October 02, 2006

Where to start?

There's always so much I'd like to write about, but the moments of true epiphany only seem to really occur right during the times when I CAN'T write about them.

I hope that makes sense, because to me that last sentence is quite profound.

There's been an assload of times for example, when I'm sitting around at work wishing I could pick my nose, contemplate the meaning of life, trim my toenails, or do SOMETHING more interesting than wait around for the phone to ring, where I would love to pop off an update. [Heh. That sounded kind of dirty and I liked it.]

ANYWAY, to get back to my previous thought, I usually have ample time (and plenty of opportunities ) to update at work. But, since some assmonkey (possibly even me, who's to say? Nah, it couldn't be me-I'm too much of a company-orientated chick) over-abused the web surfing privledges at work,(No, really, I only surfed during my lunch hour, I swear!) we're restricted from my two favorite fuck-around-with-when-there's-nothing-to-do-at-work sites, MySp@ce and this one.


Sigh.


Now, I'm left with looking at www.snopes.com during the working hours, which only can tide one over for so long.

So I THEN come up with some fantastic opportunities after work, or during the weekend, where I think, "OK. Now I'm finally going to get the moment to write down what I've been trying to remember to write down during the excruitating count the ceiling tiles at work time", but hey, no fucking dice.

Why, do you ask? (Maybe I'm just fooling myself here, thinking people are still reading this crap after endless days of writing.absolutely. Nothing, but hey, just go right along with me and my ego and pretend, ok?)

Why? Because My Hubby, good ole Captain Insecurity, thinks I'm doing something far more nefarious than that. He fools himself into thinking that I'm hitting on people, or setting up after work trysts with good looking men, or whatever it is that his freaky little mind cooks up, and I get to play 120 questions with him about what I'm doing, who I'm talking to, and what I'm plotting against him, when I'm doing simple things like reading the news on Y@hoo, or re-setting the date and time on this ghetto laptop, who, just like Prince for some strange reason, keeps constantly insisting that it's STILL 1999.

Did I mention that Hubby now has weekends off, and how very pleased I am?

Please don't get me wrong. I really AM happy to be seeing more of him. Please also realize that after 8 years of being in a relationship, and 3 of them being married, that I went from seeing him around 9PM every night (a good 4-5 hours of after work-winding down time) and him working weekends (I have them off) with a couple of days off for him during the middle of the week, to him working from 5AM to 1PM (thereby being home right when I get off work) and having weekends off. So, after I got used to seldom seeing him (which took a HELL of a lot of time to get accustomed to) to seeing him every.free.minute.of.my.time.off.work, that it's been a little wierd to get used to. Mind you, it's only been 2 weeks that this has been going on, and that I'll get used to this much more quickly than I did the other evil schedule. I realize that. Right now, however, I'm ready to rip my hair out with my fingernails, and then rip my fingernails out with my teeth. By then, he'll be stuck with a bald, fingertip bleeding wife. Who the hell wants that? Hell, do I want that? It's highly doubtful.

I could seriously do without the paranoia, though. I mean, shit. All I want to do is get my feelings out that he doesn't even want to hear/listen to/even know about somewhere where there's no harm, no foul. Where's the corruption in that? Or the trysts, dammit? I don't even KNOW of anyone else that I'd want to be with.

Except maybe for a couple of hours alone with me, myself, and I. Some alone time would be pretty dandy right now. From having too many hours to zero is a tough change. I think it would be tough for anyone.

Wow. I didn't know I had that much to vent about, actually.

So, since I have completely and entirely forgotten what my original post was going to be about, I thought I'd let you in on some bee news. Maybe that will prompt me to remember what the hell I was going to talk about.

One of my hives completely bailed. That's not the technical term, of course. The correct term is "Swarm". And swarm they did. Oh. My Goodness, did they swarm. Approximately 30,000 bees took off from our back yard and promptly landed...right next door. Where they sat for 3 excrutiatingly long and embarassing days before they found a new place to go and finally left to wherever it is that 30,000 bees take off to.

My neighbor even asked me if I could maybe take them in, since I knew about bees. Somehow (maybe it's because he's about 3 years from ancient?) he didn't make the connection that they came from my yard. Maybe he was just being diplomatic. Either way, I played dumb very well.

Why did the bees leave? Who really knows for sure? If the hive wasn't big enough for them (and I DID consider this a possiblitly, briefly) then they would've left half of the hive to tend for a new queen cell. They make a queen (they're tricky, I tell you) that will hatch in 20 days from the time the current queen takes off with the other half of the hive. It ensures that all of the bees are happy and stable.

ALL OF THEM LEFT . Was I a bad host? Hardly. I have two other full hives of at least 30,000 each sitting in my back yard. Were they overcrowded? Not really. I have room in the yard for about 6 more hives without having to worry about competition. Were they sick of city living? Was it time for them to go on vacation, maybe to Disneyland? Who knows.

