muzak system. I'm sure the patrons and employees at Super Wal-mart in Culpeper think I'm insane, but I'll tell ya...I had fun.<br /><br />I got the boob a Polly Pocket toy for $1. I spied a Little Touch book for her at $7 but I am going to pick it up on another day...if it's meant to be, it'll be there. I also got her a Disney cell phone toy at half price of what it is at the Disney store. It's almost like mine. It's a flippy phone and it makes noises like it's taking pictures, has different messages, and makes all kinds of noises. I'm hoping it'll keep her busy for 2 minutes tomorrow while I work.<br /><br />I found love...at the Wal-mart store...hehe.<br /><br />-The BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-116969800205259307?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1169180276300656282007-01-18T20:10:00.000-08:002007-01-18T20:17:56.313-08:00Ok...I HAVE to post this. Just to give you an idea of the mindset of the people in this area...or the brainset that is...<br /><br />My mother-in-law called me after Gerald Ford died to read to me something that was in the paper. It was in a section of "Heard About Washington". It basically went like this:<br /><br />A father and his son are walking around DC. The boys goes "Daddy, why are all the flags at half-staff?" The father answers, "Because James Brown died son." Um...man was the godfather of soul, I do love him...but I think running the country kinda trumps the musician thing. <br /><br />Another story:<br /><br />My friend Wazis was at Wal-mart and she ran in to a few other of our friends there. It was New Year's Day and they were just doing some minor shopping. They were talking at the checkout about Gerald Ford dying. Suddenly the cashier at the register cuts in and says, "Ah don't see why they all making such a fuss over this guy dyin'. I mean he only invented the car..."<br /><br />NOT FUCKING kidding you people. She said that. And that is why she works at Wal-mart. If I was there I would have strangled her ass while saying "It's Henry Ford you asshole. Henry Ford invented the Ford automobile and the concept of assembly production which our country adopted as a major form of employment during the early 20th century. GERALD Ford was president of the United States. Probably not even related to Henry Ford. But he was fucking president of the United States. That's why they are making a big fucking deal about it." (Honestly they didn't make enough of a big deal about it). Alas, though, I couldn't choke the little bit of brains out of the cashier because I was at Gerald Ford's lying in state...like a good American citizen. (1 hour in and out people...beat the 6 hours waiting to see Reagan's casket).<br /><br />-The BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-116918027630065628?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1168922565906593482007-01-15T20:33:00.000-08:002007-01-15T20:42:45.916-08:00This just really only happens to me I think. Seriously, a few weeks ago I break my ass to get out of the door EARLY for my 'club' board meeting. Traffic was flying, thus far and I was confident I would be there EARLY. What a concept. Yeah well the fickle finger of fate had a different idea for me.<br /><br />I get to the 17/15/29/let's just put all the streets together junction and it STOPS. Crawling slower than a snail down the road. Of course there are like 50 million trucks so my short ass self can't see past them. I'm getting pretty antsy after five minutes because my EARLY window is closing in. I'm sitting, and sitting, and sitting...getting pissier, pissier, and pissier. I HATE not knowing what I'm sitting in traffic for.<br /><br />So I call hubby. <br /><br />"I'm stuck here at (you know where) and it's stopped, barely moving, check out WTOP online and see what's going on for me, please." (I would have listened but I really didn't think it would be on the radio. I didn't think they reported on the middle of nowhere on WTOP. Hubby checked, nothing. No big surprise to me, but I was frustrated. So I sat it out. I called my friend Wazis to tell her I was running late and didn't know why. She understood. <br /><br />I sit and sit, crawl and crawl. Then I finally pass the big hold up. I see a pick up truck with hay in it, then a fire truck and of course like a bunch of cop cars (exciting stuff in this area). I finally get passed the traffic and start breezing on through. Of course by now, I'm like 20 minutes late.<br /><br />Wazis called me back.<br /><br />"Girl i found otu why you are stuck there."<br /><br />"I just FINALLy got through, what was that about?"<br /><br />"Carter heard on the radio that a hay truck caught fire by the Fauquier Motel. They guy went to get help and no one spoke English".<br /><br />Now first off, I was pretty surprised it was on the radio. I would have LOVED to hear that report:<br /><br />"Yes breaking news coming out of Opal, VA. A hay truck has caught fire, we have "Someone Radio like" on the site. "Yes Tom I'm speaking with the truck driver right now, can you tell me what happened? 'Ah'll tell ya what happened, I was driving my truck. Son of a bitch caught on fire. So I go over at the Faquier Motel and no one be speaking English over there. Mighty annoying what this country is coming too. All the Spanglish over there and not one of them speaks English. Took me forever to get help. Now my truck is ruined. The hay is alright though..."<br /><br />Well...possibly in the future, the Fauquier Motel, the motel that advertises "Color TV" can try to get some bilingual staff. Until then...watch the hay on your truck.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-116892256590659348?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1168655580775429412007-01-12T18:32:00.000-08:002007-01-14T19:32:10.090-08:00The hubby and I have two cute ferrets. We used to have four in our hey day but nature took many of our ferrets to the ferret mecca in the sky. Sadly, the hubby and I have yet to recover from the loss of our 'main man' Ty, but we do still love the two we have left over.<br /><br />I mean...how can you not love them...their ferrets...<br /><br />I can think of a few reasons why...<br /><br />Right now we have two 4 1/2 year old boys named Tiki and Duece. They are black and chocolate sables (respectively). Tiki is my mild manner boy with insulinoma and gets two shots daily. Duece is my wild, mischevious nut. We have had to alter the ferret pen many times because Duece's hobby is breaking out. It usually involves him climbing and taking a wild leap out of the pen. Many times this leap includes what looks like a painful landing on the wood barrier around the pen...but hey, he's unfased by the pain to freedom.<br /><br />The other day the boys were especially wide awake when I went to do their morning routine (medicate Tiki, feed them, clean their paper, check their water level). Feeling bad about being an absent mom since giving birth to a human baby, I decided to let the boys run around the basement. They both did a war dance as they were let out of the pen and went streaking across the house. Anyone that doesn't know anything about ferrets, please note this: Ferrets are like kittens their WHOLE lives. There is no off button. They are always hyper. Hence the need to entertain them.<br /><br />I went about the morning routine with all the animals. I also took time to check my email and do a few other things. Later that day I had an appointment with the hubby at the bank so I went to get ready (you soooo see where this is going now don't you?)<br /><br />About an hour later I'm at the bank. I had a full schedule ahead of me. Close account with hubby, return a Christmas gift at Best Buy, use gift certificate at Burlington Crap Factory, do some more shopping. Suddenly, as I'm going down the list, something dawns on me...I don't even turn to hubby, I just blurt out.<br /><br />"Oh crap, I forgot to put the ferrets back."<br /><br />Instantly the hubby and I have flashes of a destructed basement. We also realize there was no paper laid down for them to 'do their business' on...oh crap literally...<br /><br />I had no choice but to go about my day and worry about ferrets later. The drive into Manassas is a bit for me and not worth it to just turn around and go home. So I shopped. Enjoyed myself. I went home and went right to the basement. I knew exactly where the buggers were. They were cozied up together on the water bed under the cover. Not much damage was done. They got a hold of a bag of pillow stuffing, very much enjoyed that. I'm still finding stuffing in various places. Also they surprised us all by 'doing their business' in the corners of the bathroom (GOOD BOYS). Thank god for litter trained ferrets. <br /><br />So far I'm not noticing anything missing...except a peek a block...<br /><br />-The BB.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-116865558077542941?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1168655520274565792007-01-12T18:15:00.000-08:002007-01-12T18:32:00.290-08:00Ok, so I did a rare thing about a month ago...actually over a month ago...I went to church. It was a moment of divine guilt and being Catholic, I gave in and went for my obligatory once every few months.<br /><br />It had been a while since I'd been in a church. We went for the boob's christening, but we were fortunate enough to schedule a christening on a non-service day...so no big service. It was in, poor water on the baby, and out. Ok so not that quick. It was a nice ceremony just without all the sitting, standing, kneeling, and giving money.<br /><br />I had never been to the church in my area. Well I had been there, but not for service. It was pretty interesting to see 'country Catholics'. I'm a Jersey catholic. Now we've all heard the Catholic jokes...you know...Catholics don't use birth control (we do), Catholic guilt (yep I get that), Catholics are crazy (yup) and a whole list of others. I can say growing up, even though we weren't big on church, there was definitely one thing I noticed...in New Jersey, very few Catholics feel the need to have a million children. You may have one or two, maybe three families with three/four kids. That's considered alot. Then there's always that ONE family that's insane and has like eight or ten. But their nuts and everyone talks about them behind their backs.<br /><br />Well, in Virginia...it's not like that...these people are serious die hard Catholics...which surprises me...<br /><br />I went by myself without the boob. I left her to be a heathen with her dad. There I was sitting in the pew by myself. Instead of trying to figure out the best way to use the hymnal book as a pillow during service, I found myself counting the number of children the people around me had...<br /><br />Woman to my left...four kids...<br />Woman to my right...five kids...<br />Woman in front of me...six kids...<br />Oh here comes my friend...she's got eight, crazy nut...(god bless her I love her, but seriously)...<br />Oh here comes my other friend, she just had her fourth...<br />Woman two pews up...five kids...<br />Woman three pews up...six kids...<br /><br />Now my friend with eight kids, she's no dummy. She brought her three youngest kids. I guess her husband came to an eariler service with the other five. Good...sucker...Well I see another woman come into the church. I swear there were so many kids walking in front of her they were quacking...'quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, quack'...seven quackers quacking in front of her and she was carrying the eighth...a baby in a beautiful white dress...<br /><br />Then word started getting around how one family that WASN'T there just welcomed their tenth child into their family. TENTH...I have to tell a friend of mine that just had her fourth that 'at least you don't have ten'. She'd probably say "I'd have to shoot myself". Don't get me wrong, I love kids...but there becomes a moment when I think...it's just too much. And while I'm sure these mothers can spread their love around...I can't see me being able to spread my love around so much. And I don't find that fair to any child.<br /><br />I began feeling that my fertility was way way behind. I began to thing "How dare I get my life together before I had a child. I should have gotten it together way before or just gave up and had babies before my fertility abilities died down..." Then I thought, I should get home right away and start on that next child...Then Jesus bitch slapped me and<em> </em>I came back to reality. Spoiling this child now...another can come when <em>I</em> am damn good and ready. And I'm not ready ya'll...<br /><br />I noted during that trip the lowest number of children anyone there had was four. Four...boy am I behind. I could only imagine how much this increased the amount people put in the little envelopes that you throw into the collection plate. Me, I get those little envelopes every month...they go right into the garbage...so I just throw in a dollar for Jesus. He's a single guy, he can go shopping at the dollar store...or Wal-mart.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-116865552027456579?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1164771211248125282006-11-28T19:30:00.000-08:002007-01-12T18:15:36.323-08:00Ok..so I know I was supposed to write about going to church this Sunday but will all have to wait. Divine inspiration came today.<br /><br />So the boob, Signal and I are at the vet for Signal's one year check up. She's been drinking alot of water so they do an on-the-spot urine check. We were all waiting for the results. As I was waiting, I was of course looking at all the pictures and decorations in the waiting room. One picture caught my eye. It was a picture of a cat and there was a letter next to it. It went something like this.<br /><br />"We had a client named Kitty Furry (I made up the name). Kitty Furry was literally the Oldest cat in the World. Kitty was 27 when he died. He would have been in the Guiness Book of World Records, however Kitty's records were lost in a fire years ago. Kitty will be missed...blah, blah, blah..."<br /><br />All I could think of as I read this was...Mystic is 19 years old. Boy would the hubby be pissed if he lived to 27.<br /><br />I better find his original owner for his records...<br /><br />-The BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-116477121124812528?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1164685576358395432006-11-27T19:19:00.000-08:002006-11-27T19:46:17.630-08:00The other day, I went out to do some errands. It was daylight when I left, but when I returned, it was nighttime. As I came in the house, I expected it to be pitch black because no lights were on and usually when no lights are on, it is such. I noticed my dining room was light up, so assumed maybe the hubby turned on the kitchen night light. When I walked into my dining room, it happened...<br /><br />I WAS BLINDED...MY GOD, JESUS CHRIST WHO THIS HOLIDAY IS FOR, WHY MOTHER MARY OF GOD!!!<br /><br />"Honey, you HAVE to come see this" I say with my mouth STILL gaping.<br /><br />"See what? What did your dog do now?" <br /><br />"Not our dog, our neighbors."<br /><br />Ok...um, my neighbors, across the street from the neighbors BEHIND me...have the BRIGHTEST, TACKIEST display of lights I have EVER seen. And I'm sure my neighbor behind me is worse because I've seen his display before, but because I can SEE the neighbor's across the street from him display, I'm giving them the award. I can't see the neighbor's behind me display...well because he's behind me...can't you figure out why. He lives on a cul-de-sac, so I have a clear view of the neighbors behind them.<br /><br />I mean...this display...if it moves, lights up, is a fake, lighted Xmas tree...it's on their lawn. And there appears to be spotlights lighting up the show too. However, it turns out it's not spotlights, it's actually the light reflecting from the neighbor's behind me display. His display is so equally tacky (and as I said I know this from seeing it), the brightness from his display reflects off his neighbor's across the street display.<br /><br />To add insult to injury they have the balls to turn on their front door lights. Literally people, I look out my back door and it's as bright as daylight back there. That's obnoxious. The other neighors in the court have 'normal' displays with lighted up trees and lights on the house. Their houses make the lights on my shrubs, front fence, light pole and the nicely decorated holy tree in my front yard look like white trash. <br /><br />There are reindeer, Santa's sleighs, Santa's, Electric trees all out on display back behind me. Enough electricity to...well I can't even imagine. I mean these are the same neighbors that told me that pool filters should be run 13 hours a day. No...we ran ours 1-2 hours a day...while we used it. Sometimes *gasp* we skipped days. Our pool fared fine and our electric bill was saved.<br /><br />I'm sure these displays are one neighbor trying to outdo the other. I don't remember the neighbors across the street being so 'bright' last year. So I'm chalking this up to a war going on across the street. But I know...every time they plug in their lights for the night...Al Gore cries out in pain...<br /><br />-The BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-116468557635839543?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1164590806262739612006-11-26T17:20:00.000-08:002006-11-26T17:26:46.316-08:00I hope all of you had a wonderful, relaxing Thanksgiving. I think there is no better way to come out of my hiatus than making a Christmas time blog for you. Almost seems fitting since one of my first blog posts was about Christmas...but that one was shumultzy compared to this.<br /><br />To everyone, I hope you all enjoyed this wonderful weather this weekend. We were lucky bastards to have such beautiful weather. To all the people that decorate their homes on the holidays...we were super lucky bastards because there is nothing easier than putting lights on your house in sunny weather. <br /><br />As promised, I started my decorating at 9am on Friday. The hubby had his list of 'honeydews' so he didn't help decorate which was fine with me. This was really fine with him because he got out of fighting with the lights. Hey let the little woman do it right? Well this little woman kicks ass...sorta.<br /><br />I very efficiently pulled out all the lights we have and took one hour to check and make sure all the lights were in working order. Then I took them outside to lace around the shrubs, trees, and the mini fence in our front yard. The first strand went great. I went to plug in the second strand (I was smart, I plugged them in as I went to weave them) and one row was out. <em>What the hell?</em> I think to myself. I try to find this mysterious bulb and of course I go through the whole row...nothing. People...did you know a string of 100 miniature lights is only $1.95 at the Home Depot? Save yourself time...through out the fuckers and buy new lights...<br /><br />-The BB (short and sweet and to the point today)<br /><br />Tomorrow (Obnoxious Christmas Displays)<br />Tuesday (The BB goes to Church)<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-116459080626273961?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1162261862416210822006-10-30T18:23:00.000-08:002006-11-26T17:19:50.893-08:00Clarification: My birthday was October 27th...I updated this blog on the 27th...but the post says the 26th...fucker...well...it's the 27th...mark it down on the your birthday alarms...'aight?<br /><br />Anyhoo...<br /><br /><em>You can't get cash back on your cash back policy</em><br /><em></em><br />When I was pregnant with the boob, I of course registered at the baby stores. Unfortunately, some stores were only in New Jersey, and others were only in Maryland/Virginia. This seemed cool to me because then not everyone would be flocking to one store.<br /><br />One store I registered at in NJ made a few people cringe. Burlington Coat Factory. *cringe* Apparently, Burlington sucked because they had a pretty crappy return policy. You basically had to have a receipt, the card the item was purchased with, and you had to stand on your head, reciete the Gettysburg address, then reciete the Nicene Creed. (People...there was not cash back policy).<br /><br />Recently, Burlington was trying to make itself appear more kinder, gentler (and less burly) by issuing a new cash back policy. With any receipt, an item with tags still attached could be returned for cash or store credit.<br /><br />Now...for boob's birthday my godmother went insane and brought her way more clothes than any 1 year old needs. Of course some clothes didn't fit, some didn't look right, and some were just not going to be good for this season. So, off the boob and I went to test this new 'store policy'. We get to Burly Factory and promptly find customer service. I'm greated by a cahsier who looks at me blankly and goes "you want to return this?"<br /><br />"Um, yeah".<br /><br />I give her the receipts with the items I wanted to return circled (thought it would make the process and her life easier). She looks them over and then says .<br /><br />"We unfortunately need the card used to purchase these items in order to give money back."<br /><br />"Well, I don't want to put money back on that card. I don't think my aunt would want that. I would be fine with store credit."<br /><br />Suddenly the girl's eyes get wide and she almost seems to go wild.<br /><br />"We can't do that" she spats at me.<br /><br />I calmly say "Well it says on your store policy you can."<br /><br />Before my calm persona has a chance to break another girl comes up and explains to the cashier that they can indeed give me store credit (HA!). The cahsier starts rifling through my returns (quite a few) and starts sighing and huffing. I am, at this point, biting my lip trying not to hate. The cahsier looks at the receipts and says to her friend "Well who circled all this?"<br /><br />I grit, "I did, I thought I was helping you."