I Am Bee Mice Elf

“It ain't what they call you, it's what you answer to.” ~W.C. Fields

Is it Wasted Ramblings of a Useless Mind or Useless Ramblings of a nevermind…

Written By: IAmBeeMiceElf - Sep• 02•21

I’ve had so much on my mind lately – too much to get into right here and now … I’ve been paying Go Daddy for this site since… I don’t even know how long now- at least 4 years, I can tell you that. I have 27 “pending” posts sitting in my drafts folder – all half assed thoughts that I haven’t had the motivation to spell out to get to the point. I have one pending about divorce – and how much it sucks for the kids… but really, that’s the whole point, I just made it – divorce sucks for the kids – why should I walk us through it? Just to get to the point, which we all already know. But I do it – I walk it through for both your benefit (thanks for reading btw :D) and for my own. Yes, we know it sucks, but when I walk us through it, I find what I need to be okay with it or, or to have an acceptance, or even just a little understanding. It helps me to see it more clearly, when it’s all written out in a coherent way, instead of the seemingly random and unconnected thoughts –writing it all out … it helps me connect them   — and usually, from your feedback, you appreciate it too.

When I first started posting to the blog, it was supposed to be a place for my writing. I was thinking of pursuing that as an extension of the work I was already doing; writing content for other people’s websites and blogs. I was going to use it to showcase what I wrote about, as example-portfolio-resume kinda thing – but it turned into more of a diary with peepers (thanks AGAIN LOL) and I never actually did anything with the writing.

Sometimes though, I like to write it all out to avoid thinking about things I’ve thinking too much about. There is no point to be made, just mindless wanderings. Thoughts that have no answers, or at least ones we’ll never know in this lifetime  – the ones that makes you feel like you want a Pepsi. “I was just like staring at the wall thinking about everything. But then again I was thinking about nothing.”  The ramblings that will follow are just that – thoughts about nothing and everything == and if you can’t keep up, don’t worry, neither can I — so you see my problem…

My uncle recently passed away, it’s been one of the many things that have been really weighing heavily on me. It was one of those passings that will effect me the rest of my life – right up there with the loss of my grandparents — the kind of hole in your heart that is never really filled – and still, all these months later so hard to even grasp as real.

There was never a time in my life when he wasn’t there – from the day I was born. I have to think I will see him again which makes me think I must have known him in a before. As I was pondering life’s imponderables, an episode of Bones was playing in the background.  “Nothing in this universe happens just once. Infinity goes in both directions. There is no unique event, no singular moment.”

I wonder how many of the people I meet now are people that have followed me through all my lives. All the kids I knew from when I was little … will they follow me to my next life? It amazes me to think of the years and years I spent with some of those people. A lot of us “kids” are at the age where we’re losing our own parents and my heart breaks for them when I hear about – there is still the connection even though I haven’t seen them longer than the amount of time I had spent with them.

What about the years spent with former co-workers – and even the people I’ve met for 2 minutes through work, or the people I’ve only “met” online. 20 years ago, I was very active on MySpace. I still have some of those friends today, on Facebook. There was a guy who frequently posted in the same forums as I did and then, all of a sudden one day, someone posted a news article about someone they found deceased in a town where this person lived. This was a world wide message board but this guy lived about 6 hours away from me, further upstate and the person who found the article lived on the West Coast.  Several years after that, I was working in a little hole in the wall store when a customer paid with a credit card that had the same last name as the person I knew from the MySpace forum – I commented on the unusual named and mentioned my deceased friend from the forum and what a great guy I thought he was — it turned out -she was his mother. She burst into tears and hugged me and thanked me for remembering her son and speaking so highly of him. I never saw her again. What are the odds – a random little shop, in a tiny little town – 6 hours away? Something had to he “aligned.” I still wonder how his son is doing, he was only 5 when his dad died.

My longest employment was for a dairy company. I was there almost 15 in years in total, having started as a temp before being permanently hired. I haven’t worked there for longer than I did but I still think about so many of those people. I’ve found a few on Facebook and it always makes me happy to see them happy. There was one temp named Maria, who I felt an instant kindredness. We lived parallel teenage lives – her in New Jersey, me in New York – Metalheads who married their our school sweethearts -and both remain married to this day. We were definitely destined to re-meet in this life even if we don’t remember the last one, I’m sure that had to have been one because I felt it when we met, before I even know she liked Rob Zombie \m/.