What I DO know is that there were no mites, and there were no moths that moved in, and that the hive was healthy. They must have had itchy feet and the desire to roam. Crazy queens have been known to influence a hive to do weird things. What I do know is that my Uncle the bee expert is stumped as to why they decided to leave. So, we'll just say that they decided to see the world, and that's that.

So, the empty hive sat for about 2-3 weeks. I've developed a nice healthy case of apathy towards hive tending, and so I nurtured it for that time.

My Dad needed the empty boxes so he could use one of each of the three boxes they abandoned on each of his three hives, which were needing the extra expansion room.


Thankfully, Hubby helped me move them into the car, since they each were slightly heavy with the honey that was left behind. He found some black widow spiders which had inhabited the bottom box, and dispatched them before they went into my car. Thanks, Hubby!


I brought them over, and it was honestly one of the most disgusting things of my life. Not the transporting. That wasn't bad at all, actually.


When I got them to my Daddy's, we had the excellent (and I'm being sarcastic in the most sarcastic ways that sarcasm has to offer, here) duty of cleaning them all out before we could place them on each of the healthy hives. The bees do a fair amount of cleaning out of the frames so they can prepare it for their use, but we help them out a little bit so they don't have to spend the entire hive's energy on cleaning out a ginormous mess.

Moths had moved in and laid their eggs, you see. That wasn't too bad, because most of them had hatched and flown away. Spiders had gotten in and made webs to catch the ants that were exploring the hives from being attracted to the honey. That was small potatoes.

The worst part of all was the fact that there were MAGGOTS in the fucking frames. That's right, Fucking Maggots . Maggots so bad that they deserved italics. And capitalization.

Why did these maggots deserve all of this special punctuation, you ask? (Again, humor me with the fact that someone's reading, ok?) Because they were in every single damn frame in every single box.

Each box has 9 frames. Each frame is about 6" high and about a foot and a half long. Each frame also has the combs in it where the honey's stored. You've all seen that before, I'm sure. Now, picture each and every single one of those holes on just about every frame housing a live, wriggling, disgustingly agile maggot inside. Then picture your father telling you that you've got to scrape out every single one and chop it in half.

I almost threw up in my mouth. I kid you not. I mean, for one thing, what's the point? Of kidding you, I mean. Not hurking in my mouth. That just simply couldn't be helped and was a gut reaction to the job.

We came to a deal where I got the bulk scraped out, and put it in a brown grocery bag. The ones that required manual finger extraction were not the ones I had to deal with. Dad could either do something with them, or not. I didn't care.

So, once we had 2 entire grocery bags full of squirming disgusting evil pupae, we lit them on fire in the back yard. Mind you, I'm really not keen on the concept of killing ANY living creature, be it disgusting or not, but part of me was happy at seeing my heebie-jeebies disappear from what I had just experienced.

I'm not happy to report that the bulk of them still refused to die, for the most part. It does coincide with my theory that maggots are evil beings, however. We buried them in the back part of the house out by the street. It's a pretty busy intersection at my Dad's house, so the smog's probably going to be the only thing that kills them, since it appeared to me that nothing else would.

The bee story gets rather anti-climatic at this point, and I'm pretty bored/getting sick again remembering it all.

So, as an added treat, I thought I'd end this entry with something slightly more positive and a lot less disgusting.

I had a great birthday this year. Like Andria's birthday, it was the birthday without end. As a matter of fact, my birthday was on the 17th, and I got a birthday card this last Friday, the 29th from my beloved brother.

I got to hang out with my best friend Tee, who was kind enough to wax my eyebrows (hey-I asked her to!) and made me a beautiful beaded necklace. It has a purple and gold femo bead with a smiling sun, and a whole bunch of purple beads with beautiful golden yellow beads as accents. Muy Bonita!

Hubby, my Mom in law, and I went over to my parents and had the best dinner ever. They gave me a wonderful card and a bee ring made from gold and jade.

Hubby bought me a wonderful citroen and mother of pearl and silver watch, which I'm still proudly showing off to anyone who will look.

I played Bocce the day before my birthday, and we got 4th place in the entire league, and were the only team from Thursday to even get to the playoffs. Plus, they gave me a great card, and a decadent chocolate cake with chocolate frosting.

I received cards from all of my dear family members, and got phone calls (HOURS of them!) from them as well.

Good times.

All in all, I'm living a pretty damn good life.

Even though I don't have the job of my dreams.

I can say, though, for a fact, that one of the other things that I wanted to be that I didn't mention in my previous entry was a forensic specialist.

After this weekend with the maggots, however, we can definately rule that one out.

So, at least I've narrowed THAT down a bit, too, eh?

~Toodles!

clipchick at 10:21 p.m.

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