<br /><br />I am of course, ignored which is fine because I really don't want to fight for fear that store policy says fighting with cashiers will result in zero returns. <br /><br />Suddenly, the cashier notices that all the tags have been reaffixed. Let me quickly explain that my godmother removed all the price tags for gift giving reasons, but gave me them all in case I wanted to return anything. She also anally wrote on the back of each tag what was what (YEHA!) So, I just reattahced the tags, then circled them on the receipt. I know the numbers match and I know each tag is what the item is. However, the cahsier thinks I'm trying to pull something. She asks an employee in infants to check the prices on all my returns. The employee looks at her as if to say "Are you friggin' kidding me?" She takes five minutes, returns and says they are fine. She looks at me as if to say "I can't believe this bitch is putting you through this" (she was nice to me when I went shopping in the infants department later).<br /><br />Finally, the cashier starts getting my return ready. All the while, sighing, tisking, and huffing. I wanted to go "Why are you giving me a hard time for returning my items. Is it THAT HARD to do?" But again, thinking it's not store police to insult the cashier.<br /><br />I got cash and a gift card back for my return. The great find at BCF was 99 cent bath books. I've been combing the stores for these things for month. They are great for a teething boob. But alas, nothing else in BCF was to scream home about. Really sad, but the experience of trying to return my items has permanently turned me off from the place.<br /><br />-The BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-116226186241621082?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1161922383805730832006-10-26T20:11:00.000-07:002006-11-26T17:05:39.856-08:00I'm feeling sappy...and I know there is no day but today. So today for my birthday, I'm sending a message to each of my friends.<br /><br />TSCGirl - Thank you for sticking around, lending an ear, and being all around supportive. Also thank you for welcoming in your family (I feel like part of the furniture!). I am grateful after all these years that you are still my friend and even more grateful that we've grown closer through the years.<br /><br />Kenazz - It's amazing how some people stick with you...and you have no idea why...that's all I got. Just remember, I taught you all you know ;).<br /><br />AlJoJo - I am so happy we've crossed paths again. My favorite memory was you taking me to see your old home after Insight. It was so nice to relieve that with you. And now it's been great talking babies with you and sharing in the moments as our family grows. You're an awesome mother and I am so proud that you are such a business woman too! You are very talented and awesome at what you do.<br /><br />Daisies - Wow, we've known each other how long? Too cool. Thanks for looking me up. It's been great reconnecting with you. I hope soon to completely catch up, but for now, I'll take it in bits in pieces. You were always a great friend as a kid and I can tell you are going to be one in our adulthood too.<br /><br />DeeDee - You know some friends completely blow you off after you have a kid, but not you. Thank you for being so great to Tori. Also thank you for encouraging me all these times to get out and shop or hang out. Mall walking didn't induce labor, but it did help me in other ways. Thanks for being constantly supportive, nice, and also for keeping in touch.<br /><br />Whispers - You girl...you alone out of all of them have seen the worst of times I've been through. And I can honestly say if it weren't for you, I would have been dead. Thank you for feeding me when I had no food, taking me in when I had no home, and most of all carrying me on your back when I had cramps. That's friendship girl! And when I'm doubting some decisions I've made (you know which ones) for supporting me because you know, you know what I went through, you know why I have to do what I do. Finally, thank you for giving me my godson. You need to come here and see how many photos I have of him around my house...Tori's just catching up now...I love him, I love you...You too are more than a friend, a sister. Bloodsisters, forever. Finally, to your psychic abilities to always know when I'm thinking of you and calling me.<br /><br />Dork - I'm your geek. Thank you thank you for being loyal and there whenever I truly uly need you. I look at our girls and see us all over again...oh boy!!! PS...we need to take our 2006 picture...something with the girls...<br /><br />Beavis - Dude, I'll never think of hare krishnas, Walmart, or 'the sun' without thinking of you. I think about you more than you know. I love ya dude. There was a time when we were our longest relationships. Now we have husbands.<br /><br />Mele - I am so glad I've gotten to know you. Your are the sweetest, most thoughtful person ever. Thank you for always including me in your life. Remember, you are a wonderful person. You derserve the best in life and I pray for that for you.<br /><br />Moolady - You were the best prom date ever!! Thanks for sticking around. Also thanks for the house advice, kid advice, all around advice. You rock.<br /><br />B - It's been a pleasure to watch you grow. Thank you for also being a part of my life. I hope you continue to be forevermore.<br /><br />Grania - You are the sister I always dreamed of. You have become this amazing woman. And I am so happy to have been there for almost every moment. I'm not there for them all, but I think of you so much. And I am so grateful for whatever time we do get to spend together. Especially since you are so busy!! The boob looks up to your already. You are the perfect aunt.<br /><br />Bro - When my life was dark you were the light that brought me out the darkness. You are the coolest, brightest, sweetest person I know. By now I thought you would want nothing to do with me, but you still do. And I have so much fun when I spend time with you. In the case of siblings, I definitely lucked out with you. I love you.<br /><br />J - When I first moved from NJ, I would hear a car speed past my new house and I waited. But it wasn't you coming to visit. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for being you. You never try to be anything you aren't. You are who you are, and that's what I like best about you. Also thank you for never ever saying anything (well you don't say much period) by way of talking down to me or making me feel bad. Finally, thank you for being an awesome listener. I'm trying to be better in letting you get a word in edgewise. One more thing, I know you are going to be something, because you have never given up. Never give up. It will pay off. I believe in that.<br /><br />wazis - After having so much trouble finding my place in this new town, I'm grateful to have someone I can turn to and find support from that isn't so far away. Also, I'm grateful to find someone as sick as me >:).<br /><br />Polarhound - You meet alot of freaks on the internet and god knows I met my share. It's amazing to me that after all the online chatting I did way back when, I only have 'online friend' from those days. But you aren't just an online friend, you are a true friend. One who flies all the way from his home to visit mine (that's pretty amazing). Also you are always thoughtful and good with the advice. Thanks and heres to many more years.<br /><br />Noodles - Who'da thought a paper could bring two people close together? We will always have our 'baby' that we share. And I was so glad afterwards that you wanted to keep the weekly tradition of seeing me. I miss you so much now that I live in VA and you are in NY. I also miss Noodles and company as much as you probably do. Thanks for always making the trek to see me when I'm in Beachwood. I hope to see you soon and I am so glad to have you as my friend. You love to hear me talk about the boob, but you also provide me with much needed 'girltalk'. Finally, I'm glad I turned you to the dark side of Family Guy :), but I'll remember our hours of watching 'Curb' near to my heart.<br /><br />Silver - It's been cool getting to know you more and talking about our kids. My thoughts are so with you right now. Thanks for always keeping me posted on your kids, your family, and life.<br /><br />He Who Protects the Cheese - There are days I have no idea what my mission in life is...and then there are days it's crystal clear. No one will ever understand or get you, but I hope I at least do. Thank you for offering up (without me asking) the best praise and reminders of how good a person I am and can be. I am honored to be your friend. It's pretty sweet.<br /><br />Booboohead - I wouldn't be where I am without you. Without you I would never have had the courage to finish school. Without you, I would never have believed I could live on my own. Without you I would never have believed I could return to theatre. Without you, I would have never thought my dreams are possible. I'm still working on them, but I'm hoping with your support I can achieve them. You are an amazingly smart and talented man. I'm in constant awe of you. I am one lucky woman. But I can also say with strong confidence...you are one lucky man :).<br /><br />That's the WORD..Happy Birthday to me...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-116192238380573083?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1159501833223552262006-09-28T20:47:00.000-07:002006-09-28T20:50:33.243-07:00It really blows my mind, even after living her 2 years, how some people around here, see nothing unusually about taking their tractor for a 'spin'. I'm not kidding. I saw one today just zipping down the main highway. Of course heading back to the home farm...but got me thinking...what makes one think about taking a tractor out...<br /><br />"Gee Verne, da car done broke. I'm gonna take the tractor out down to get me a cheeseburger. Want anything?"<br /><br />or is it...<br /><br />"I'm done in the fields...may as well take the tractor to pick up my perscription at Rite-aid...so sense of stopping while I'm goin'."<br /><br />or is it...<br /><br />"Who needs a car, when you got yerself a good John Deere"<br /><br />Just not sure which one it is...<br /><br />Short and sweet and to the point today.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-115950183322355226?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1159073145024855532006-09-23T21:37:00.000-07:002006-09-23T21:45:45.026-07:00If you don't watch Carlos Mencia then you DON'T know what Dee DEE DEEEE means. But if you do...you see where this is going...STRAIGHT TO HELL.<br /><br />Ok, so I'm going through the Fisher Price catalog, shopping for the boob. I get kinda nostalgic because I glance upon the Little People line. I remember as a kid, I had the whole Little People line. I even had the Little People short bus (you know the yellow one where they jump up and down in that little mini bus. I kinda felt an affection for it...since...well...something about me and short buses...I'm not gonna say, I'll let Polarhound out me...). In MY days, Little people were not the same size as they are today. Actually they were cylinder little plastic people with round heads. Wasn't much to them. They were just about the right size for choking...so in later years, Fisher price created this new line of really big, choke free, more realistic looking Little People (just take away more imagination please). <br /><br />So anyway, as much as Little People have changed. One thing has stayed the same. They still Make the Little People short bus. The people even still bounce around on in it. Except now it comes with a stop sign and it lights up. Now ok...I have to go somewhere where people may get pissed off. But you know what they say about short buses right? Now, I personally don't take into this stereotype because...well...personal reasons (if you don't know what the stereotype is...then just move on to the next post...). Well you know how PC our world has gotten right? How "Oh let's not play into stereotyps...please..." Well...Fisher Price apparently doesn't care about that. First off, not only do they still make the Little People short bus...but they also have it come complete with three figures. One is a little boy, another is Carlos the bus driver (can't help laughing my ass off at the fact they named him Carlos....already makes me think of Mencia), and it also comes with Maggie. Maggie is extra special because...Maggie comes in a wheel chair. NOT KIDDING PEEPS!!! Online you can't see it, but in the catalog, Maggie is sitting in her wheelchair. Yeah yeah I know this is great, Little People are in one way being PC...but to have Maggie come with the short bus set? Um...let's just say the hubby (who is super extrasensitive to this issue because of family reasons) sat on our couch dumfounded when I handed him the catalog. He just couldn't believe Fisher Price would do that. But still we both went DE DEE DEEEE after looking at it.<br /><br />Cause we are going to hell...straight to it...in a little short bus...beep beep. Who's coming with me?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-115907314502485553?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1157255554400553642006-09-02T20:40:00.000-07:002006-09-23T21:37:01.763-07:00You know, I can go weeks without updating this blog because I'm either too busy or the inspiration just isn't there.<br /><br />Then I have weeks like this week.<br /><br />It all started when I was at a friend's house. She had just had her baby shower and a mutual friend of ours decided as a gag to get her the book "Mommy Laid an Egg (or where Babies come From)". I had never read this book and was perusing through it. It seemed like your ordinary "let's talk about sex" book. However, it eventually bordered on the verge of porn...no it became porn.<br /><br />The book starts out innocently enough with the parents approaching their children saying "It's time you learned where babies come from." They joke with their kids at first by saying stuff like "the stork brought you" or "mommy laid an egg". All that jazz. The kids har har at their parents and then go "No really mom and Dad let us tell YOU where babies come from." This is where it all goes downhill.<br /><br />First the kids draw for their parents (in stick figures of course) the male and female genitailia. These kids draw the mommies and daddies with really big bellies and really small boobs and penis' (see what they think of their parents already?). Then they explain that mommies and daddies have special parts. They even are nice enough to draw an arrow from the penis to the hole in mommie's vagina with the words going across the around "Insert here".<br /><br />After they explain to their parents what goes where, they don't stop there. No, no, they even draw for their parents position that mommies and daddies can perform sex in. This includes mommy and daddy screwing on a skateboard, screwing on a exercise ball, screwing while having balloons tied to them and floating in midair...and some other freaky position. Seeing this page made me wonder what these fictional kids walked in on one time while their parents were doing the deed. I mean...my hubby and I were expeditious in our hey day...but a skateboard? I don't even think I can fit on that. An exercise ball, I can believe that. The balloons...COME ON!<br /><br />Then the kiddies draw for mom and dad how the baby is produced in mommy's belly complete with 'as she grows' illustration. Mind you the kids keep her boobies really small in these pictures (if this were true my husband wouldn't have enjoyed pregnancy so much). Then they show a picture of mommy sitting on the floor (stick figures still) with a little head sticking out of her vagina. The little head is smiling and saying "Hello Mommy". Yeah...like my daughter was so happy when she was ripped from my stomach...so realistic.<br /><br />So that's it peeps. That's how we teach our kids about sex. By telling them mommy and daddy are sex freaks and babies just 'pop' out whenever they feel like it...well one part is true...BEWARE OF THIS BOOK!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-115725555440055364?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1155603047404943392006-08-14T17:47:00.000-07:002006-08-14T21:37:04.860-07:00Oh, oh, oh! So I'm like going to DC with the bro (he's here for a week). We decided to try DC today. What started out as our usual packed itinerary got chopped down to one visit to the Postal Museum. Very interesting musuem. It was small, but was laid out very nicely and had some really good exhibits. It took us time to find the stamp collection. When we did we realized going through that would take one day alone. They had draws upon draws of stamps that you just pull out and look at. We didn't have that kind of time.<br /><br />What I was OHING about before was this...so we are like heading to DC. And anyone that knows me knows I DON"T DRIVE INTO DC (except to Hexagon and British Embassy function). I hate it, avoid it at all costs. Instead I drive to the nearest metro and I take that into town. <br /><br />I was hoping to be able to park in a parking garage, however, they now require you to buy a SmartTrip card ($10) in order to pay $3.75 to park all day. In other words, to park all day at a garage or lot, is $13.75. Um...no...I finally found a meter. Unfortunately, we had no quarters. We went to purchase our farecards in hopes of getting change. I tried to use my credit card. Actually I was successful, but apparently you have to buy a $20 farecard. Lucky bro has a farecard that will last him til the ages. <br /><br />I got my change, booted the meter for a good 4 hours and 18 minutes (7 quarters don't buy you much time anymore). I met the bro and the boob at the gate and off we went to go through the metro gates. Now keep in mind. I have the boob. This means I have a stroller fully packed. I tried to dumb down my purse and all the fixings, but it still turned out to be alot. I am not experienced with taking the boob downtown with me. Those metro aisles seem so big. So you know what happens to me when I stick my farecard in and go to go through the gate...the stroller won't fit. I tri to push...but it won't go. My card is sitting in the gate...waiting for me to pick it back up...but I can't go through the gate...Shit...<br /><br />I snatch my card back up. The bro, who is waiting on the other side...for some reason, comes back to join me. I go to the little kiosk in the metro and tell t he metro employee, I can't get through the gate with my stroller and I already scanned my card. Here's how it goes.<br /><br />"Well you are supposed to use the big gates for strollers. Don't you know that? Why didn't you use the gates?"<br /><br /><em>What gates? The gates that you need approval from a metro worker to get through...um good thing I'm asking</em><em> </em>I think to myself instead I say.<br /><br />"well I'm sorry, I have never taken my daughter with me on the metro so I'm not sure what to do"<br /><br />"Well you got glasses, can't you see the big gates?"<br /><br /><em>Oh no she did not...</em>Right now, as love the world person I am...I cant think of a million obnoxious offensive things to say to this bitch instead I go...<br /><br />"Well, I'm sorry...I didn't see them."<br /><br />She huffs at me. I stare at her for a beat and she must have somehow realized that she was being obnoxious and she says "I'm sorry sorry. Just go through this gate". She points to a gate to my right. I asked her if she needs to scan my card and she just waves me off saying "I don't need to scan your card." My brother goes to follow me and the metro worker goes to bark at him. I told her he already scanned through. She lowers her glasses and stares at me as if to say "Why the hell is he on this side?" Instead of trying to explain he was concerned and wanted to help me I just say "He's fourteen, that's his excuse". Then I go on.<br /><br />Ok...just let me say to this metro worker. There is a reason you only work at a metro station. You are a bitch, you are nasty, and you have little sympathy for anyone. Yes, I know youi may deal with stupid people your whole day. i'm sure you get your fill of stupid questions and stupid requests. But I only ask you, in the future, keep in mind that some people...honestly do sometimes need a little guidance. We do feel dumb for having to ask these silly questions and we know we somehow have screwed up. We already have lost some of our dignity. There is no reason to totally strip it away cause you are sitting in a kiosk all day answering questions. I was being polite. I made a mistake and I was asking for your help. I am a new mother, experiencing so many things with my daughter. Sometimes I feel so stupid because things that usually were so easy for me are so incredibly hard now. Even going to the Metro is an ordeal. I should have realized that I needed to use the handicapped gate, but my perception was off. I made a mistake in judging the width of a typical gate (can you honestly call those things gates?). Forgive me. Just don't treat me like an asshole. And be glad I didn't call you...well be glad I kept my temper. I hope you felt better after treating me like shit.<br /><br />-The BB.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-115560304740494339?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1154657779516299842006-08-03T19:07:00.000-07:002006-08-03T19:16:19.516-07:00In case none of you on this East coast have noticed...it's stinking hot outside. It's so hot, you probably could fry and egg on the sidewalk..seriously. I brought eggs today at the safeway, and I took them into Home Depot with me cause I didn't want them to hard boil while I was in the store. I have no motivation and my new garden plants are dying. But hey...the pool water is like bath water...so that makes it all worth it.<br /><br />What gets me is in this hot, sweltering, about 100 degree heat, the sadistic band teacher at the high school insists band camp goes on. The poor freaking kids! I'm surprised they haven't keeled over yet...especially the tuba players. How can you carry that much on you in this heat. I wonder if they hose the kids off at breaks just to cool them down. I faintly hear them playing from my house (they practice at the middle school down the street) and I think "Those poor freaking suckers". What crappy luck to have band camp scheduled on the week that it's above 100 degrees. I mean...reschedule? please?