I”m sure I could write slash think about this for at least a few more pages, for at least a few more hours, possibly days – giving so many names of people I’ll swear I knew and I know will meet again. Sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. I guess I also have to believe the people that I “clash” with, must be here because I haven’t learned whatever lesson I was supposed to – or maybe they killed me in a past life so we’re obviously connected – I have to believe they are also following me through my incarnations for a reason —

When people sing and talk about love they connect the heart and soul. It makes me wonder if like… the the heart is the “contacts” and the soul is the “GPS” — the people who leave the biggest marks in your heart, your soul finds them in all the other lives? I think this also explains why you have family that is blood and might as well be complete strangers and sometimes you “find” your family where there is no blood at all.  I don’t know — I told you in the beginning this was my rambling

Can I say this? Should I say this? I’m GOING to say this!

Written By: IAmBeeMiceElf - Sep• 26•18

A very successful writer friend once told me “never put the apology upfront.” I wrote that first because, if you’re expecting an apology, you might as well stop reading now.  She also said “avoid cliches,” but this whole thing is so predictable it’s hard to avoid them. I’m going to say it.

I’m not surprised that people sugar coat their memories, but I’m also not one of those women who subscribe to a “29 and holding” mentality. I love being 50. I embrace every year.  I’m not shocked when I see my peers talk about “these kids today.”  I realized long ago that my similarly aged peers love recalling a time that never happened. They remember being respectful, and following rules. They remember listening to good wholesome music and spending weekends home, studying – not all lousy with the sex, drugs, and rap like these rotten kids today. I don’t share the same delusions and not only vividly, but fondly, remember skipping school, having parties at houses of the friend’s whose parents were on vacation, listening to “satanic” Motley Crue, and “dirty” Prince. I’m going to say it.

I get that a lot of people don’t like dwelling on a shitty childhood, they see no reason to seek out other adults who may have had similar, shall we say “harsh”, upbringings. So I’m far from stunned when girls don’t want to think about being groped, molested or raped as teenagers.  What we can’t forget is that other girls remember. We remember your stories and a lot of times our own. All of us. Every single one. I’m saying it.

Me Too? Yes All Women?  Why are we not coming together on this. I don’t understand how women who I know were raped by their boyfriends in high school, say they don’t understand how another woman did not come forward. YOU didn’t come forward! I was there WITH you!! I’m saying it!

I don’t understand how, girls, we all had that one friend… None of us wanted to spend the night at her house. Her dad was creepy and weird. We had no cell phones, we couldn’t just call our parent to come and get us. We ALL knew that dad, that house, that friend. The friend was popular, the whole family was – but we all knew. We all, somehow, just knew, we did not want spend the night there – because of the creepy dad. We weren’t nuts. We didn’t all have the same “delusion.” We weren’t dad haters! We spent the night at lots of other friend’s houses. Even friends with single dads, or ones who only spent the weekends at their dad’s house. Some of us even had friends who confided that the dad WAS molesting them. HOW many of you? Right now, reading this, remember that! More than are admitting it, I can tell you that… but now, for some reason, we REFUSE to believe when “our friend” is arrested for it. We all knew that dad had friends, we wondered how none of them saw it but now, you don’t see it in your own friends!  So I’m saying it!

Ladies – how many of our friends were raped by their boyfriends? How many of us? Back then it was called “date rape” and we didn’t talk about it. Well, we didn’t talk about it to the grown ups, we talked about it to each other. I can’t comprehend the forgetting this. I understand the not wanting to, but not the complete denial. I remember when it happened to you. I wrote about it in my diary, I kept one back then. And now, I’m saying it.

Guys – I get that it’s very VERY, earth shatteringly, uber and utter important, the foremost fact that MUST be mentioned before you will even consider ANY further discussion on this topic — NOT ALL MEN ARE LIKE THAT– okay? There you go, full acknowledgment. YOU are obviously “not that guy”.  (please know that I rolled my eyes when I posted that). I know that people learn and grow. I’m glad about that. I remember when you you tried to feel my friend up on the couch when she was drunk. I’m not about to call you a rapist. Your friend is a rapist though. MY friend never told you that, I never told you that. Because you wouldn’t have believed it. He’s a nice guy, you’re a nice guy and nice guys aren’t like that. Except, they are, and I’m saying it.

Do you not remember, that I remember you used to peek in my little sister’s window? Do I think you grew up to be a rapist? NO, I do not! But… your loud cries of calling for heads of others, while not even acknowledging that YOU weren’t always so “enlightened.” You don’t remember, but I do, and I’m saying it.

I’m sitting here, typing this out and trying to “consider my audience.” I’m trying to read what I wrote and wonder the countless ways it is going to be perceived. I foresee the people who will skim it over and reply with “full stop, no woman deserves to be raped”. I don’t know who, or why these people choose to comment. I never know where they get that from anything I ever wrote or said. I anticipate the “not all men are like that”. I specified that, I thought, pretty clearly, yet – someone WILL reply with that. Following closely will be the “if someone peeped your little sister’s window, why didn’t you call the police?” Those people failed to see to entire point of this entire blog entry. EXACTLY, Barney! Why didn’t we call the police?? People want nothing short of written confession and photographic evidence before they will even entertain considering the thought that some guys MIGHT be like that! That’s why I’m saying it.

