Busy Busy Bee

I am 24 years old, now, and have never been stung by a bee... well... up until one night about 2 weeks ago, anyways. :-(

I got home from work a bit later than planned, and we rushed around to get everything together and get Austin ready so that we could head up to the Fort for the game. The plan was to get there early so that he could warm up with everyone and be ready for the start of the game.

Yeah.

That didn't exactly happen.

We got on the road (finally!), and got stuck in traffic. In order to avoid even just a little bit of stress, we turned down a back road to skip some of the traffic. We were almost at the end of the road when we realized that Studly didn't have his ID with him... didn't have any ID with him. So we turned around and headed back towards the house to get his ID.

When we'd finally got the ID, we turned back towards the Fort and took the back road again to avoid some of the traffic, and save a bit of sanity. Time was ticking and we were getting closer and closer to game time, yet we hadn't even made it on base!

We finally see the gate, turn in, and are quickly turned away. In our haste to make it to the field in time, we had turned in to the closest entrance... but didn't consider the fact that my car didn't have base stickers. Boo!

So around we went to get through inspection and hustle it on over to the field...

But wait...

What field are we on?

We drove in circles, already having missed the start of the game... the dog was whining, the husband was stressed, and this wife was going crazy!

We finally spotted the field and McStudly hopped out to get over there ASAP. I went on and parked, got the dog out, and got all of the "shtuff" together before beginning the long awkward hike to the bleachers.

At this point, I felt like I could at least take a deep breath. We'd made it. Studly's head was in the game, the dog was out of the car and no longer whining, and we were finally good to go for another couple of hours. With Austin in hand, we crossed through the tall grass area and were finishing our little trek across the grassy knoll, dotted with spots of dandelion weeds. All the while we were walking, I was thinking about how I'd have to check the pup for ticks, later, because of those long weeds we'd walked through.

oww...

Ouch...

OOOOOOUUUUUCCCCHHHHHH!!!!!!

WHAT THE HECK IS THAT?!?!

Oww OWW OOOOWWWWW!!!!!

In that split second between feeling a little prick on the arch of my foot, and getting my hand to that area to wipe away what I thought would be a stick or something that was poking me sharply, the pain intensified immensely!! It was only a split second! I mean... what the dilly?! What the HECK kind of devil stick is this?!

It wasn't a devil stick. Well, devil seems fitting, but definitely not a stick.

...stupid little bee...

In the time that it took to blink while turning my head down to my foot, and also while reaching my hand down to wipe away the devil stick (all in less than a second), my hand touched the spastic wings of the stupid little devil bee before my eyes did and I FLUNG it off my foot!

Totally freaked out, now!!

Well, I hobbled over to the bleachers, which were still a good 100ft away from where "it" happened, and stretched out the hand that was holding Austin's leash...

"Hi, umm... can you hold my dog?!" Poor stranger was nice enough, though. He took his leash and watched him while I examined my now gimpy foot.

Poor little lefty. *sniff sniff

Sure enough, I had been stung right on the arch of my foot. I'm still not really sure how it happened, but it did. And at that moment, all that mattered was knowing that the little devil bee that had stung innocent ol' me was now dead. (I promise I'm not a violent person... but I know bees don't have feelings, so I was perfectly fine with the fact that he died for what he did to my foot. And I did NOTHING to him! Grr... yes it was a boy. No sweet little girl bee would do such a thing for no reason!)

So I basically sat there staring at this odd looking target-esque devil marking on my foot trying desperately to breathe deeply and fight back the tears that were welling up behind my oversized brown sunglasses (so thankful I hadn't forgotten them!), all while McStudly had not-a-clue what had been going on.

I got out what I thought was the last bit of the stinger (found out later that I wasn't accurate in that assumption) and used the antibacterial hand sanitizer offered up by another sweet stranger to clean the war-wound and keep it from getting infected. I asked that poor girl so many questions... I had no idea what to do about a bee sting!!

Well, as you can tell I survived. I did make it and now my foot is on it's way to some semblance of "normal". I went to the doctor last week for a follow-up on some other things, and mentioned the bee sting to her. It was super itchy and driving me CRAZY, so she gave me some topical cream that would help drive out the rest of the stinger and relieve the itchy reminder of what that devil bee did to my poor little left foot.

I don't care how cute of a movie they made, those bees are evil little creatures!

A Love Letter

Dear Snobby-Old-Lonely-British-Neighbor-With-Nothing-Better-To-Do-Than-Worry-About-Other-People:

If you don't like it, then DON'T LOOK! Forgive ME for going out of down for a family funeral and not stopping to worry about taking my freaking trash to the dump before I left. I'll try to plan the family deaths around the trash schedule and your preferences next time.

And if you're going to report me to the HOA, don't LIE and tell them that the trash has been outside for 2 weeks, when it'd only actually been out there for 2 DAYS!! Let's face it: You'd either report me for putting it at the curb too early, or apparently you'd report for not putting it out soon enough. Good GRIEF!

Have you stopped to consider that the REASON you're so lonely is because you're so stinking NASTY to anyone and everyone around you that doesn't live to your personal letter of the law?

This is America. A land of freedom. A land where we know we're not perfect, and we don't pretend to be.

So please - dismount and park your high horse somewhere else, because I don't give a rat's vomit about what you think of me. And clearly that feeling is mutual.

If you (and your new redneck friend downstairs) had taken just a moment or two to get to know my husband and I, then you'd know that we'd do anything we can to help you, should you need it. Lord help you if anything should happen and you can't maintain your home (especially if the HOA came-a-knockin'). Or should you get hurt and not be able to do more than yell for help, we're the ones that would hear you.

Have you stopped to think about that? Have you considered that maybe we'd would be better allies than we are the enemies you're making for yourself? No. Of course you haven't. Because that would require you to think about someone other than yourself.

You're an angry old lonely woman, and that won't change until you do. And unfortunately for us all, that will probably never happen.

My suggestion? You don't like it here, then leave. You do like it here? Act like it and quit making everyone around you so miserable. Then... tell your face. Your angry wrinkles are giving you away.

Signed,

Your annoyed and already wanting to move as far as possible neighbors next door. You know - the ones with the dog that poops. *GASP!