<br /><br />I personally have tried not to leave this house if humanly possible. However, on Tuesday, hubby announced he had no lunches, so I had to go food shopping. It's amazing how 100 degree weather still can't keep the old folks from Wal-mart...after that was Bible Study. Then yesterday, wait i stayed home yesterday go, me. TODAY, I went to pick up something for the hubby, I did more shopping and I picked out paint samples for out kitchen.<br /><br />Ah, our kitchen. Gone is the hideous plaid wallpaper (thanks hubby for taking that down...and thanks Kenazz for the hot blow job tip--hehehe). Soon, we will be spackling, sanding, and priming the walls. Then we will paint them a nice pinkish color. Actually mauve which drives me crazy...but unfortunately we have to pick something that will match the counter tops...which are mauve...oh well...this paint I picked isn't exactly mauve...more like a deep pink...yeah...that's mauve...<br /><br />That will make our one room renovation for the year. Last year it was the boob's room...the year before we just moved in. Next year, we'll hopefully be moving the boob to a 'big girl' room in hopes that we'll need the nursery for someone else. Don't get nervous...I ain't preggers yet.<br /><br />-The BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-115465777951629984?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1154657237576015112006-08-03T18:59:00.000-07:002006-08-03T19:07:17.630-07:00Sorry this took me so long to post. I wasn't going to post anything, but TSCGirl was like "You should tell everyone what happened with the Lollapalooza thing so they know". <br /><br />Well as you all know, Days Awake was participating in the last band standing contest. Unfortunately, they backed out...listen to why...because I think you'll back them up on this one...<br /><br />At one point during the second phase of the contest, Days Awake hit number 1. My brother and I were totally tweaking at this news and thought it was so cool. Even if they made it to 4th place, it meant they were going to Chicago. Well...after that Days Awake became a target (as they said on their myspace page <a href="http://www.myspace.com/daysawakenj">www.myspace.com/daysawakenj</a>. Apparently over the next few days, the band plummetted and bands that had little or no hits on their myspace page with very few gigs in the near future were hitting the number one spots. This didn't seem right especially since the band had tons of friends on myspace and they were busy every weekend with gigs...all weekend (I know this cause like I NEVER see Jay at home anymore when I'm visiting). So, someone in the band did some investigating and found that many of these bands were using automated voting procedures (which is cheating). Now Days Awake knew they had some fans using multiple emails from the same domain, but they even said "how can we blame them". And technically, if you read the rules, you can use any email you have. Now my brother husband, and I...we just have a bunch of freaking emails that we use every day...or have just because...so why not use them right?<br /><br />Anyway, after seeing that the contest was obviously unfair, Days Awake sent a letter to Lollapalooza asking them to take them off of the list. They wanted nothing to do with a contest that is flawed. I have to give them credit and much respect. It's sad they didn't get to advance to the next level and even sadder that Lollapalooza didn't even investigate their allegations and just took them off of the contest, however, at least they have their dignity and integrity. I hope next year the contest will evaluate their procedures better.<br /><br />-The BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-115465723757601511?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1154310612127713482006-07-30T18:48:00.000-07:002006-07-30T18:50:12.150-07:00First I have to give a shout out to my homey Will<br /><br />WILL ROCKS!!!<br /><br />Ok...total filler today...but very necessary...your daily dose of blasphemy...<br /><br />The Jesus Dance...sing it loud peeps...<br /><br /><a href="http://www.angelfire.com/id/hern/">http://www.angelfire.com/id/hern/</a><br /><br />hahaha<br /><br />-The BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-115431061212771348?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1153966510690698392006-07-26T18:56:00.000-07:002006-07-26T19:15:10.710-07:00This comic should start things up nicely...<br /><br /><a href="http://www.twolumps.net/d/20040428.html">http://www.twolumps.net/d/20040428.html</a><br /><br />Ok, come back to me...right now Polarhound and the hubby are laughing their butts off. Polarhound is having a big laugh cause he was front and center for the show this weekend in my house. But first, before I share with you...some backstory.<br /><br />I have three cats. There's Mystic (18--old as dirt), Sterling (9--dumb as dogshit), and Sable (4--mischevious as hell). Mystic and Sable are fearless. Sterling is afraid of everything in this world. He's afraid of air. He's afraid of my fuzzy little bunny (it's a killer I tell you!). <br /><br />Mystic and Sable leave me presents. Presents in the cat sense (see where this is going?). Now keep in mind...I only got Mystic when he was 15. Before I got him, he never went outside. Never caught a mouse...never killed a living thing. He sure as hell tried to kill other cats and dogs in the house cause Mystic don't take shit...but he never succeeded. However, when he moved in with me, I kept him in the basement at Kiki's house. And I also let him out. This is how much this cat came to love me. He gave me his first now...his first kill. So sweet. Unfortunately...Mystic's volatile nature showed in his killing. Mystic doesn't just leave me dead mice. He has been known to add a violent spin to his killings. I've been left mice with their brains bashed out...mice with an obvious claw to the brain, and mice skinned completely (yes skinned...<em>one reason to not miss Buddy TSCGirl</em>). While this is impressive to me in one sense...it's completely horrifying in the other. But I cover my horror and always show Mystic gratitude for the present ("Oh thank you sooooo much. Was this mooshed mouse for me?")<br /><br />Sable...Sable was born to kill. She has always had access to the outside. And like a true girl...she always leaves me fresh clean, killed mice...usually on my dining room chair or in front of the door. Such a lady.<br /><br />This summer, my cats (or cat in this case), have been leaving me...birds. I started finding dead birds in front of the door or at the bottom of the stairs in the back. No one was fessing up to who was doing it. However, the deaths were not extremely violent and while Mystic for his age if very active...I figured he wasn't the one climbing the trees to get to the birds. I dedueced it was Sable...and I soon found out first hand, I was right.<br /><br />As I said, Polarhound was visiting this weekend. We were having a nice time and he was giving all my animals such wonderful attention. I was letting Sable in and out of the house because of the nice weather. On Sunday, I went to let Sable in out of habit and she came walking towards the door. However...she wasn't alone...in her mouth...was...a bird...<br /><br />bird, bird, bird, bird, bird....<br /><br />A pretty bird.<br /><br />A cute, little, pretty, brown bird...<br /><br />My first thought: Wow, that's talent...<br /><br />Then after that second...I did the womanly shriek and "uhuuuh, uhuhhuh" followed with violent shaking and arm waving. I slammed the door in Sable's face (which in retrospect was very rude considering she was giving me a present...but hey, womanly instincts kicked in). As I stood at the door thanking Sable for my gift and begging her to drop it, Polarhound came up behind me. He glanced over my shoulder, and smiled at Sable bearing her gift. Then he dropped the bomb.<br /><br />"It's not dead."<br /><br />"WHAT?!"<br /><br />I mean it looked dead...it was in her mouth...it's eyes weren't blinking (do birds even blink?), they were wide open like in fright...had to be dead. Turns out...Polarhound was right.<br /><br />Sable softly dropped her present after lots of pleading from me and the bird just sat there, shocked. He wobbly tried to gain his bearings. Then Sable went in to scruff him again and<br /><br />SWOOSH...bird went flying. Sable went running after it...but once it was airborne...birdie was gone with me calling after it "RUN LIKE THE WIND FOREST!"<br /><br />After that I refused Sable entry until she got bird out of her mouth. (God I'm a mean mommy). We worked out our issues later...but Polarhound sure enjoyed the show.<br /><br />Birdie BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-115396651069069839?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1153194408466454392006-07-17T20:27:00.000-07:002006-07-18T10:35:33.580-07:00So the boob had a cold this weekend. Naturally, who gets it? Moi, of course. Hubby is away sailing at the Solomon Islands, so he's free from germs. This actually works well for me cause I don't need him getting this. He would just whine consistently (I"M TIRED...I'M SICK). He's a man, they do that (LOVE YOU HONEY...but you know I'm right).<br /><br />I really would like him around though to help suck out the boob's snot. I use that bulb thingy, but she's on to me. She tosses, turns and screeches something fierce. I admit to evil thoughts as I try to get that bugger sucker in her nose...Don't worry ya'll, I'm spoiling her rotten. She's slept in bed every day she's been sick. It'll be fun when we are all well again.<br /><br />In other news...it's friggin hot out here and damn, I forgot to water my garden...I hope it forgives me.<br /><br />Slight off track subject...sorry...<br /><br />So what's the title today...oh boobs...yeah...I lost mine...no kidding...I can thank the boob for that. Well the boob and my extreme will power to not eat a whole box of cookies anymore.<br /><br />It all became clear during a mall romp the other day when I went to get Margie her birthday gift. I went to Victoria Secret to get sized up for a post baby bra. I noticed they weren't the knockers I had when I was nursing, but I expected them to be my normal 32C, maybe even a 34 C. The thought of me being 34C actually excited me cause like I can buy bras off a rack and not have to order them from a catalog anymore...meant I can find a bra in my size. This also meant I could buy bras in other colors...not just white or beige (yawn).<br /><br />I do have plenty of 32 C bras at home. However, hubby requested new bras because...well he hates my granny bras. He wants sexy...black...underwire (he's pushin it at the last one...I LOATH underwire...gives me nothing but bruises). Sharing alarm go off yet?<br /><br />Ok...at Vicky's...I gingerly go and ask a sales lady if she would measure me. I figure she would lead me in back and measure me there. Oh no, no. She goes, gets her tape, and measures me in the MIDDLE OF THE STORE! I'm standing there, she measures me and goes...<br /><br />"Ok, you are about 33 (figures, I have to be a fucking odd size there...excuse french...but it's frustrating) and cup size...A"<br /><br />"WHAT!" I screech in the middle of the store...I'm sure people are looking at me. I continue<br /><br />"I haven't been an A since before puberty! I've been a 32 C since high school. I just had a baby...are you sure?"<br /><br />She was sure. She took at two bras for me to try on. One 32B (to humor me) and a 34 A. I tried the 32 B...tight...looked like I was popping out. I thought..."No freaking way is this 34 A going to fit". God dammit it did. Fit nicely to. Was this nice black, no underwire bra...fit me like a glove. I look at the price tag...$42.<br /><br />Making the girls look nice for hubby isn't worth $42. However, she shows me the other bras like it. I have to admit...I stared longingly at the rainbow before me...blue, pink, beige, black, white, even purple (insert coat of many colors song here). However, $42...hell no.<br /><br />Then my real feelings popped into my head. I lost my boobs. I was sad. Yeah it was cool not having to lug around 32C jugs (or even 36Es for that matter--nursing boobs), but there was this dread. My first thought was..."The hubby is going to be so sad...he likes boobs. Ihave no boobs for my husband...". Then I felt this loss. I felt like I was nothing without my boobs.<br /><br />Now I know this is horseshit. And I also know a big reason why my boobs are an A is because nursing sucked most the muscle out of them. Coupled with my recent weight loss...and voila...boobage loss. I'm sure some excercise and the inevitable post nursing weight gain will bring them back. There is also the dealing with the difference in feel of my boobs. They are softer from nursing...flater (no shit...I'm an A...I'm Skipper flat). Furthermore, I know I am so much more than my boobs. But you know...32Cs...I dealt with them for so long...we've been through so much...the agony of searching for a strapless bra in Kohl's. The disappointment in finding anything in any store anywhere that wasn't underwire or under coverage. Then there was the ordering through catalog upon catalog for years...<br /><br />wait a minute...I'm MISSING THIS???<br /><br />You know what...I'm keeping the weight off...I lost it fair and square (no I didn't)...it stays off. And screw this...I'll just wait until next year when I get knocked up again and enjoy those pregnancy boobs and the subsequent nursing boobs...<br /><br />But should I still get a new bra for hubby? Let's see what the good old hanes catalog has...maybe I can get a black bra for him...<br /><br />-The BB.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-115319440846645439?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1152929634713909052006-07-14T19:04:00.000-07:002006-07-14T19:13:54.726-07:00First things first...did you vote today? If you didn't vote for Days Awake today, you NEED to vote!! The only Jersey band in the competition needs everyone's help. See my previous post and click on the banner there and vote ya'll!! They were in first place yesterday. The bro called me on my cell tweakin' about them being in first place. I IM'd J to congrat him and he started tweakin' cause he didn't know. So let's keep the two guys tweakn eh?<br /><br />Anyhoo...as we speak it's 10pm and the boob is still up and about. She's been overstimulated from attending the Fauquier County fair. Even letting her sleep in our bed isn't helping. <br /><br />Ah, the Fauquier County fair...I basically paid $10 to have a $4 funnel cake and buy $20 worth of Tupperware (I seriously wanted those kiddie sippy cups...what parent doesn't need them?...me that's who...but I LOVE Tupperware). My friend Margie wanted to go and bring her son. They had a special on rides. Pay $10 and have unlimited rides (as opposed to fleecing you for $3 per ride). <br /><br />I had to admit, it was nice because we got together with our local mommies group. I got to hang with another mom we has a little baby. We sat on the bench with our little babies as we swealtered in the heat and we mocked all the inbreds. Carly and I agreed we are going to Hell in a handbasket, but at least we won't be alone. <br /><br />The Fauquier fair was small. There wasn't as much in food I thought there would be. There wasn't even alot of fair food. There was funnel cake, candy apples, cotton candy, but no fried oreos or twinkies. Guess this was a low fat fair. Also there wasn't a whole mess of rides. Not even a ferris wheel. What the hell was up with that.<br /><br />What I have to admit is cool about living in a farming community is that they don't skimp on the animals. They had tents just for goats. Then there were the cows (and the corn), the bunnies, the chickens, and the ducks. The boob got a kick out of watching the animals. <br /><br />The boob was awesome considering she had to sit in a stroller or in my arms today. I have to say I am totally and utterly proud of her. I'm one lucky mama.<br /><br />I can't believe how tired I am though. How come this kid isn't?<br /><br />-The BB (*sniff, sniff* I smell a county fair in the area).<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-115292963471390905?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1152588441475772652006-07-10T20:23:00.000-07:002006-07-10T20:27:21.493-07:00Sometime last year, I was taking a walk in the neighborhood. Suddenly, I heard this loud, 'thup, thup thup'. It was the sound of a loud bass heavy radio. I looked around, expecting to see a really suped up car or pimped out truck like I used to see in New Jersey. Well, I was very much taken by suprise when a group of teenager zipped past me in a golf cart.<br /><br />I can't make this up people...a golf cart. A golf cart with a really good sound system too apparently. I'm guessing the teenagers involved are middle/early high school age and don't have their drivers licenses yet. Either that, or they think it's fly to cruise Bealeton in their gas friendly golf cart. I mean really, it probably is better than dragging out mom and dad's F150. I have to say however, I was very much impressed with the sound system. Mom and Dad hooked their kids up good with that one.<br /><br />This whole post was inspired by the fact I had a golf cart sighting the other day. Must be that time of year again...<br /><br />-The BB (short and sweet and to the point today).<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-115258844147577265?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1152378998297112252006-07-08T10:15:00.000-07:002006-07-08T10:17:32.326-07:00<a href="http://www.freshtracksmusic.com/Lolla2006/showartist.aspx?aid=50278&sgn=Traditional+Rock\"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/1942/320/days_awakeLolla.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />V\<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-115237899829711225?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1152337444071844252006-07-07T22:37:00.000-07:002006-07-07T22:44:04.083-07:00I was AIM talking with Polarhound when I realized today (yesterday actually) was July 7th. I checked the Lollapalooza website to see if Days Awake made it to Round 3 of the Last Band Standing contest. I'm sitting there waiting for the website to load. It was painfully slow (meant to me it was recently updated in the process of). I saw the list of bands that made it to the next round, but it wasn't complete. I start getting antsy. Then it dawns on me "I know an easy way to find this out". I quickly find the link in my history for the Days Awake space on the Lolla site. It takes a bit to load, but then I see it...the little 'vote' button. "HOT DAMN THEY DID IT". That's right Days Awake made it to <a href="http://www.freshtracksmusic.com/Lolla2006/showartist.aspx?aid=50278&sgn=Traditional+Rock\">Round 3 of the Last Band Standing</a> contest. They need your help now more than ever...go vote!!! And, J, I'm too proud of you (I'm sure I'm way more excited about this than he is...lol).<br /><br />Oh and if anyone is coming to my house today...you should be forwarned...you'll be asked a cover charge to vote for Days Awake (ya'll think I'm kidding, but I'm not...this computer will be all set up for it).<br /><br />I don't play...<br /><br />-The BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-115233744407184425?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1152237263542290622006-07-06T18:39:00.000-07:002006-07-06T18:54:23.563-07:00Okay, so I pull into the gas station by the 7-Eleven cause it's a whole one cent cheaper than the Liberty station down the street. In this day in age, a whole cent cheaper gas can turn into 10's of dollars by the end of the month. Unfortunately, other people in Bealeton are on to this too. So, I must wait in line for my gas.<br /><br />The other day, however, was the worst. I pull in, and I'm waiting, and waiting, and waiting. I'm thinking 'WTF'? There are two cars in front of me. I'm thinking, i cannot move up until the person most forward is done, cause apparently gas station etiquette says you must pull all the way forward when getting gas (yes, apparently there is gas station etiquette). <br /><br />So I'm waiting. I must have been lucky because BOTH people were taking a really long time. The woman in the back pump, finally decided to get out of her car and walk up to pay for her gas. She's walking very slowly with no sense of urgency and I keep saying to myself "Don't be hatin' ". Calming breath. It's all good.<br /><br />Then I look at the aisle next to me. A man in a very old Ford pickup pulls up and starts to get out of his car to pump his gas. First he parks completely askew to the pump. Like his gas tank couldn't be farther from the actually pump. I'm thinking when all was said and done, he parked his car so his gas tank was in Remington (the town next to us...get it?). The man gets out and is moving slower than slow. I take a closer look and realize this man is on cruthes and he's trying to pump his gas. Poor fellow, too bad I wasn't feeling charitable, or I would have helped him. <br /><br />This man, who takes FOREVER to even get to his pump, is done BEFORE the other two in front of me even think about paying for their gas. The woman in the behind pump goes in to pay. She walks in, and walks out, slower than a turtle. I watch her and think "Who the hell pays their gas in cash anymore? Geezus, use a freaking debit card and stop carrying cash that muggers can take from you." <br /><br />Woman at behind pump leaves. I start to edge forward, hoping man at front pump is done. No, he isn't. Dumb ass is just GETTING OUT of his car to START pumping his gas. But first he has to go pay too, inside (super dumb ass). All the while talking on his cell. Must have been on an important phone call, too important to pump and talk at the same time.