EVERY girl -YES, I am saying that with 100% certainty! Understand that,  do NOT think I”m exaggerating for effect – EVERY girl, is, was or knows, a girl who was preyed upon in some skeezy way (from an incredibly inappropriate touch to a full on assault and rape) solely because they are female.  EVERY guy KNOWS a guy, who has done this. Please understand, I am saying this unapologetically. You know a guy. Trust me, you do. Leave a girl alone with him, we can tell you who they are, we won’t need all that much time. I will go further to say, if you THINK you don’t know a girl who has been preyed upon, it’s because one never told you about it. She knows you’ll probably say “not all guys are like that.” That’s why I’m saying it.

If anyone is going to take anything away from this, and I really want you to understand what I’m saying – We can’t go back. We can only go forward, and we should do that clearly. We all need to remove the fog, or whatever it is, that prevents us from truthfully remembering.  From here forward, when someone comes forward -clearly remember- when it happened to you! Remember when it happened to your friend! Remember when you had the “weird vibe” about “the nice guy with friends”! When YOU peeped on someone’s little sister. No, it’s not all guys, so let’s ALL acknowledge CLEARLY the ones who do, when they do. We need to start believing people who come forward.  I’m not calling for heads.  I’m simply calling to acknowledge that we need to acknowledge it to move forward- because it seems we haven’t even gotten that far. We need to stop sugar coating memories. I had to say it.

Erica – A living Comet A Dirty Snowball

Written By: IAmBeeMiceElf - Apr• 26•18

Comets are often referred to as “dirty snowballs.”  says these people .   I was not aware of that until I looked it up for this story. I have to laugh, because I love describing my friend as a dirty snowball – But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The obvious first question is, who is Erica? Erica Chase-Salerno was diagnosed with Stage IV breast cancer in the Summer of 2015.  Read the story of her journey via her own words HERE. This is the story of the curve in her road where she intersected with me. I had  heard about Erica before meeting with her in real life. She had a rather large online presence and local following through her columns in Kids Almanac. She was married to a former high school classmate of mine. I had seen her posts and comments on mutual friends walls (we currently have 43).    I live in a small town, everyone either knows you or knows someone who knows you. There is no way not to know Erica, there is no way not to know me, yet, we did not know each other.

Right now, I need to be up front and admit, I have a measurable degree of “paranoia” –or as I like to refer to it as a jungle survival skill– about my townsfolk.  I wanted to like her, she had liked some of my comments, she had agreed with some things I had said, but EVERYONE liked her which usually means you’re spineless or you’re wishy washy or afraid to make a statement or a go with the flow not to make waves – or some other character flaw that usually prevents me from having any kind of respect for you.  Not to mention that people dislike me, I have town, school, and police agendas and meeting minutes to prove this; so when I’m cautious of people’s intentions, it’s not fully unjustified.  Approximately 3 seconds after meeting Erica “in real life” I realized… she was a dirty snowball!

I was sitting at the Main Street Bistro with my friend, another former classmate of her husband, when we met. I think her husband walked out first and we acknowledged each other with a nod or a hey… and then she walked past … and I’m not sure who spoke first -because as I’ve learned, we’re kinda kindred that way- it’s just as realistic that she reached out as it is that I did — but I know it went something like this “OMG! I’m so glad to finally fucking meet you!!” met with equal enthusiasm from the other.

In her writings, she speaks of the cosmos, the stars, the celestial. She fully, happily and unapologetically admits an obsession with Neil deGrasse Tyson. Also, she loves THE Rock and comets are made of rock, but that just might be a coincidence.  In the most recent addition to her story she wrote about her “Death Room” which she named “Celestina.” Comets come from the leftovers of stars and planets formed billions of years ago. We are all billion year old carbon, but Erica is bigger than that. She’s a comet. She some how encompasses billions of years of knowledge, insight, and acceptance and shares it with us, through writing about her illness. I didn’t know her “before”, but I am assured she was quite as firey in her lust for life when she had no “reason” to be. Erica recently spoke of her urgency to try all the things and seizing the moments on the radio show No One Like You.

This story sounds like it’s becoming an ode. It’s reading like a letter to Leif Garrett in Tiger Beat magazine. But that’s the feelings she invokes in people. There’s a reason she curses like a Teamster and glows like an angel.  Only the idea of a being so advanced that she sees through things like “curse words” and “politics” – someone facing something even the strongest warriors fear and not only meeting it eye to eye but then… flipping it off by saying FUCK YOUUUUUU CANCER.  I’m going to live! I am going to emit the stardust in me and share it with my friends and anyone else who will listen! For as long as I am alive I will BE alive!

