Jellybean salad!

Hey there, gummi bear!

Yesterday I went on a wander through my hometown, accompanied by my faithful Tupelo (and Veronica, though she played a somewhat minor role in this tale), documenting what I saw. It was actually quite informative, believe it or not. For instance, I only then realised that there are public rubbish bins along the side of the street. Who knew?

As I was picture takin', who should pull up but my dear old dad. Though I was initially annoyed with him for inturrupin' my creative flow, annoyance soon turned to greatful...ness(?) when it struck me that he had just saved me a long hike up a hot hill, or three. Plus, as a super! fun! bonus!, we went to the Bookmobile. I don't know if you are familiar with a Bookmobile. It is pretty much an RV Winnebago type vehicle, converted to be...::drumroll:: a library on wheels. Pretty rad-o-licious, no? Old ladies hang out on the Bookmobile...but so do wee tots. At least, I did. So when I entered said Bookmobile, I first smelled its bookmobile-y scent, then scampered off to the children's section. It was awesome.

You know what else is awesome? Earning money. To earn money, you work at a job, like me. Which is usually pretty sweet, except for when you have a "Regardez! Un'redardez!" day, like I did. Apparently, I still suck at not dumping buckets of knives. Only today I think there was a spoon or two hittin' the floor as well. ::sigh:: And I broke a wineglass. I am so going to get fired, one of these days...

I really like walk-in refrigerators. Or, at least, I did. Even though they usually either smell tres rank or overpoweringly like bleach, it is oh-so-refreshing to pop in there for a bit during a super-hot day. The keywords in that sentence being "super-hot day." It is much less fun to root through near-frozen cherries in a cold room when outside it is all gray and foggy and subzero and damp. And root through chilly cherries I had to do, in my miniskirt and short sleeves in the walk-in, as my fingers went numb. Jolly good fun! But even frigid rooting was more enjoyable than the slicing and pitting of the 100+ cherries that followed. Italy damn well better be fun.

Imagined conversation about work between Bee and a current classmate:
Bee: ...Yeah, so I'm pretty much working with, and, like, palling around with kids that beat me up in elementary school.
Mate: ::gasps, eyes go wide:: You used to get beat up??
B: Not so much beat up, I guess, as made fun of, laughed at, hurt, picked on, emotionally scarred, physically assaulted....
M: But you're like Jesus! Or, like, a god of awesomeness!
B: Yeah, well even Jesus got crucified. And godliness, like cleanliness, is an under-appreciated trait in the middle-school set.
M: I'm wearing socks.

....I make such clever conversation in my mind. If only I could be so witty in real life.

It's ridiculous how much I'm looking forward to the 22, when Paris Hilton's CD comes out. I listened to the single/watched the video (well, most of it) on her myspace, and it's actually pretty good. Catchy, fun to listen to, hot blonde chick in the video, all the makings of a great pop song.

What is wrong with me? When did I go from an intelligent, vinaigrette makin', homework doin', political activist 12 year old to a burned out, pepperoni pizza eatin', class failin', 16 year old cynic who puts ranch dressing on her salad and looks forward to the release of an heiress's pop cd? Somewheres around 8th grade, I reckon. Junior high...it's so....magical.

Counting the toes on her right foot,
Bee Electric

P.S. I have pictures to put up...but my internet connection, blogger, and deviantart have all been being lame...