<br /><br />I say, "Frig it", I go and pull up behind him and start to pay and pump. I decided to screw around with the guy when I notice he's watching me and do the whole 'wash my windows routine' (ya'll know what I'm talking about). He actually finishes before me and leave (amazing when you set your mind to something how fast you can accomplish it). <br /><br />There, I am, pumping, thinking, I have seen it all. Suddenly, I look over and see it, a woman walking into 7-Eleven with a shopping cart. You can't make this stuff up if you tried, people. Like what do these people think? Do they think 'convienence' or do they think they just love paying through the nose for a bag of Combos? <br /><br />"See ya later honey, i'm gonna go get some groceries at the 7-Eleven" --<br /><br />"Don't forget the pork rinds sugah"<br /><br />Amen...BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-115223726354229062?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1152154803160562592006-07-05T19:48:00.000-07:002006-07-05T20:00:40.466-07:00<em>Silver, this is for you...</em><br /><br />I was driving around Toms River during my trip up there. It was actually the fateful day I did the swimsuit search. During my drive, I passed by High School North. Next to North is this new fangled theatre/center. There I saw it, in huge letters.<br /><br />POLAND SPRINGS/RITACCO CENTER<br /><br />I giggled slightly to myself and think "How is the egomaniac Ritacco handling sharing his name with Poland Springs?"<br /><br />I'm sure he is quite miffed.<br /><br />The story goes back years ago to when I first entered the Toms River School system. That same year Ritacco was elected school superintendent. He first came by my high school to lecture us on bringing weapons to school. he also warned us on our fashion habits.<br /><br />"No one is allowed to wear anything with an eight ball on it. If you come to school wearing anything with an eight ball on it, you'll be suspended."<br /><br />First of all, without going into depth on the demographics of the area at the time, I'm just going to say...no one in my school...well a very small percentage at the time...not even worth counting, no one, wore anything with an eight ball on it...nada...This warning came during a time when kids in more urban areas were getting shot for wearing certain clothes. In retrospect, I can't see anyone in Toms River getting shot over wearing an eight ball jacket (using a piggy lighter, definitely, eight ball jacket, no).<br /><br />I think Ritacco was trying to make himself just look big and bad. Actually, as I recall, his lecture to us pretty much came down to: "If you do this, you'll get suspended". (Think someone was tossing his inferior parts around to make himself feel important--just a guess).<br /><br />Anyway, moving on, flash to years later. Toms River is building this arts center in hopes of drawing big names into the town like...The Backstreet Boys...and...Clay Aiken (you know, people that really draw a crowd). So Toms River build this place and they decided to name it The Ritacco Center.<br /><br />My god, is there NO ONE ELSE in Toms River to name this place after? No one who's done good in the community? No good samaritan? No one with a heart? You name a place after a school superintendent? (and this is a teacher talking here). Not a mayor? not a freeholder? Not the chief of police? Not a major business owner? (I mean come on, Clancy has his name all over Beachwood, why not Toms River too?)<br /><br />I would have loved to have been at the meeting where they decided on the name.<br /><br />"Let's see who's the biggest choda we can name this place after?"<br /><br />"How about Ritacco?"<br /><br />"Perfect!"<br /><br />Money HAD to have been involved for Ritacco to get his name smeared on this place. I think for two years it was strictly known as The Ritacco Center. Then last year, Poland Springs gave a boatload of money to the place and up came the additional name.<br /><br />Personally, I think they should take down Ritacco. It may enable them to get bigger headliners. you know, like Nsync.<br /><br />-The BB.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-115215480316056259?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1152069190272751452006-07-04T20:05:00.000-07:002006-07-04T20:13:10.283-07:00I hate to be catty...but I drank a glass of wine and it went right to my head so what the hell...<br /><br />Ok, so my friend Margie asked the neighbors if they were doing a 4th of July party like last year. They told her no they weren't. But I look outside shortly before 9pm. There wasn't a party, but there was a nice gathering for fireworks. Like why not say "hey we aren't doing a party per se, but feel free to watch our fireworks and if you got some, bring some. But no biggie if you don't."<br /><br />But whatever, we had fireworks and we still watched theirs from my stoop. And the illegal towing company down the street even invited us to watch fireworks at their place too. They had awesome, big firworks. You know the kind that are the size of a coffee can before you light them. <br /><br />I have to say, this is the best benefit of living in VA. Fireworks are legal. Well not ALL fireworks. The ones that launch aren't legal. But we don't give a rats ass in Bealeton. We don't have a police station or fire company. So who aren't here really gives a shit? No one. Even my straight as arrow neighbors got the launchers. Legal fireworks rule. Illegal ones rock.<br /><br />It was awesome. Not only did we have fireworks. But neighbors on all sides had them. Margie's son was going nuts over watching them all. He was laughing and doing a happy dance while watching all the visual stimulation. He could barely keep up with which fireworks were coming from where. They could be coming from the cul-de-sac in front of us, or the one behind us, or they could be coming from the field down the road. We even waited to start our fireworks until we finished watching some of our neighbors.<br /><br />Nothing like a neighborhood effort to make fourth of July in Bealeton fun. <br /><br />But I have one complaint...who names a firework 'Golden showers'<br />Some sick bastard that's who.<br /><br />Tomorrow: I owe Silver a post...big time...it'll be good, i promise..<br /><br />-The BB.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-115206919027275145?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1151627579495349302006-06-29T17:27:00.000-07:002006-06-29T17:32:59.506-07:00It's a ritual I have always performed whenever I was on my way home to my parent's house. Even now that I'm older, married, with a baby, I still find myself praciticing this ritual. In a way, it's a throwback to when I was a teenager/young adult and very much afraid of upsetting my parents. Just goes to show, no matter how old you get, you still try to please them. You are still their child.<br /><br />This ritual of mine is performed in my car. Visualize it, I'm driving home, car radio blaring, me singing on the top of my lungs...get the picture? I'm coming down Surf Street in Beachwood, really not thinking much of anything, just listening to the music. Suddenly, I'll turn on Birch and go two streets down and go to make the left onto my parent's street. As soon as I get onto my parent's street, I instinctively turn down the radio. Then as I approach my parent's house, I turn off my headlights. <br /><br />Don't ask me why...I'm still doing this...just did this last night. I guess there is a part of me that is still sneaking home, hoping not to wake up my parents.<br /><br />-The BB<br /> (short and sweet tonight, just like me...)<br /><br />VOTE FOR DAYS AWAKE...please...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-115162757949534930?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1151464685443238012006-06-27T19:31:00.000-07:002006-06-27T20:18:05.553-07:00As you all know, I live in Bealeton. However, many, many moons ago, I lived in a town called <a href="http://www.beachwoodusa.com/">Beachwood</a>. Beachwood is a small town just like Bealeton. They have their yearly Halloween parade, yearly Memorial Day picnic, and many of the residents participate in yearly Toms River Founder's Day. In a way, I went from one small town to another. I have always felt that Bealeton reminds me of Beachwood in it's early days. <br /><br />However, there are many stark differences between Bealeton and Beachwood. Well for one, Bealeton is located in Virgina, while Beachwood, is located in NJ. Bealeton is already passed the Mason Dixon line, so of course there are those influences in the area. But I will say, there is that conservative edge to Beachwood. Especially since Beachwood is located in one of the few conservative counties in New Jersey (Ocean County). So maybe in the end you can say there is that similarity between them politically...just not geographically. Still with me?<br /><br />The people in Bealeton are different from the people in Beachwood. Well for one, white people run the 7-11 in Bealeton. I haven't seen a white person work behind the counter in a 7-11 since my first days in Beachwood. When I walked into a 7-11 in Bealton, I walked in and said "Wow, good for you guys! You got this 7-11!" (<em>editor's note: There is NOTHING wrong with anyone other than a white person working at a 7-11, I'm just noting how RARE it is to see someone in NJ working in one...don't send me hate mail...I ain't hatin'!)</em><br /><em></em><br />Since we are talking about 7-11's it reminded me of <a href="http://bealetonbabe.blogspot.com/2006/03/little-town-called-bealeton.html">this post</a> and makes me think...you would NEVER see someone from NJ using a piggie lighter. Someone in Beachwood, NJ using a piggy lighter would be shot, burned and have the shit kicked out of them (and I mean that in a non hate crime way). **<em>Warning the remainder of the paragraph is bro infiltration...</em>You would also never see a person from Beachwood break'n their promise to to take their brother (and his friends) to lunch, the movies, and six flags...she's now threatning to hang out with her "friends" and leave me alone, AGAIN! Do you know I thought someone broke into my house and I was home alone because BB was scrapbooking. Well I hope the BB keeps her promise tommorow...and no matter what BB says there's a lot of rednecks here (even if they don't wear overalls. I can already taste Chevy's food, I think that's where BB is taking me tommorow...now I gotta go look at the movie timetable. <br /><br /><em>back...</em>Thanks bro for killing the overalls joke...Yeah so you would never see someone from Beachwood in overalls. I actually didn't know this you know. Yesterday at the mall, I said "Maybe I should just get overalls". The bro looked at me like I had five heads and was like "Where are you gonna get overalls?" I said "Here, at the mall?" He was like "There are no overalls in New Jersey." Ok...gotcha...no overalls in Beachwood...baggie jeans, yes. Overalls, no.<br /><br />And while the bro did point out, yes there are rednecks in New Jersey, but they all live in Tuckerton and parts of South Toms River...so that doesn't count. In Bealeton, rednecks are all over. They can be anywhere. At anytime. But they are cool rednecks. Nice rednecks. Tradition loving, Marlboro smoking, country music listening, pick up truck driving, piggie lighter using, rednecks. Notice how I'm trying to cover my ass?<br /><br />Finally, I have to say fashion is different in Bealeton than it is in Beachwood. While some people in both areas wear wife beaters, in Beachwood, you will see more high hair and spandex...while in Bealeton, you'll see more flat hair and stretchy pants. Although, I have to admit, there isn't as much high hair in Beachwood as their used to be. However, the farther up the Parkway/Turnpike you go, the higher the likelyhood rises that you'll see high hair.<br /><br />I really have no way to end this...<br /><br />Wow...my brother's interlude totally killed my steam...just had to say that...bugger isn't getting six flags...still getting lunch though...Besides, I like Chevy's...I think tomorrow I'll make fun of my Uncle Mike...bro can help me with that.<br /><br />-The BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-115146468544323801?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1151379555775824152006-06-26T20:14:00.000-07:002006-06-26T20:39:15.816-07:00<em>Contributing writer today -The bro...who's pushing it with the Six flags bit...</em><br /><br />My poor poor brother. What a trooper. As you all know, I've been staying at my parent's house with the boob for this week. I got here Friday. It's Monday, I'm bored (love seeing my family, but I'm actually MISSING housework). I decided that the boob, and the bro (who's off from school) are going to get lunch on me this week because i bored them to death figuring how to put on a bathing suit, jeez....I Know the Bro is excited, I even promised to take him and his friends to Six Flags! **<em>I'll give you one hint where this blog post was infiltrated...</em><br /><br />Ok...now the FULL Story...(if you aren't confused already). I decided that we needed to get out for a bit. So I declared that the boob and bro were going to the mall with me for clothes shopping. I thought any 14 year old would be happy to get out of the house, but apparently I was taking the bro away from some serious Myspace/AIM time. But away to the mall we went to get me a new post-baby bathing suit. <br /><br />I am happy to say that I have lost all and them some of the baby weight (we've talked about this before and people and punching their voodoo dolls of me as they read this). Also, my old bathing suits are in dire need of replacement. The hubby loves tankinis which is fine with me cause they are comfortable and I enjoy them. This gave me at least an idea of what I was looking for. <br /><br />Our first stop was Old Navy. Old, trusty, reliable Old Navy. Half my wardrobe is Old Navy. Almost half of my maternity clothes are Old Navy. I love Old Navy...however, I DIDN'T love Old Navy today. No good bathing suits there. No tankinis'...barely any one pieces...they only carry dental floss...in really awful bright colors. Obviously, I found nothing there.<br /><br />My next stop was the Gap...took one walk around...and decided 'No'. Nothing there, they didn't even have shorts (which I'm also looking for--another story) and if they did, they were too expensive for my taste. <br /><br />Finally, I decided to try JCPenney's on a whim. I saw some really really nice tankini's. However, they were only in sizes 8, 14, 12, (you get the picture, and I'm not telling you my size for fear of my life). Looking for sizes in Small, Medium, and Large, I was finally successful in finding this really nice maroon bathing suit combo. I went to the fitting room to try it on, leaving the bro with the boob. The bottoms were a bit small for my taste, but I figured one size up would be comfortable. Then I put on the top...well tried to. It was a halter tankini top, but somehow...I couldn't figure out how to put the *#%^@! strings into place. I got the whole thing tangled over my head. Finally, I flung it to the ground, got dressed and decided to find another tankini. <br /><br />After a few more minutes of searching, I found this cute retro halter tankini combo that was a great price. It's nice and comfortable. My bro was totally patient through this whole thing. He watched the boob and was patient while I was picking out bathing suits. It's one thing to go bathing suit shopping with a girlfriend. Total other to go with one's sister. Sure I was pushing some comfort zone there (especially knowing that a certain friend of mine told him I'm a MILF--you are never living this down Kenazz). But, the bro was super and yes, he's totally getting free lunch out of the deal for going with me (and he got free Milanos and cookies). Six flags though? hmm...no...but great suggestion...maybe movie with a friend instead?<br /><br />Love ya man!<br /><br />-The BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-115137955577582415?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1151289059101693722006-06-25T19:18:00.000-07:002006-06-25T19:30:59.120-07:00Ever see Sweet Home Alabama with Reese Witherspoon (what a sweetie)? In the movie there is the scene where she runs into her old high school friend and the old friend is like "Oh it's so cool to see you!" and Reese's character goes "You have a baby...in a bar." I was so totally thinking that tonight when I went out with my family.<br /><br />Right now, the BB is in NJ visiting her parents and bro. We went out with the next door neighbors to this pizza place called Pete and Elda's (sorry bro if I mispelled). Apparently this place is like 'Da Bomb' according to the bro. He couldn't believe I had never been there, but he forgets that I've been out of NJ for eight year. In these eight years, my family has started traditions that don't always include me, or I should say I enter into after that have started. Well I was honored to be added to the Pete and Elda's tradition.<br /><br />We drove 40 minutes to this place. It's actually Pete and Elda's bar and Carmen's Italian Restaurant. We had to wait in Pete and Elda's for 35 minutes for a seat in Carmen's. They are both in the same building. My mom took at a seat at the bar and I naturally joined her. The neighbors also joined us. I of course had the boob, so where I am sitting at the bar, with a baby. I felt so absolutely white trashy! I almost wanted to say "The baby wants a milk, on the rocks". However, I didn't. <br /><br />Actually, while we waited, everyone passed by and commented on how adorable the boob is. I of course thanked them and said "She's a good baby too". And of course she is. I'm so darn lucky. The pizza, as promised, was great. Very very thin crust and very very good. I can see how one can actually eat a whole large by themselves. I had four pieces, each a different type of pizza (we ordered three Xtra larges with half and half toppings). Apparently they have this promotions where if you eat the XXLarge you can get a free t-shirt, but honestly, I don't think Im brave enough to do that. Bro wanted to tackle an Xtra large by himself, but mom quickly told him he was delusional. I actually think in the end, he did.<br /><br />If you live by the Jersey shore, Pete and Elda's baby is the place to go!<br /><br />-The BB<br /><br />PS. Go vote for Days awake already peeps...they are dropping in the charts!!! Gotta get them to Lolla!!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-115128905910169372?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1151122750162790882006-06-23T20:58:00.000-07:002006-06-23T21:19:10.176-07:00Wow, I took a vacation dudes!! I'm back. Wanted to give you all some time to vote for DAys Awake (see previous post). Did you vote yet? If you didn't...DO IT...they need the votes. <br /><br />Occasionally, my bro will say (either via email or phone) "I have a request from the rednecks on 17." I always know what this means. I'm not going to tell you cause I don't like incriminating myself and wouldn't want you to know I do anything illegal. The bro's request requires me to visit the Red Shed on 17/15/29. It's literally a little Red Shed. However, let me explain something about this place.<br /><br />Next to the Red Shed is another red building (Clark Brothers). It's a Shooting range/gun store/fishing tackle store/whatever is required to buy something to kill a living being store. On a clear day, I can hear the shots from the shooting range (classy huh?). In front of Clark Bros. is a HUGE ASS stuffed bear that I'm sure was shot by one of the proprietors. Sometimes, on Christmas, they dress up the huge ass bear in a Santa Claus suit. I feel very sorry for the bear if he's Jewish. And of course during election season you can see every single republican candidate's sign in front of the place. Actually, during the last presidential election, they strung a huge 'W' on top of the head of the bear (feel sorry for the bear if he's a Democrat...actually I just feel sorry for him in general).<br /><br />The Red Shed is next door to Clark Bros. It's a gift shop. There you can buy fireworks, beanie babies, Civil War memorabilia, cookbooks, and t-shirts that say "I shot my best friend at Clark Brothers." I find it strange that there is this cute, quaint gift shop next to this large shooting range, but you know...whatever works...<br /><br />The first time my bro convinced me to go to Clarks Bros. for a 'cracker ran' we pulled up into the little parking lot. We saw the huge sign that said "FIREWORKS, Shooting range, Gun sales, Southern cooking classes". We naturally went into the large building thinking that's where the 'goods' were. However, when we walked inside, we saw a long line of guns...a very very long line of guns. Also inside were alot of gun owners. Apparently, in the large building the only thing they sell is the type of firestuff that kills...(we already talked about it). So then we mosied our scared selves out and walked over to the quaint little building that said "The Red Shed". In there they dedicated a whole aisle to fireworks (who'da thought). <br /><br />I just have to say as I write this, I have always thought it weird how there's a shooting range...with a gift shop attached. My bro who has been reading this over my shoulder as I type it out would like me to point out that across the street there is a gas station that says "BBQ country." ? <br /><br />Gas station/BBQ fast food joint? What other combo will we come up next? Church/video rental store (hehe, and not the good kind of video rental store...halleleujah!). And we thought the McDonald's/Gas station was creative...<br /><br />-The BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-115112275016279088?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1150257746868237532006-06-13T20:49:00.000-07:002006-06-13T21:02:26.886-07:00First let me say...Happy birthday to my hubby. you better love that Dyson I got you (actuallY I know you do...a bit too much...like Scary Movie too much...but I digress). So like this blog is about me living in little 'ole Bealeton, probably time I started writing about living in Bealeton again huh? Yeah...<br /><br />Last year, I was doing my student teaching internship. For my this task, I was assigned to teach in the Prince George's County school system in Maryland. The best way to describe this school system was given to me by a fellow teacher. She said "If you can teach here, you can teach anywhere." Powerful words...powerful, but true. Not to say I didn't love my intership experience. I think it made me stronger, and definitely a much better teacher. And I loved each and every single one of my students (even the pains in the asses). To give some demograhic information about my students, about 90% were black, and then after that, we had latinos, very few asians, and of course, caucasions. <br /><br />I had to do this mandatory interview for my internship. As luck would prevail, there was a job fair in Fauqiuer County last year. I went in hopes of getting my interview out of the way since they were doing on the spot interviews. I wasn't entirely interested in going any farther than the first stage of job fair cause I was 9 1/2 weeks pregnant at the time of the interview (actually, maybe even more). I was interviewed by this big cheese in the county. Everything seemed all cookie cutter and going just fine. <br /><br />After the formal interview was over, I was asked if I had any questions. I remembered how it always looked good to have questions at an interview, so I mentally brought up the questions I had been wanting to ask. I asked a few I don't remember then i remember asking:<br /><br />"What is the demographic breakdown of Fauquier County?"<br /><br />I remember feeling so smart asking this question and I remember the man's face light up as I asked it. "Actually" he said, "I wrote a report on this subject" (score one for me.). He continued<br /><br />"Our breakdown is 10% black, 6% Hispanic, and we have four Eskimos".<br /><br />...<br />I'm not kidding people, four Eskimos. he was infinitely proud of these four Eskimos. I have yet to meet the four Eskimos, but I'm sure they will pop up sometime. I came home and remember screaming to the hubby "10% black? 6% Hispanic? FOUR ESKIMOS?? They think that's diversity???"<br /><br />In the past two years, I admit, I'm seeing more diversity filter into this county and I welcome that as a good thing. However, I also am seeing how totally wholly unprepared they are for this thing. Wishing them luck. Maybe in a few years they will have some outreach done to those four eskimos...sorry I just can't get over that they actually put that in a report...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-115025774686823753?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1150169173516244592006-06-12T20:14:00.000-07:002006-06-12T20:26:13.533-07:00When I was a sophmore in high school, I moved in with my dad and stepmom. My brother was on the way and I was on my way to starting over in life. I was about to enjoy a life of normalcy (haha) for a change. This included starting a new school and making new friends. <br /><br />One friend I made was a guy called J. J was very quiet, very nice, and a very good listener. We met during lunch period and hit it off right away when the subject of music was brought up. He was learning to just play the guitar and bass and I came from a family where my dad played the bar circuit for many years in his band. He thought that was pretty cool and I thought anyone that played guitar, bass, or drums was cool. One day, we ended up exchanging numbers and thus began a few years of four hour long calls of not necessarily talking about anything, to maybe actually talking about everything, or maybe just listening to J play. <br /><br />One of my favorite J stories (next to the day he fell in my backyard playing manhunt and next to a certain day at the Roxie--remember ya'll I speak in code) is when one particular time he was playing to me over the phone. My dad happened to be walking by me in the hallway and stopped in his tracks. He looked over at me as if to say "WTF?". He quickly said to me "WTF are you listening to?" I handed my dad the phone and said "My friend J is playing to me." Daddy listened to the phone for a few seconds, handed it back, and said "Tell him he needs to practice." Years later, when leaving a bar where we watched J play, I reminded my dad this story and I asked him, "So does J still need to pracice?" To which my dad replied proudly, "Nah".<br /><br />I say proudly because both me and my dad couldn't be prouder today of my friend J. He's currently in a band called <a href="http://www.daysawake.com">Days Awake</a>. They play mostly in New Jersey, but they've been getting out there alot more. Their single "Day after Day" have been featured on the radio and recently, they are competing in the <a href="http://www.freshtracksmusic.com/lolla2006/showartist.aspx?aid=50278&sgn=Traditional+Rock">Lollapalooza Last Band </a>standing contest. Basically, a bunch of bands duke it out for the last spot to appear in the festival. I am using this space to shamlessly plug my friend's band. Go out there and vote!! and you can vote everyday using every email you have. Please do this!!! J and his band have been working their tails off the past two years and they totally deserve this. First go check out their website, have a listen to their tracks, then go vote. <br /><br />Like I said, I'm proud of my friend and I want to see his band win this. Even if the wanker doesn't read this blog (or his email or IM messages). :)<br /><br />-The BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-115016917351624459?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1150060041338871952006-06-11T13:36:00.000-07:002006-06-11T14:07:21.380-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/1942/1600/000_0005.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/1942/320/000_0005.jpg" border="0" /></a> you won't get a picture of me on here, much and what you'll get is going to be something pretty much like this. What you see behind 'me' is the mystical structure...Foamhenge. Yeah, you read that right Foamhenge. Someone from Winchester, VA had so much time on their hands, they decided to make a to scale replica of the famous Stonehenge out of foam and put it in Natural Bridge, VA. <br /><br />This weekend, the hubby, boob, inlaws, and I visited <a href="http://www.naturalbridgeva.com/">Natural bridge, VA </a>to go see one of the natural wonders of the world. We were walking the trail when we came upon an Indian village replica. I had the hubby take a picture of me being silly in front of the Indian Village. So the hubby goes "Here we are trying to take in some culture and you have to go and be you." Yet, as we drive by Foamhenge and balk in disgust, the hubby goes "Oh YEAH! We HAVE to go there." <br /><br />I honestly couldn't help laughing my butt off as we got out of the car. I mean, is this supposed to be some Southern tradition? Go see Foamhenge? Can you see the commercials?<br /><br />"Ya'll don't wanna go all the way to da UK to see Stonehenge? Come see Foamhenge, the next best thing. We shipped Grade A Foam all the way from Winchester, VA to build Foamhenge...the most unnatural wonder of the world".<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-115006004133887195?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1149820787735932072006-06-08T19:14:00.000-07:002006-06-08T19:39:47.753-07:00My day was going fairly well, so you had to know a bomb was going to drop, literally...<br /><br />Today was a club meeting of mine. It's board meeting day and we had to bring pot luck lunch. I had decided to bring quiche. Of course at 11pm last night I remembered I left the eggs in the car, so unfortunately, they were bad (didn't want to tempt fate, I'm trying to make friends in this club here). This morning, I got up early, went to the Food Lion, got more eggs and even got the hubby yogurts for next week. I came home, managed to get the animals all taken care of, the boob fed, and the quiche in the oven with time to spare (should have know things were going too good). <br /><br />Somehow, between a call from my friend and getting directions, time slipped away from me. I was running 5 minutes late, no biggie. I took the quiche out of the oven, where it was keeping warm and I put it in my tuppperware pie travel system. I had the boob in my arm with a diaper bag and purse on my shoulder. I grabbed the container by the nifty handle and went to go out the door. That's when it happened...<br /><br />PLOP! Quiche on the floor.<br /><br />Ok...don't panic...my heart is racing, my mind is fluttering "God I can't do anything right". I had gotten up early, got the eggs, cooked, was ready...now this...it's gone...quiche is gone...well not totally gone, but not able to serve at a potluck...I do what comes to my frustrated mind.<br /><br />I scream on the top of my lungs. Poor boob reacts to my catharsis by crying. Poor thing. I tell her Mommy's not mad at her (more mad at herself). I repeat "I can do this, I can do this". Put the broken quiche in the fridge (I have starved too much in my past to let this go to waste), gather up the boob, yell to Signal to eat the crumbs on the floor (not very nicely cause I'm still pissed and I'm pissed at her cause she at stuff in the boob's bag earlier), and go. <br /><br />I drive down the rode towards the light by the middle school. I see that it's not yet green. I stop and wait as the light turns...but it doesn't turn green on my side...it turns green on the other side. You see it's sensor activated and if the sensor isn't activated...no light. I suddenly do my impression of the Indian guy in "Office Space" and bang on my dashboard in frustration. Suddenly I see my neighbor pass me. I wave meekly. She kinda just waves limply back. She saw my hissy fit great. I won't be walking in my neighborhood for a while...great...just what I need a reputation as a nut. Well not like we're tight anyway.<br /><br />I stop at Food Lion, pick up an apple danish cake and chocolate mini donuts cause I need chocolate at this point. As I drive to my meeting I'm upset. I keep telling myself, it's not a big deal. I'm actually proud of myself that I did call the hubby to cry about it. I'm getting over it. I start trying to pay attention to the roads cause where I'm going is out there in Warrenton. Of course I make two wrong turns cause I didn't trust my directions...but I eventually find the place (wish I can go into how beautiful it is...another post). I get there and get all settled. One woman asks how I am and I answer her fine now. Then i tell her all about the quiche. She goes into a story of how she once dropped cupcakes in her driveway. I suddenly feel better. <br /><br />I don't know, I'm still uncomfortable in this new group of mine and not sure if I'm going to make lasting friendships in this. I am making friends and I know it all takes time. There are many reasons for my insecurities on this, but I won't go into it on my blog. I've met some really nice people and I worry that I'm not giving off the best impression. But that's me I worry alot.<br /><br />What bothers me is I didn't freak as bad as I normally would, but I did freak. And I didn't like the boob's reaction. I really want to work on not freaking as much. But sometimes, one just has to scream it out. I don't like go ballistic. But sometimes I big "ARGH" just gets it out. And I really noticed, especially after talking to the other woman, that dropping food isn't something that exclusively happens to me. It happens to everyone at some point. And in the end, I brought other food, didn't show up empty handed, and I got to keep a quiche for myself (yes I'm eating it, and yes it's damn good).<br /><br />I made myself feel totally better by doing what every girl does to make herself feel better...I went shopping. You must understand I'm not shopaholic shopper, but I am bargain shopper. Yesterday I brought a toy at the local thrift store. I was looking for an infant swing, but they had none there. I decided to buy something just cause I spent time looking around. Turned out they were having a HUGE ASS sale. I mean HUGE ASS because it was like 75% off. Yeah. And we're not talking gunked up toys either. I got, yesterday this vtech Winnie the Pooh talking book toy for $1.50. Then today I went back. I got The Little Touch LeapPad with cartridge for...<br /><br />$1.50.<br /><br />FREAKING STEAL!! these things sell for $35 for the Pad and $12.99 to start for the catridges. I felt like a criminal walking off with it. But I felt like a damn good criminal. I also got another VTech toy for $2 and a book for like free...and something for my neighbor's kid for $2. Total spent today, $4.06...so actually something else was cheaper...it was awesome. So now I have two things for Tori's b-day already. Tell you what my neighbors may think I'm a freak...but I'm a thirty freak...so who cares what they think...heheh<br /><br />-The BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-114982078773593207?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1149734917218695002006-06-07T19:37:00.000-07:002006-06-07T19:48:37.336-07:00A thought for the day...are teachers stupid? Now I know the answer to this question, but do you? Time to back track to where I got this divine thought. A while back I went to work for one whole day (back breaking, I know). Until the children reach the right age, I've decided to substitute teache (yes I said children, we'll have more, but not just yet). While the hubby was home on vacation, I went to work (some vacation huh?).<br /><br />My assignment was at the local high school. The English-11 teacher was sick all week so they called me to fill in. The first class was good except it was full of alot of students that weren't into doing the assignment. One girl in particular just outright refused to do it. She felt more compelled to work on her math homework (which I told her to put away). Later, while this girl was stewing in her seat, she heard a fellow student talking about the SATs, to which she made this comment:<br /><br />"I'm not taking the SATs, I don't want to be a stupid teacher."<br /><br />Of course I just curtly said "I'm not stupid." She of course replied "Who said I was talking about you?" After that I just ignored her.<br /><br />Now maybe this lovey wasn't talking about me, but it got me thinking. Are teachers stupid? While some teachers don't even hold a certification, I look to myself for the answer.<br /><br />I have TWO degrees. One in social studies education and another in the history of women and gender. I was the only one in the teaching program to even concentrate in that form of history. Everyone else was all conformist with American History, Latin American History, and Georgraphy. And I worked damn hard for my two degrees. For three semesters I had a 4.0 average. after that I maintained a 3.5. For my certification exam, I had to study EIGHT subjects. I scored an average score in part I and I scored two points shy of a perfect score in part II. <br /><br />So...am I a stupid teacher? I don't think so. However, she seems to be someone who appears to have no ambition (well she could still go to college without taking the SATs, I'm just assuming she has no interest in it). I would love to see where she will be in 10 years. At least I have a job and always will.<br /><br />-The BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-114973491721869500?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1149648502280813372006-06-06T19:14:00.000-07:002006-06-06T19:49:11.900-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/1942/1600/Mystic%20Wanted%20poster.jpg"></a><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/1942/1600/Mystic%20Wanted%20poster.jpg"></a><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/1942/1600/Mystic%20Wanted%20poster.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/1942/320/Mystic%20Wanted%20poster.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />I find it ironic on 6/6/of you know what year this is...Mystic had a vet appointment. Background story here...Mystic is our 18 year old cat. He was my mother's co-worker Rose's cat for 8 years, then her co-worker Albert's cat for a few months, then my mom had it for oh let's see, 6 years, I had him for three now. I rescued Mystic from my own mom cause she was moving, couldn't take her cats and was just going to leave them behind (I'm sure she was being dramatic cause she knew I was just going to take them). Mystic, when I went to take the boys into my custody, literally kicked my ass before I loaded him into the carrier. He so didn't want to leave my mother. He was also, very very sick.<br /><br />I called around after I got the boys and asked a woman in my town if she could foster them until my mom got back on her feet. The woman said to me "I'll take the 6 year old (Sterling), but the fifteen year old, do him a favor, put him down". She said this after I told her I thought Mystic had kidney disease. The words ring in my head today. Put him down? Why? After the shit life he had being shuffled around his whole life? As miserable as Mystic was, i couldn't do it.<br /><br />Mystic continued to be a problem child for the first month in our care. He even kicked Signal and Lori's ass (Lori is a 100lb husky) one night. That night changed everything. To get Mystic off the dogs, i sprayed him with a water bottle. I chased him into a windowsill where even a broom wouldn't move him. I sat down on the floor exhausted...mentally and physically.<br /><br />"You can't go back to her." I said, "It's either me or you were going to die."<br /><br />I said it and I meant it. I picked up a towel, approached Mystic slowly and carried him from the windowsill. I took him right downstairs where I rocked him in a rocker. Ever since that day, Mystic has worshipped the ground I walk on. And in return, I had a battery of tests run on him. Turned out Mystic didn't have kidney disease, but instead treatable diabetes. He's a 100% different cat.<br /><br />I won't say he's not a bastard though...I find it ironic how in the mail we got above post card in the mail today...while Mystic isn't a dog...the wanted poster definitely fits the mood. See Mystic...well sort of has a reputation in the vet world. And he definitely has scored a big one in the Bealeton vet scene. It's really something to go to the vet's office and see the vet approach the room, but look inside to see my cat, then quickly walk away and yell to her assistant, "I'm gonna need help with this one."<br /><br />While Mystic has mellowed out in his old age...he kind of has this weird separation anxiety. His diabetes requires him to have blood drawn. Sometimes, he has to stay in the office all day. However, the first time he stayed in the office all day was for his dental surgery when we first moved to Bealeton. I went to drop Mytic off and I offered to help get him out of the crate (Mystic did this same thing at the old vet's office). The woman at the desk was like "we can get him out, it's ok, just drop him off." (as if to say to me, "Please you neurotic woman, we are professionals"). I literally said "Ok, it's your funeral" and left them with the Mystic bomb. Mystic goes nuts when I leave the room. He's worse than an 18 month old toddler. He's so scared I'm going to come back and he'll have a new owner, he just goes bullistic. At the dental surgery, it took THREE vet techs to get him out of the crate. I wen to pick up Mystic and the vet said "You have a very...interesting cat."<br /><br />Fast forward to today. I drop Mystic off and there is a new guy at the desk. He goes to bring Mystic back and says "I'll bring your crate right back to you!" (hehe, newbies). After a few minutes, he shockingly comes back and says "Um, we'll have to hold on to your crate." "Can't get him out, can you?" I reply. No answer, "Good luck." I say and leave the whole office in stitches. Later in the day, i call to see how he is doing. The tell me his last blood draw will be at 6:30 pm, so he'll be ready to go home then. I asked how he was doing and all I got was "He's Mystic."<br /><br />I was sure to be there at 6:25 because I know they are more than happy to get rid of him. Of course there was another couple in front of me picking up their dog from surgery, so they were like taking forever. Suddenly as 6:30 draws close, I hear...<br /><br />"ROARRRRRRRRR"<br /><br />...<br /><br />If you are a parent, you know the feeling of "I'm so glad that wasn't my kid" whenever something bad happens. However, in my case...i knew it was 'my kid' and I just giggled my ass off. The vet explains to the other couple in the waiting room "We have a cat in there that doesn't like to have his blood drawn". Suddenly another ROAR breaks out and I figure it's Mystic being loaded into his crate (something else only I'm allowed to do).<br /><br />In minutes he's brought out into the waiting room. He hisses at the receptionist. I bend down to look into his crate. "hey Poppy" (my nickname for him) "Did you miss me?" He head butts the crate, then he starts purring...I can't help but giggle. The receptionist gaffaws. I go to check out then i ask "Oh when does the doctor want me to come back?"<br /><br />You HAVE to understand, my vet is a PAIN in the ASS in the way she insists on seeing Mystic every two months or insists that she needs to keep up on his glucose, yada yada. There have been times she's made me bring him in for a check up or a quick blood draw. She's always on my case about keeping up with his condition. And while I applaud her interest in my cat's health, I have to say this<br /><br />1) I have 6 other animals<br />2) Mystic is 18 years old...what's the worst that's going to happen to him?<br /><br />I wait as the receptionist goes to ask the doctor my question. She promptly returns and says, "The doctor says Mystic doesn't need to come in unless he's not doing well. We don't need to see him until his shots are due". (which is next year).<br /><br />Go figure...we should have Mystic come for all day visits more often...<br /><br />-The BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-114964850228081337?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1149561621166883812006-06-05T19:37:00.000-07:002006-06-05T19:40:21.200-07:00Ok...a blog you HAVE to read...(that is if you are open minded...don't come up to me later saying "that blog is shocking" because you aren't open minded...) <a href="http://www.susiebright.com">www.susiebright.com</a>. I love this blog so much that I'm posting it on my side bar here...I love Susie Bright. I want to grow up to be Susie Bright. She is awesome. Basically, she is a sexpert. She talks about all topics of sex...from how to do it, to how to raise kids and still maintain your sexual side. Susie hosts a show on audible.com called "In Bed with Susie Bright". I highly recommend it. Did I mention I love Susie Bright?<br /><br />-Th BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-114956162116688381?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1149473835391158542006-06-04T19:07:00.000-07:002006-06-04T19:17:15.393-07:00haha, I love that saying...first heard it from my mentor teacher. She used to say it all the time to my students. <br /><br />Well this Saturday, the hubby, the boob, and I went to the Vintage Virginia Wine Festival. It was nice...but an extreme tease and slight let down for me. Extreme tease because I went as a designated driver. For $25, the hubby got in and got to have as many samplings of wine as he wanted. For $12, I got in and got a pat on the back for driving. Yeah me...I have to admit, I stole some zips here and there...but nothing to make me buzzed. And trust me, the chili pepper wine doesn't give you a buzz...it gives you third degree burns on your mouth.<br /><br />I have to admit, while the festival had activities for children, they didn't really live up to the hype in my eyes. Then again, I was told by a friend that there would be cheese, bread, salads...in other words...FREE FOOD. No free food ladies and gentlemen. More like free slivers where people could afford a booth. The food that was there was an example in fleecing to be sure. $5 Lemonades and $5 meat on a stick. I kept thinking how in Takoma Park you could get the stick with fried rice for less...ah Takoma Park...they know how to throw a festival.<br /><br />In the end, we sat on the grass and listened to some country/bluegrass music. At least it was a day out. I did notice a fad at this even that really seemed...well...stupid. As you know, some people at these things take their wine tasting seriously. At the door everyone is given a glass (for their tasting...also keeps trash low...you just keep refilling your glass). Well, do you know they make wine glass holders so people won't have to always hold their glass?<br /><br />...<br /><br />yeah, they ARE as cheesey as they sound. It's basically a larger version of a reading glasses holder for your wine glass. I'm sorry...if you are committed to this wine tasting, you have to carry your glass. And think about it...in what other ways is this just WRONG? First off...what if you don't rinse off your glass right away? What's to say you aren't going to get a drip of wine on your nice white blouse? How sturdy are these things? I mean really they looked to me like a leather strap with a leather pouch. Where's the guarantee that the glass won't slip out? Please, this is just the pinnacle of laziness to me. Bring a kid that comes with a stroller like we did and keep your glasses in there if you don't want to carry them around.<br /><br />On that note, the hubby wanted to bring the front carrier to the festival to carry the boob so she wouldn't get bored. But in the end, I'm glad he didn't. Imagine him trying to weedle his way in to get free wine with a baby attached to him. I can see the wine stains on the clothes already...<br /><br />-The BB.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-114947383539115854?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1149283450547410642006-06-02T14:21:00.000-07:002006-06-04T19:07:04.160-07:00So today, after a hard days work (like you know 4 hours worth...that's hard for me...), I went to draw out cash at the ATM and treat myself to some ice cream. I get my too expensive carvel blasted ice cream (that's what I get for shopping in the Gaithersburg, MD area) and I head to my car. That's when it hits me...the parking lot is a dangerous place. Why? All I have to say is...<br /><br />S-U-V<br /><br />They are all over. Them and trucks, you cannot get away from them. The hubby refuses to be turned to the dark side of driving, but I know we cannot avoid it for long. Our family is only going to get bigger and I personally am getting tired of having the dog sit on my lap during really packed car rides. Also not wanting to become Britney Spears and have a kid ride on my lap, yo...<br /><br />But back to my problem with SUVs...they take up too much friggin space. Until our parking lots are made with bigger spaces to accommodate their bulk, I'm going to have an anxiety attack every time I try to back out of a parking spot. Why? BECAUSE I CANNOT SEE PAST THE DARN THINGS! Even with my full size-normal sized car, I can't see past an SUV. And of course EVERYWHERE I go I have two parked next to me. That's why alot of times I'll park in East outer Jabib so I don't have to mess with a potential parking lot disaster. 'Sides, walking is good for the mind and body. <br /><br />Just annoys me, you know...especially when the SUVs park right on the lines...and I park all normal, like I'm supposed to. However, I have to turn sideways and squeeze out of my car in order to get out or in (lucky I'm skinny...or I'd never get anywhere). Oh and I try like hell to watch how I open the door because they are on top of me and I don't want to ding them, but do they watch out for my little defenseless car? Probably not...<br /><br />Well, someday, when I have my eco-friendly mini-van, I can strike back. However, until then, I'm gonna have to get used to a doggie in my seat. Talk about getting pawed...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-114928345054741064?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1149125795861367912006-05-31T18:25:00.000-07:002006-06-02T14:20:24.500-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/1942/1600/100_2795.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/1942/320/100_2795.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />See that? That right there is the look of hate on the boob's face (she's in the green bathing suit). Twas her first foray into the pool and she's basically saying "This is NOT a warm bath". She's so like her mother...likes the hot bath...hates cold water. She got over it after a while. Oh and see the orange lobster? His name is Rock Lobster...go ahead, start singing...<br /><br />This was part of what we did on Memorial Day. It all started out for me and the boob with a visit to my friend, DiDi. Dees made me some delicious chocolate chip pancakes and blueberry pancakes with fresh fruit (to round out the meal). Then she presented me with a <a href="http://www.sirsy.com">Sirsy CD</a> . I must have listened to their single By July at least three times on the way home (I told DiDi two, I lied :) ). So Didi rocks right now cause she gave me new music.<br /><br />DiDi first introduced me to Sirsy last year when she asked me to go to a gig of theirs. It was at the Firehouse Grill in VA and I dragged my big preggers butt there in July (ironic timing--their single name). I had no regrets. The girl can sing her heart out and she plays a mean flute. The name the lead singer got from her own sister (it was how she said sister when they were kids...awww). The band plays alot in the VA, NY, NC, everywhere area. Their website features a build your own live CD and of course their studio CDs (I think they have three). I keep meaning to get their Holiday CD...never can have too many of those and how cool would it be to say I have the Sirsy holiday CD. I think I will convince the hubby to let me buy that this week...never too early to start thinking about Xmas. Well that's my plug for Sirsy...go buy a Lie to Me shirt now...<br /><br />-The BB.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-114912579586136791?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1149125082534226772006-05-31T18:20:00.000-07:002006-05-31T18:24:42.536-07:00I'm having one of those days where I'm begging God for patience and I'm rebuking myself for being selfish. Not going to go too into depth here, but I find myself lately asking myself why I keep doing things for other people. How come I can't do for myself more? Then I get all on myself for being selfish and even contemplating being selfish. But then I ask myself "What's in it for me?" Then in the next breath I go "Oh just shut up and do it, at least you're guaranteed into heaven" (after a post bashing my family, I'm guaranteed to go to hell...but here's hoping...).<br /><br />It's one of those stalemates, I know my life would be infinitely easier if I thought of just myself. But then again, who said life was easy? And what's a little inconvience on my end to help others out? Maybe in the long range look of things, I could just be looking for just a little bit more appreciation and maybe a pay it forward in my end. Is that so wrong?<br /><br />-The BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-114912508253422677?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1149009621387539632006-05-30T10:11:00.000-07:002006-05-31T18:16:56.560-07:00The hubby and I subscribe to alot of magazines. Over the years the magazines have become more like...wire hangers. They are all over the place, we can't keep up with them, and we have no idea where some came from. So, I decided recently to start cutting back. Especially since having the boob, I have no need for fashion mags or various other 'guilty pleasures' I allowed myself. So, the other day I went to cancel my Cat and Dog Fancy magazines (I barely read them--I'm such a bad animal owner) by calling the 1-800 number on my credit card statement. I just have to say...god forbid I actually talk to a human being on these calls. The automated conversation basically went like this.<br /><br />"Welcome to Cat Fancy subscription services. To renew your subscription, press 1, to cancel press 2" (at this point I press 2).<br /><br />"To continue your subscription for 5 more issues at $5.95, press 1, to accept this offer, press 2"<br /><br />Total stalemate here, I decide on pressing 3 for the hell of it.<br /><br />"Are you sure you want to cancel?"<br /><br />Um...yeah...since no option was given, I pressed 2.<br /><br />"Congratualations! You've been randomly selected to receive 5 free issues of Bonzai magazine...blah blah blah..."<br /><br />At this point, I hang up and hope that my cancellation went through.<br /><br />One month later, I have a charge for $5.95 on my credit card bill...and the Cat and Dog Fancy keep on coming.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-114900962138753963?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1148756778151378162006-05-27T11:32:00.000-07:002006-05-30T10:09:55.433-07:00Oh yeah, you know this is gonna be good. So bad, like the extra piece of candy you should never have eaten...<br /><br />Moving on...<br /><br />I'm half Puerto Rican. I can honestly, sadly, count the number of times I have been exposed to my culture. Perhaps I should make more of an effort to immerse myself in that part of myself, however, I find that when I do get exposed,l I'm so soaked with it, I find myself full enough to last me a few years. And ladies and gentlemen, nothing can get you in touch with a culture than a funeral.<br /><br />Puerto Rican funerals are something to be admired indeed. Right next to Italian funerals, they are full of drama and confusion. I have to say J. Lo has never won an Oscar for any of her roles for the Puerto Ricans of the world (why would she?...except for Enough...any chica that can kick ass like that should be given an Oscar) . However, if the Academy went to one of my families funerals, you know they'd be handing them out left and right.<br /><br />It all starts with the initial finding out the news. Everyone is sad, crying, screaming, questioning 'Por que Dios?', screaming, talking to family for hours about the details of the death, screaming, and then there is the flurry of transportation arrangements. This job always falls upon me. Since I'm the smarty pants of the family, I'm elected to the job that uses most of the brain. It amazes me how so many grown people in my family cannot handle making transportation arrangements. You want screaming? You should be in the room with me when I'm trying to make bereavement travel arrangements. First of all, that thing they call a bereavement fare, bullshit. There is NO SUCH THING. It isn't cheaper to fly when you are in mourning, it's more expensive. And the airlines should be shot for taking advantage of people in their weakest moments. They know we have no choice but to pay. However, I do find the deals. They usually include an insane stop somewhere totally not where I'm going, but whatever, I save $300.<br /><br />Once we arrive where we need to be (either Florida or Puerto Rico, where the latest corpse is chillin'), there is the awkward drive straight to the funeral home. At my uncle's funeral, my mother and I flew while wearing our mourning attire. Then in the car we applied our makeup while my uncle drove and my aunt Maritza chatted to us in a language we totally don't understand and we totally Spanglished to her just to make her think we really wanted to talk.<br /><br />Yes ladies and gentleman, I admit, I don't speak spanish. I can understand it when it's spoken Jerry kids slow to me, but I have such trouble speaking in the Speedy Gonzalez pace of it....more on this later, we are about to arrive at the funeral home.<br /><br />I don't know what it is about funerals, wakes, ect. But people, especially in my family, get so emotional when they first see that body in the casket...unless you're my mother. When arrived at the funeral home for my uncle's funeral, and my mother saw her father when she walked in and went nuts. You have to understand, my family sees each other so infrequently. Funerals and weddings are the only way we keep in touch with each other. No one calls, no one writes, no one visits for the hell of it. (except for me, but I'm quitting that job...I get too much bitching if I don't do it enough and nobody reciprocates the favor to me). My grandfather, in particular, doesn't visit at all. Him being at my uncle's funeral was a shocker. So, my mother, in all her emotional instability, pushes me aside as I go to hug him, and exclaims "MY DADDY" almost on the top of her lungs. Nevermind that Uncle Frank is just down the isle waiting for his respects to be paid--but then again he's dead, he's not really going anywhere...So my mom makes a scene fawning over her dad and not letting me near him (never mind that he's my grandfather too).<br /><br />I somehow pry mom off abuelo to go make that sickening walk down the aisle to view Uncle Frank (my mom's brother in law btw). As we approach the casket, we see another huge spectacle of emotion. You see in funerals, the casket is at the end of an isle, sitting there pretty for all to see and there is usually a kneeling bench for people to kneel at while they view the casket. Some just stand there to view the body, others (like in my family) offer a prayer. After you view the body, you'll go behind you and backtrack to the chairs and usually offer condolences to the family who is seated in the front row. Well...Uncle Frank's mother, in all her emotional instability, (she's old she's allowed, my mom however...needs Prozac...more on that another post) took her chair and sat it right smack beside her baby boy's. Now I guess I can understand the gesture. I mean if I lost a child at any age, I'd probably want to never leave the child's side...but I can see how this is just a little over the top. And I also know why Uncle Frank's mom did it. Many elders in the family, especially women, like to find any opportunity to instill their dona status. I saw this as just one of many ways. You had no choice but to acknowlege Dona Diaz immediately after paying respects to Uncle Frank. Just seems to me another way of this woman saying it's all about her. Call me a bitch, but that's how I see it.<br /><br />Everyone at these things has to make their emotions shown. Has to somehow put in that "This is about me too". Please my aunts at my grandmother's funeral practically threw themselves in the casket with her, screaming the line you always hear in telenovelas "NO PUEDE SER" and calling "Mami" repeatedly. My uncles practically had to carry the casket to the plot with them still in it. I know it's their mother in there, but you know...chisizzle a bit ya know?<br /><br />Of course after you pay respects to the body, most of the wake is spent socializing with family (you know since we never see each other in between). However, in Puerto Rican tradition (and others I'm sure) we also do like a mini funeral at the wake. There is a sermon, speeches, family sharings, songs, ect. Now this would be endearing to me, if it were in ENGLISH. Don't get me wrong, I'm not knocking spanish at all...but this is what didn't make sense to me. My cousins, like me, don't know spanish. So sadly, they had no clue what was being said at their own father's funeral/wake. But the service was strictly in Spanish because Dona Diaz didn't understand English. Well excuse me. What kills me is no bothers to plan for an English translator. Instead, off the cuff, Uncle Frank's nephew tries to translate for his dad (the preacher...of course), but even he goes "Forget it, I can't keep up", after a half hour. Yeah, the service was longer than a half hour...all Puerto Rican services are longer than 200 days....<br /><br />My mother said it best when describing Puerto Rican funerals to me...you pray, you kneel, you pray some more, you cry, you pray...you get the picture. At grandma's we must have said every Catholic prayer there was in the Bible. You would have thought we were burying the pope there was so much praying and kneeling. And there's nothing like praying when you are praying in Spanish. It's bad enough I'm a horible Catholic and don't know my prayers. I can't even say them in English while they are doing them in Spanish (except for the major prayers-Our Father, Hail Mary, Glory Be, Apostles Creed). So while they are doing the insanely long stations of the cross, all I can do is kneel and go "whatever they are saying, whatever they are saying, whatever they are saying" under my breath. Nothing like walking around a crowded room praying in the hot hot Florida/Puerto Rico heat --in black to boot.<br /><br />However, my family isn't all gloom and doom during funerals. After the formal religious service and display of emotions there's....REPASS...yes, the part where everyone goes to someone's house and eats food donated by the entire family. In most NORMAL cases, repass is as solemn as the funeral, just toned down. Usually you hear the death story again, or other stories of the person while they were alive. However, in my family repass takes on a whole new definition. It starts at the funeral home.<br /><br />During my uncle's funeral, it had been after a particularly long period of contact. Also there were apparently more of us than usual. So my Aunt maritza thought it be a great photo op. At the funeral home we were all getting together and taking pictures, all the aunts and uncles in one, cousins in another, my grandfather with all his kids, then one with grandkids...on, and on, and on...Mind you Uncle Frank was in the other room just...chillin'..but don't worry, we didn't leave him out. My cousins in all their grief took turns taking pictures of themselves with their dad....<br /><br />...<br /><br />Yeah...I thought it was creepy too. Don't want to remember my dad like that when he goes (he's not going anytime soon...better not...). Hey they even developed the pictures after the real funeral and we got to look at them...yeah...<br /><br />After the many Kodak moments, we head over to an aunt's house. What's nice about my family is they belong to a church and people do things for them. so we had all the food provided. My cousins, for their dad, went out and got a cake with his picture on it, which was...endearing...not sure if it was gosh or not...but endearing. But the food isn't what makes my family special at repass...what makes my family special is...after a funeral...they sure know how to freaking party.<br /><br />Yeah, my family usually sends a first cousin (my cousin Consep cause he's like a sucker) out to the liquor store to stock up and someone plays DJ and the booze and chonga music are going all night long. My mother made marguaritas at my uncle's repass. She used a whole bottle of triple sec in one batch (and she's a bartender, how sad). She also used a whole hell of alot of other shit. I took one sip of my glass and thought my liver was going to give out. I gave the glass to my mom who had both mine and hers (and yet her liver is stil intact--for now). <br /><br />Bottom line is my family gets shit faced and dances the night away at the repass. While it's nice to not be all sad and gloom, I still like to be somewhat reflective at the end of a funeral. At a friend's funeral, we didn't party or anything, but we did meet at a local Friday's and some people did a shot in his name. They didn't bust a groove or drink themselves into oblivion or anything. My family however...that's what they do. By 3am (the funeral was at 11am to give you an idea of how long this was going on) my cousin, Sisa, and I locked ourselves in my aunt's room and just sat to watch a movie. I think we both had enough of the party atmosphere and longed for a quiet bed. Eventually, we both fell asleep while the music blared and our family partied. Around 4am, I awoke to my cousin, Lily, lifting my dress up and taking a picture of me showing my undies to the world. The thought that crossed my mind was...<br /><br />"i'm not freaking drunk, but yet i'm the one with the embarassing pictures. how does this happen?"<br /><br />And that my friends is a Puerto Rican funeral...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-114875677815137816?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1148572942844416362006-05-25T08:53:00.000-07:002006-05-25T09:02:22.846-07:00Don't ask me where I got this title for this...OK I'll tell...or give you a hint...it's from David Spade Stand up...anyhoo...<br /><br />I'm having such ISSUES lately...don't know where to start. Honestly, I wish i was pregnant again. when I was preggers with the boob...I was never healthier...Now, well I guess for the most part, I'm healthy. I'm a lucky beotch cause I've lost more weight than I gained during my pregnancy and am almost back to my high school weight (yeah ladies...throw those daggers at me). But trust me, I'm not trying. The boob is just sucking it all out of me.<br /><br />However, between having bursitis, and my 'latest issue' (see title of this posting), I have just had one problem after the next. Now, here I am going to a doctor that NO ONE wants to go to (I'd rather go to my OB/GYN...but actually I enjoy that experience cause like she's cool...she makes coochie health fun). The only person that really enjoys the fact I'm going to the butt doctor is my husband cause he gets to hear the nurse say "bend over and drop your pants, then lean over this bench" to me. He tells me later how turned on he was...NOT the the time I want him to be aroused...<br /><br />But it's all good...I have answers...they don't include me miraculously being better anytime soon...but they do include a light at the end of the tunnel. However, after nearly 25 years of not being in a hospital, I'm sure as hell going to make up for it now...<br /><br />Getting old my friends sucks big cahones...but at leat I'm not the only one doing it...<br /><br />In other news the boob just stood on her own...just this second...for maybe one second until i got fearful she'll fall into the printer. WOO HAA...and BOO HOO, my baby is growing up too fast.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-114857294284441636?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1147888542198046192006-05-17T10:50:00.000-07:002006-05-17T10:55:42.210-07:00Ok ok...my town has been really fueling my need for to post lately. So, there has been allt his construction in Bealeton because they feel this need to add services to the growing population. Personally, I don't see the need for three dry cleaners, two women's only gyms, and lots of fast food places I barely go to...but whatever. Apparently the public CANNOT LIVE without these things. (Please the neighbors are trying to rally for another grocery store...while I stopped shopping at our local Food Lion two minutes away--it was because of the prices...not the proximity. Now I drive 15 minutes to Wal-mart and save a bundle...hehe I food shop at Wal-mart).<br /><br />Anyhoo...one of the new services we have had add is a new tanning salon. Now I don't see the need for this cause I have a tan 365 days a year (giving you a hint of what I look like). however, many people seem to feel this NEED to fake and bake, or look orange. So...I was taking my cat to the vet and this new salon is located in the new shopping center next to the vet's office. I just happend to glance over when I saw it...the name of this said Tanning Salon...you ready...?<br /><br />The Body Bakery...<br /><br />ISN'T THAT JUST GOD AWFUL?? I told the hubby about this and we had a good chuckle over this...I wanna know how much pot the owner smoked before he/she picked out the name...taking bets on how long the name or the establishment will last...I'm awful...hehe<br /><br />-The BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-114788854219804619?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1147384388725206642006-05-11T14:44:00.000-07:002006-05-11T14:58:08.176-07:00Ok...Ok I HAVE SEEN IT ALL...<br /><br />Now...we live in the day in age where we do not hide our broken, handicapped or what not...we are a free society and are should be allowed t enjoy it. i'm just wondering if there is handicapped etiquette...now bear with me here ok.<br /><br />I have seen people in wheelchairs (totally cool with me, my own sister in law is one of these people), people carry their breathing tanks with them (hey if you are mostly feeling ok, no reason a 30lb tank should get in your way and god bless you for chugging that thing around), and I've seen people using their crutches (I've used crutches, my heart goes out to anyone that does this on a daily basis...cause it's friggin hard). But I have seen the one that tops it all...<br /><br />I was at the post office today getting mother's day cards out. As I was exiting a woman held the door open for me (very nice of her to do). I noticed she wore the shirt (I'm out, back in five minutes--something like that) and as I looked her over I also noticed that she was wearing something else...<br /><br />She apparently had a catheter in her bladder and was wearing her pee bag on the OUTSIDE of her pants. Yes ladies and gentlemen I will repeat...she was wearing her PEE BAG OUTSIDE of her pants. How do I know this is a pee bag? Yellow liquid, we'll all narrow it down from there...<br /><br />You know...I've had a catheter in me...I was in the hospital when I had this done...and I know people that have to cath. because of bladder issues...but I have never, ever EVER seen anyone cathed 24/7 and able to walk with it...<br /><br />And that's where I thought this. Not that a tube up your woohoo should stop you from going out...no, no...but where should you wear the collection bag? I mean who really wants the world to see their nasty yellow pee? Should there maybe be a pee bag cover? Should people wear certain clothing that enables them to wear the pee bag underneath clothing?<br /><br />I mean I've hear of wearing your heart on your sleeve, but your pee on your leg? Talk about leg warmers...Oh god I'm going to hell...<br /><br /><em>** My friend Tim alerted me that this could be a colostomy bag...which I always thought was on the stomach area. I have known people that have had these and it's cool cause you can use your shirt to cover it...but one on the leg...anyone ever hear of this?</em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-114738438872520664?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1146486558384430042006-05-01T05:21:00.000-07:002006-05-01T05:29:18.400-07:00I keep trying to work on my confidence...it's been low as of late. See I've been used to working five jobs, completely multiple tasks...oh and getting paid for them. For many years I was the "How could I ever get along without you?" employee. Now I'm a mom...24/7...barely any breaks...and as wonderful as a job it is...I'm still trying to find my place in this world. I know mommy is a big job...but sometimes I feel like I should be doing something more. Then...I always seem to get a kick in the stomach when it comes to my confidence. Someone will say something that will just take everything I'm trying to build away. It can be the littlest, stupidest thing...and I just crumble. And then I end up thinking to myself..."Well is it because they think I'm just a mom?" <br /><br />Trust me when i say I don't want to work. In my ideal world I would be a novelist already making lots and lots of money. I don't want to be teaching in the classroom just yet. I want to spend these days with the boob. However, I miss making MY own money (hubby hates when i say this...but as his birthday draws near...I keep wondering how I'm going to be able to buy his truly awesome bday gift...) and i guess I miss having a project to do and complete. I'm lost in a way. There is only so many times you can clean the house, take recylcing to the center, and scrub the fridge...I've joined a mom's club that gets me out 1-2 times a week (I've put a cap on it because they sometimes have stuff EVERYDAY of the week...but um...that's a bit much for me) but I keep feeling I want/need more.<br /><br />And sometimes I think, people expect me to be more...<br /><br />I don't know, it's a double edge sword...I wish I could just find that happy place. But it's hard...can't write when you're occupying someone's attention 24/7 either and your husband is always out...I mean look at how often I update this blog...it's nothing I had envisioned for it...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-114648655838443004?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1142979080669826382006-03-21T14:02:00.000-08:002006-04-29T21:16:43.826-07:00Alrighty, time to tell you more about myself. I wasn't going to do this...but considering my family doesn't seem to be checking my away messages, I'm going to do it...<br /><br />I'm using a blog as a means of airing out my issues with my family...<br /><br />Backstory...The BB (me if you haven't guessed who the BB is by now) hasn't been talking to her natural mother now for about 8 months. Reason why? Well we got into a HUGE fight before my baby shower and haven't talked since. That's a story for another time...but in a nutshell, natural mother was being a selfish jerk, and the BB finally had it and told her to go bleep herself and called her a bleeping bleep...(of course after I did this I had to pull over and get myself together cause I couldn't believe I disrespected my mom like that...but then again, she's been disrespecting me for years...and continues to do so).<br /><br />So, no talkie to the natural mommy...She obviously also doesn't attend my baby shower. MONTHS go by, the boob is born. (there's so much to tell about this I could go on...but I'm keeping it short). So boob is born in October...three weeks go by, no call nothing from my mom (whom we called---another story for another day--such a tease). In November, the boob gets three boxes sent to the house. The three boxes are addressed to her with card and everything made out to her. Boxes contain, clothes, toys, shoes, ect. <br /><br />I HAVE NO CLUE what to do when these boxes come. Do I send a thank you card? Do I not? Nothing was mentioned to me or the hubby (who supposedly natural mom LOVES). I'm upset too cause I see what this is...a way of getting me to communicate...a way of tricking me into just sweeping everything under the rug and forgetting. Not this time. After therapy and contemplation...I choose to not send a thank you card.<br /><br />MONTHS go by. A few weeks ago, my aunt calls. We are talking about random stuff when she asks if I have talked to my mom recently. I said no. She swears she hasn't talked to her in months (more on that lie some other day--tease again). Then she randomly asks me. Did you ever get that stuff that your mother sent you? I just say "Yes I did, and I'm sure my mother is telling everyone how ungrateful I am...yada yada.." Aunt says she has no idea what my mother is saying.<br /><br />Why bring up something so random? Obviously natural mom is going around telling everyone "I sent the baby gifts and she couldn't even send me a thank you card." Well I had a C-section and she couldn't even call to see if I was ok...so you know what...you don't get a thank you card...especially for gifts that were two months after the shower you refused to go to. Furthermore...everything was sent to my daughter...when she's old enough to send a thank you card...if she cares to...she'll do it then...until then...bite me...<br /><br /><br />-BB<br /><br />**<em>Note: after I first started this posting, I got ANOTHER box in the mail...wonder if my aunt was talking about that...</em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-114297908066982638?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1142978509570488172006-03-21T13:57:00.000-08:002006-03-21T14:01:49.586-08:00Ok,<br /><br />I'm gonna post this in hopes of covering my ass in case any of my neighbors see find this blog. I have to say, not everyone in Bealeton is like I described in my posting (I hope many of you know when I post it's tongue in cheek stuff). Honestly, I'm lucky to be surrounded by some of the best neighbors ever. Ned, to our right, he is like the quintessential neighbor. Always has the tool you need and is always there if you need him. He helped us with Signal when I went into labor with the boob. Then behind us are D & T. They are very friendly and always have advice when I need it. And next to us are an older couple that just moved in. They are alot like Ned, however, I haven't seen them much (haven't seen anyone much) due to the cold cold cold. <br /><br />I've also been meeting some new people in my neighborhood who are really nice and easy to get along with. And still, I will see someone on my walks around the neiborhood who are exactly what I'm talking about in the previous post. It's a new world here for my husband and I. Well for me, it's not very new...mostly for the hubby it is.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-114297850957048817?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1142815085640234062006-03-19T16:29:00.000-08:002006-03-19T16:38:05.653-08:00Ok...so in my area energy caps have been removed and by summertime, we could be faced with up to 75% hikes in energy bills. One word...OUCH...and another two...freakin unfair! According to maryland Governor, Bob Ehrlich, hikes may not get as that drastic. Honestly, I don't believe anything Bob Ehrlich says cause he thinks slot machines are the answer to Maryland's budget defict...um...whatever. <br /><br />So here, the BB will share ideas that she has been working on to save energe (warning this isn't funny, it's serious...cause this is a serious problem if this does happen and we should all share ideas on how to keep money in our pockets...don't worry I'll get funny again...someday)<br /><br />1. Replace all your lightbulbs with florecent (BB can't spell) bulbs. It can reduce your energy bill up to $150...right away.<br />2. Turn things off when you aren't using them (computer, radio, TV, DVD player, yada, it adds up).<br />3. As Roger on American Dad would say "DIMMER SWITCH". Add dimmer switches in rooms to help control how much light you use.<br />4. Have fish? Consider only turning their light on at night...that's what we do now. We use natural light for them.<br />5. Get used to the dark...haha...I had to add that one in.<br />6. Put lights on a timer so you know when you'll need them...does this makes sense? (helps kill the temptation to turn lights on early when you really don't need it).<br />7. Use candles (unless you have cats, then don't...90% chance they'll knock them down).<br />8. Get a thermostat you can program for times of day so the air isn't always on and you don't have to always manually turn it on and off...but if the bill is still bad...just turn it off and live like Madonna...no air conditioning...<br />9. Think battery operated...ooo...that gives me dirty thoughts.<br />10. Get an electric stove? Start grillilng...all year long...haha...I'm such a smart ass...<br /><br />Wow, that's all I can come up with...any other ideas I'm up to...until then, anyone in my area...good luck this summer...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-114281508564023406?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1142559662753637792006-03-16T17:35:00.000-08:002006-03-16T17:41:02.763-08:00Ok...just a little filler until my next big post...in the form of venting rant. I hate, hate, hate...when people take credit for something they didn't do...like for example when someone says they have this great idea...and like they don't say "Well I saw this at..." Instead they act like they came up with the idea all on their own...when in truth they got the inspiration from someone else...I also hate when people can't put two and two together....they're annoying and obviously not masters of the obvious...<br /><br />I started a trend...what can I say...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-114255966275363779?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1141498388773477942006-03-04T10:43:00.000-08:002006-03-04T10:53:08.813-08:00<em>I posted this on my original website last year to vent about a situation I experience two years ago already (wow time flies). I had tore a ligament in my ankle and the health center at the university was less than helpful (as you will read). I added this post to follow another one I'm posting about medical offices...I did *cough* have to edit this one*</em><br /><br />Some people at the University of Maryland Health Center need to be slapped. You're 18-28 years old (sometimes older), miles away from home, or maybe you are a person with health insurance only accepted at your local University clinic, or you have no health insurance at all...whatever. Something leads you to the university health center. Your sick, in pain, in need of comforting advice. What do you really get? A barrel full of monkeys...<br /><br />*Note: Not everyone at my health center stay sucked. The check in girl was totally understanding and helpful. Dr. Margaret did the best she could and the other doctor and nurse (nurse Haynes) that saw me were very very nice.<br /><br />What were you doing at the Health Center BB? Well, I'll tell you. I was walking to class, just walking, trying to avoid slipping on ice. Well I failed, miserably at the task. I was just stepping over a mound of snow and then BAM! My leg slipped under me, my ankle twisted and went CRACK-POP (but not snap). I screamed out. Student came to my rescue (there are nice people in this world) and took me to the Health Center. <br /><br />We get there and a concerned receptionist points us to the urgent care desk. We go there and a girl who is obviously new, but concerned tries to help us. Her supervisor, the mean, nasty, medical assistant (see where this is going?) says "Does she have an appointment?" I'm sorry...is this not URGENT CARE? Did you not hear my *&#$! story about falling on the ice just 20 minutes ago?? I didn't know I was supposed to call after I wiped out and almost went into shock (I did almost go into shock, I'm not making that up for drama purposes)? Is this how it was supposed to go:<br /> <br /> Brr...Brr..."Hello, University Urgent Care."<br /> "Yes, I have an urgent emergency...can I make an appointment for URGENT CARE?" I'm currently on my ass from falling on the ice and I'm about to pass out from pain. Think you can squeeze me in URGENT CARE?"<br /><br />Back to reality...where priorities are number 1, it's 9:30 am. Apparently, front desk is a no show at 9:30, so I'm put in a chair...to wait. No ice, no offer to prop my leg up. I thank the girl that dropped me off at the center and she runs off to class (angel...so was the guy that sat with me when I nearly passed out). I get an appointment for TEN O'CLOCK. Meanwhile, keep in mind...the medical assistant is supposed to have a degree in medical assistance...so I think cause he calls himself a medical assistant. However, he just keeps me thrown in this chair, as I mentioned before, no ice, no elevation. My ankle suffered in my slip. I couldn't move it and it was swollen badly. My time working with my podiatrist uncle taught me, the first thing you should do is RICE. Raise, ice, elevate...something like that...correct me if I'm wrong...but I know ice and elevation were needed and I wasn't getting it! So, I flag down a nurse and ask her for a chair to prop up my leg and a bag of ice. She immediately goes off to tell someone I need this. TWENTY minutes later, she walks by and sees me without either. Upset, she finally went and got the items for me herself.<br /><br />So obviously, since I'm at a clinic, I don't get in until like 20-30 minutes AFTER my scheduled time (never mind that time's a factor...). I go into the room and the doctor comes in with a nurse (maybe two). This is the best part...my friend D.Bena is giggling her ass off now... obviously, because we have no idea what is wrong with my ankle, an X-ray is in order. However, the Health Center was going through a renovation at this time. The doctor proceeds to tell me that they LOST their X-ray machine. They LOST THEIR X-RAY MACHINE!!??? Now again, I worked with my uncle and he has an X-ray machine in his office. They aren't small things...so tell me...HOW DO YOU LOSE A *$#!!@ X-RAY MACHINE??? So the doctor tells me all she is going to do is wrap an icepack around my ankle and I'll have to go to my uncle's or the ER for an X-ray.<br /> <br /> "Wow...thanks...I couldn't have possibly been able to you know wrap the ankle myself...wow, I just wasted TWO HOuRS of my LIFE that I CAN'T EVER get back."<br /><br />Needless to say I went home, ended up on a couch were I couldn't move from for two days...because the next day, it iced stormed and I couldn't go to my uncle's. Top it off with the fact that the hubby was away on business. Thank god for Kiki who took me out to myUncle's office that Saturday (two days later) and took me out to breakfast...plus waited hand and foot on me. She's awesome. Turned out I didn't break it (thank God), but I did tear a ligament really bad...which was probably worse. I was off the ankle for two months...did PT...el sucko...<br />But I still can't get over the fact that the University Health Center LOST their X-ray machine...hope they found it by now...<br /><br />-The BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-114149838877347794?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1141276156348037442006-03-01T20:50:00.000-08:002006-03-01T21:09:16.360-08:00Considering the title of this blog, I figure I should probably talk more about the town I live in. Bealeton is located in Faquier County, Virginia (huh, huh, if I say Fauquier really fast, do you know what it sounds like? huh-huh). You seriously can drive by it and not even realize you did. Not that it's tiny small, but the town is kinda parallel and below the major highway, so you can't see it.<br /><br />Actually when friends ask where we live, I tell them we live just past the middle of nowhere. They laugh and then ask for directions to come visit. When they finally do arrive, they say "Yeah you really are out here." That's a translation for "I'm not coming here much cause it's too damn far...do you know I passed tractors, shooting ranges, cow pastures, horse farms, corn fields, even an al paca farm just to get here??!!" To most people from DC or even in my part of New Jersey, it's another world.<br /><br />Unfortunately, due to the explosion of urbanization in the state of VA (a post for another time), Bealeton is growing. However, it's still, for now, a small town.<br /><br />Highlights for the area include the Food Lion grocery store, the high school, the middle school, the elementary school, and of course, the <a href="http://www.flyingcircusairshow.com/">Bealeton Flying Circus</a> (an old time air show that runs every weekend from spring to fall). Also included in the town are such fine dining places as McDonald's, Diary Queen, a really low level Chinese restaurant, subway, and Quiznos. Recently, we've been excited to welcome a fine dining Chinese restaurant (liquor included), a Five Guys Burgers, and a new Italian restaurant (God send us a REAL sub place and a REAL pizza place).<br /><br />If you can't tell, I'm being sarcastic. No, no Bealeton really has these things and the citizens are really excited about them (by citizens I mean people that have been in Bealeton five years or more before I moved in). I guess I'm trying to insinuate or describe how Bealeton is very much the redneck part of VA. Not that I'm surrounded by rednecks. No, we definitely aren't but the town has that feel. When hubby and I first moved in, we were standing on our porch just looking around. Suddenly, music started blaring from a house caddy corner to us. It was of course "Redneck Girl" by Gretchen Wilson. I looked at my husband and smiled. "Welcome to the Neighborhood."<br /><br />See the small town doesn't bother me. I'm from a small town in NJ. I'm used to driving more than 10 miles to the store and I'm used to silly parades and people that get excited over a new diner. I'm also used to seeing big hair and big butts. I'm just not used to not being able to get real pizza, good chinese, or even having to drive more than five mintues to get to a video store (thank god for Netflix). I'm also sick of them putting in another freaking burger joint or fake sub joint and the citizens getting excited over that. God they would go apeshit over a Jersey Mikes...or a Maria's pizza (from my hometown of Beachwood, NJ). My hubby, however, is a suburban maryland native. He's refine, cultured, and used to being surrounded by beautiful people. At our first shopping experience in Bealeton (at the Food Lion of course) my hubby walked closely next to me and kept saying "Rednecks, Rednecks, Rednecks!!" As if they had a communicable disease. Also he noted how 'large' some of the women were.<br /><br />Obviously my hubby is getting used to the new demography. However, I will say it's not all his fault. The citizens (again, not all, just the well established ones) of Bealeton do bring it on themeselves. Case in point, during the first months that we moved into Bealeton, i stopped into the 7-11 to get a slurpee (cause slurpees rock). While I was waiting to pay, I watched a cashier stock these little rubber pigs. The cashier started fumbling with one. It turned out the pigs were lighters and the flame came out of the snout. The cashier thought this was the coolest thing EVER. She said to her coworker "Darlene would you look at this? The flame is coming out of his nose! I gotta get me some of these. Give some as gifts."<br /><br />And right then and there I thought "I have arrived.."<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-114127615634803744?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1138166639681911932006-01-24T21:04:00.000-08:002006-01-24T21:23:59.746-08:00Ok, Ok, I know I've been way too serious these few posts...I PROMISE I'll post something funny after this. But you know it's kinda hard following up the Meat Man...but whatever, i have some ideas...<br /><br />Anyhoo...background info: Comstock Law was this 19th Century law put into effect by this schmedrick Anthony Comstock who wanted to control the purity of the nation by montioring what people got in the mail (hmm...controlling what people do in this country...sounds like what?). Also, Comstock wanted to keep birth control illegal, and you know abortion wasn't even an issue then...<br /><br />Abortion...yes that's partially what's on my mind. Now, if anyone is like anti-abortion is gonna hate me no matter what I say, please don't bother to read or post comments to this blog...that disclaimer said...lemme go on...<br /><br />I was reading the paper today and happen to pick up the front page...which is a big rarity considering I only care for the Metro section most days (I like to know what's going on around me). I noticed there was an anti-abortion rally in DC. The article went on and on about how today's anti-abortionist are tickled pink at the prospect of Roe v. Wade being overturned (it ain't over until the fat lady sings I say). Then something caught my eye...One woman apparently was holding a sign that said "Abortion is mean, sex is good, the pill is not." <br /><br />Ok...ok, lemme take a deep breath...First off, let me say that I am personally against abortion. Yes you read it here, the Bealeton Babe is against abortion. However, I would not condem someone for having an abortion...(before people in my past come creeping up on this blog, I condemmed one person ever for having an abortion and it's too long of a story for a blog...maybe for a made for TV movie...ask me personally another time). I personally would never have an abortion, however, I cannot tell a woman that was raped and impregnanted to carry her child to term. I also cannot tell a woman who's husband is an abusive a-wad to carry his child to term. I furthermore cannot tell a dirt poor family to bring another child into the world that they cannot afford. Finally, I cannot tell a woman who was made HIV positive by her idiot cheating husband to carry his child even though there is a chance it could be born without HIV (think this doesn't happen...wrong...read up on what's going on in Africa a bit more...and because people have no access to care...children ARE being born with HIV). <br /><br />That's my abortion rant. Now to the cute little comment on the sign...yeah maybe to that person abortion is mean. Fine, whatever. Sex, yeah sex is good. The pill is bad? WTF???? Maybe you think the pill is bad...and trust me, I know where this person is coming from. I used to be in the fog haze that I should never do birth control, and do only the rhythm method, but then I like grew up and realized that I could not chance bringing a child into the world until I was ready. Years ago, women had no opportunity in this world. They were expected to make babies, cook, and take care of their family. The pill offered women a chance to become more than just housewives. As a housewife myself, i see nothing wrong with the housewife but here me out...<br /><br />Years ago, when I first started my teaching program, I was at a holiday party at a friend's house. I was talking about my desier to have kids, but my need to wait until school was done. A friend said to me...why wait? Have the baby now, finish school later. My answer was simply this "God forbid something happens to 'the man', I need to have something I can do to support the family." Right there is why the pill is good. I was able to nearly precisely plan my pregnancy so I was literally waddling to get my degree. <br /><br />Women just need a chance. And yes, there are condom, and yes there is that lovely rhythm method, but both are unreliable in preventing pregnancy. (although the condom still should be used to protect against STDs). The pill at least to me, made sure I didn't get pregnant while I was in school. Now yes, there is the occasional pill failure, but it is rare. No one should be criticized for being responsible, and smart. For crying out loud most women on the pill are certain they are not ready for a family and who wants children brought into this world that are unwanted?<br /><br />Many would say, "Oh they can be adopted into loving families that are waiting to adopt". Listen to me...America has many many children that need a home. As do children in China, Africa, and Romania, ect. But especially America. I want people to understand that when some of these anti-abortion people (not all) say that these children should be adopted...they very much don't understand that many man, many children of color are waiting to be adopted. However the key word here is children of color...and I'm gonna stop myself before people go nuts on me..but just think of that...<br /><br />If I need to, I'll take the pill again, all women who take it, no regrets...And ladies, I can't tell you what to do, do what you think is right and what is right for you. Cause no one is gonna look out for you but yourself.<br /><br />-The BB<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-113816663968191193?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1138121626368987802006-01-24T08:42:00.000-08:002006-01-24T08:53:50.330-08:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/1942/1600/blah!.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/1942/320/blah%21.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>See this picture up? It's a case of perfect timing. Now unless you've seen the Baby Einstein video collectoin, you are not going to get why I find this picture so perfect...but background info...</p><p>Baby Einstein is a set of videos designed to make kids smarter by teaching them about words, music, art, shapes, colors...ect. We have 'the boob' watch the classical music ones. In one of the videos...there is this dragon...I have now confirmed his name is Bard...Bard comes around and says "BLAH!" really lound and stucks his toungue out during one of the videos. Apparently kids are supposed to think that this is like the coolest, funniest thing ever. I think us parents get more of a kick out of it. My husband and I in particular really got a kick out of it. So I went and got 'the boob' the above outfit, and my mother in law (who also finds it so hilarious) got above stuffed Bard.</p><p>One day, I decided to take pictures of the baby for an online charity photo contest. I had in my mind this idea for a picture. I just wanted to sit 'the boob' next to the toy in her outfit and take a picture. However, Boob had other ideas. As soon as I snapped the pic, she stuck her tongue out like so. When I snapped the picture, I was like "No she didn't just do that." I snapped a few more pictures then I checked them out. Apparently she did stick her tongue out! Just like Bard!!! So it's a matter of perfect timing and perfect baby...lol..(no no I'm not a biased mother). Anyway, as a postscript, Tori didn't even place in the online charity photo contest...guess no one got the baby Einstein reference...but she did place first in her division in another one (oh now don't go "oh she's one of THOSE mothers...if you got a picture like that you'd be entering it too!!)</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-113812162636898780?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1138120761765450672006-01-24T08:34:00.000-08:002006-01-24T08:39:21.813-08:00I think the best advice I ever got when I was planning on getting married was "Don't ever sleep in different beds no matter how mad you are." I got this advice from my friend Laini's mom. We were at her shower (one year before my wedding) and everyone was asked to give Laini advice on her impending wedding. Her mother took a deep breath and gave this advice. She went on to say how no matter how mad she got at Laini's dad she never ever slept in a separate bed. She went on to say...<br /><br />"Even touching in bed is important. Sometimes when I was so mad at your father, I would get in the bed, and face my back to him...you know get into bed all huffy (she demonstrated). Then I would slowly back at least my rear end towards him...then my full back...But somehow i was touching him. And then somehow it all seemed ok and easier to make up..."<br /><br />It's not exactly how she said it...but something like that...and this advice, out of all the advice I've gotten, i still use. No matter how mad I get at 'the man' I still get into bed with him. Granted it may be HOURS after he's settled into bed, but I do get in with him. I'll get in slowly...keep my back to him...then suddenly...his arm is around...and somehow, it's all ok...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-113812076176545067?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1134351395750394892005-12-11T17:20:00.000-08:002005-12-11T17:36:35.766-08:00Ohhh, does that title sound like a big fat innuendo (I can't spell...my dad is so disappointed...all those hours practicing). Anyway, you know how kids go crazy when the ice cream man comes into town? Eddie Murphy did a great stand up piece on it in the '80s, wrote a song about it an everything. Well did you ever think there is a ice cream man equivalent for men? There is...it's the Meat Man...now pay attention here. <br /><br />I love my hubby, we have established that already. However, he's always on me about saving money. And I have become such a Frugal Fanny that even he is impressed with my comparison shopping and coupon clipping. Also, I have become much less of a 'impulse buyer'. Well the hubby, with all his frugalness, totally contradicted himself the other day.<br /><br />At this point, i need to explain, 'The Meat Man'. The 'Meat Man' is a classic example of how I live in a rural area now. If you've ever watched shows like Little House on the Prarie or the Waltson, you may have seen something like the Meat Man. It's a guy that owns a farm to raise and slaughter meat. After their meat is ready, they go door to door trying to sell their wares. Well in modern day terms, our meat man is a company, not a lone farmer, and they have already packaged and frozen their meats. However, they still go door to door selling their wares. On Friday, my hubby was lucky enough to open the door (I was nursing, I would have sent them on their way cause I've gotten good at saying 'no'). Hubby, on the other hand, has not gotten good at saying 'no'. <br /><br />So this is where I compare the Meat Man to the Ice Cream man. My frugal, money conscience hubby spent $170 on meat. Yes, that's $170 on meat. We don't have to buy steaks or anything for quite a few months (until March). He got T-bones, special cuts, pieces wrapped in bacon, and even crab cakes (so not all meat, the crab cakes were a bribe to me I'm sure). Our freezer is stuffed. While I see the reasoning behind his buying the meat (it's cheaper than any of our area food stores), I find it hysterical, it was my hubby that succombed to the Meat Man.<br /><br />So I'm guessing, the Meat Man is the grown man equivalent to the Ice cream man. That truck goes down our road playing southern rock music and the men come running out chasing it going "Meat Man! Meat Man! Gimme mah meat! T-bone steaks, choice cuts, stop here!!" Then the men look over the Meat Man's wares, chose their picks, and then write their checks (or pass over their credit card). Afterwards they do their little dance (if you haven't heard Eddie Murphy's ice cream man gig you won't get this).<br /><br />"I got my meat, and I'm gonna eat it all, I'm gonna eat all the meat...<br />You ain't got no meat...cause you're a pussy, you're has you whipped...<br />and you can't have none, you can't have none..."<br /><br />Something like that is how I see the song going...then afterwards, follows the only time a man will organize the freezer (no way his woman can figure out how to fit all that meat--oh the puns!) . <br /><br />The next day the hubby turned to me and said "I just spent $170 on meat". I asked him if he had buyers remorse and he said "Hell no." Well let's hope he's not taking a day off again when the Meat Man returns...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-113435139575039489?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1134092082125947852005-12-08T17:32:00.000-08:002005-12-08T17:34:42.133-08:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/1942/1600/100_2535.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/1942/320/100_2535.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Happy Birthday to my dad Joe Cool, the coolest guy in the world...and ablsolutely the best daddy in the world....<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-113409208212594785?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1133928498903197682005-12-06T19:55:00.000-08:002005-12-08T17:36:36.560-08:00It's the time of year again. And what used to take us only one day to do, or a matter of hours, has been taking us days. I'm STILL decorating the tree since getting it on Sunday. Somehow with having a baby, you don't exactly get to spend three hours in a row straight doing something. Also, over the years, I have amassed a huge amount of Xmas decorations and it's become a science of putting them on. I have the nearly 30 year old sleigh that has to go near the top and all the wooden reindeer ornaments have to trail behind it in such a fashion. This year, the presents in the back of the sleigh ornament came apart. So the hubby needed to glue it back on. That stopped production for a while. Also, the hubby and I have our own hobbies reflected in our tree. He loves airplanes. Therefore, we have airplane ornaments. I collect Barbies, over the years, family and friends have gotten me quite a few Barbie ornaments.<br /><br />This year, to save space, I decided to put some Barbie ornaments on my sofa table. Hubby said they actually look nice there. So now I've got Barbie ornaments, airplane ornaments, the sleigh with reindeers, I also have the enesco set of Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer ornaments, the nursery rhymn ornaments from when I was a child, and various Christmas balls with some that date back to when my grandfather was alive...<br /><br />Why do i keep all this stuff? Simple the ornaments reflect not just milestones in my life (wedding, first baby, ect), but they reflect my childhood, my history...ect. I remember as a child our tree would be in front of the window or in the middle of the living room. I'd be able to walk around it easy (right now my tree is against a bookcase, thus not making the back accessible). I would walk around my tree and create a story for each ornament, especially for the nursery rhymn ones. There are just too many memories in many of them to just throw out or not put up.<br /><br />My mom always says how they need to throw out their ornaments and start over. My natural mother actually had a very 'clean tree' (white lights, white balls, snowmen ornaments). I just can't go with a 'clean tree'. I like see the mishmosh of my Christmas tree. I think it embodies my husband's and my personality. And over the years, it will show my daughter's too...isn't that what it's all about? A tree of memories?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-113392849890319768?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1133804590684762812005-12-05T09:38:00.000-08:002005-12-05T09:43:10.686-08:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/1942/1600/100_2447.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/1942/320/100_2447.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Here, I promised pictures...here's the first...the queen of our hours..Signal aka. Siggy, Sigue, or booboodog. She's wondering when this new 'puppy' is going back to it's original owner...well actually I think she's just getting that this new 'puppy' is here to stay.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-113380459068476281?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19599033.post-1133803663857014162005-12-05T09:20:00.000-08:002005-12-05T09:27:43.906-08:00So it's my first post...This blog has been made in order to save space on mine and my husband's site. I'm not sure if I will post a link to said site yet, cause I'm debating whether I should do that or not. But on my website I was keeping a kind of online journal. I was resisting this whole blog thing for a while because well...time. But I see so many friends of mine keeping blogs and so much stuff has been going on this year I figured...why not...<br /><br />About me: I'm 29, half Puerto Rican, Half Ukraine/Irish. I'm originally from NJ, but now I live in Bealeton, VA (wow maybe in retrospect I shouldn't have named this blog after where I'm from...but oh well...). Bealeton is a little town that you can drive through on the highway on not even know you passed it. Unfortunately progress is coming our way, and I'll talk about it, but hopefully it will take it's sweet time. <br /><br />I'm married, to a rocket scientist...no I'm not being a smart ass...he really is a rocket scientist. I'll be talking about our relationship and what it's like to be married to someone so freakin' smart it makes you feel sick sometimes. But I love him and he's just great...except when he's whining...(just kidding sweety...not really). We became first time parents in Oct. 2005. Our daughter is the most beautiful thing in this entire world...and she's got to be the best baby in the world. And let me say, there is no way like having a baby to show you whether the man you married is the right one or not...and Kevin has definitely proved himself one hundred times over. He was awesome during my pregnancy and he's awesome with 'the boobie girl' (boob for short). <br /><br />Another thing about me...I'm a certified teacher...however I've taken time off to raise "the boob". I teach middle school social studies (yes I'm crazy).<br /><br />Finally, my husband and I have 7 animals. One dog, three cats, 2 ferrets, and 1 bunny. All rescue situations. Their stories i'm sure I'll be telling one time or another. They totally add chaos to our life. I love em...dearly...but sometimes they drive me to drink.<br /><br />That's the basics hope you keep reading my blog. I may post pictures from time to time...we'll see.<br /><br />-The BB.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19599033-113380366385701416?l=bealetonbabe.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Bealeton Babehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00080621626530802660noreply@blogger.com2