There will come a day, when I go to post a really bad pun on Erica’s wall, and then I will remember, she’s not here to see it.  She is stardust. She is golden.

Deja Vu of a drunk… RIP Hermie

Written By: IAmBeeMiceElf - Aug• 15•15

I love Facebook.  I would venture to say it touches on a mild “addiction” — it is usually the first thing I check in the morning, and the last thing I do before bed.  I can use it for productive reasons.  I can be prepared for road closings and inclement weather, and I can find these things out without checking multiple sources.  There is local and world news, and other informative news stories I might not otherwise know about through mainstream or traditional medias. I can use it for fun – to play games and take silly quizzes.  I don’t know about you, but I’ve always wondered what kind of dog I would be or how well do I realllly know 70’s music lyrics.  I can use it to research (what day does school start again?? Where can I get THE BEST root beer floats? What is the name of that thing with the thing that I use for the thing, no, not that thing, the other thing??)

Not only do I love posting things myself – but I love reading the stuffs other people post.  I love the diversity of my friends list.  I (literally) have crackheads and cops – priests and sinners – a political range from anarchist to pastafarian – vegetarians and carnivores (i don’t think I have any vegan friends? I might, but my page is open for any friend of a friend to comment though) – award winning athletes and completely content couch potatoes – people who proudly “don’t vote” and people who hold offices – …

I have something in common with all of them (even the vegans :D) and they with me.  I am motivated to post things that pertain directly to me personally and things that I know my friends would appreciate — some overlap.  There are also things people don’t talk about; like growing up with a drunk for a step parent – that I know pertain to me and probablydefinitely  some of my friends.

Right now I should say – I KNOW “the correct term” is “alcoholic” –someday, when I write a different story, from a different perspective, I will be sensitive to “the other side”.  Believe it or not – I DO empathize with the addict.  I really do.  I get that there’s a physical need (an actual physical NEED) — but that is for another blog – this is the one from the perspective of former 10 year old with no concept of that  – who shouldn’t have had to have a concept of any of this.)

Today, a friend posted a story about hermit crabs.  Seems harmless enough – right? Then, I remembered “Hermie”.  My sister’s hermit crab.  I had forgotten all about him. ((This is not a pity story – it’s a deja vu story.)) In my thoughts of the dear departed Hermie, I wondered if his demise was a typical drunk thing, or if it was specific to “our drunk.”  Hermie was flushed down the toilet while he was still alive.   Days earlier my sister had been ordered to “get rid of it” – she was 8, what was she supposed to do with it? So she kept him hidden under her bed.  During the day while drunk step parent was at work – she would have Hermie out playing with him (as much as you can a hermit crab). She would sneak fruit and other treats to feed him.  Once she found a bunch of dimes in a pay phone coin return.
((::waits for the kids to go google “pay phone and coin return”::))
She used the money to buy him some dried worms from Sue’s Zoo pet store.  That doesn’t seem like much – but back in those days you could get 3 or 4 candy bars for that same dollar and change,  you could get a HUGE ice cream cone, or at least 2 sodas.  For an 8 years old girl, spending your money on worms instead of ice cream — well,  you have to love a hermit crab to give up an ice cream like that.

Some memories play out like a movie – where – you remember every detail, as if it were happening all over again.  You remember the smells, the sounds, the words of the conversations, the feelings and all the events in the order they happened.  Other memories are like a slide show — you don’t remember every specific aspect or technicality.   You remember bits and pieces of the story with maybe a general feeling of remembering fondly or not so fondly – The memories that are snippets – for me – those are the “forgotten memories”, the ones that come back when I hear a story about hermit crabs or see a drunk yelling at his wife and kids at a fast food restaurant.  These fragments, short little slideshows – these are the memories that “didn’t really matter” – I mean, of course they mattered.  They  just don’t matter enough to consume my life with remembering every detail about them.  Other memories, like seeing your mother set a bed on fire so you could run from the house during a particularly violent argument – those memories, while they don’t “consume” me — They are easier to remember details.

My sister had Hermie for almost a whole year – she had won him at the fair.  It was THE BIG prize for throwing ping pong balls into the fish bowls.  Everyone tried to win that crab. But it was my sister who got the grand prize.  She was so excited.  He lived that whole summer and through the fall, winter and spring.  I dont’ remember what caused drunk step father to order her to get rid of Hermie.  I do remember asking all our friends in the apartment complex if they could take him.  She was giving everything- His house, his extra shells, the food she bought.

She cried.  A lot.  No one could take him.  The day Hermie died was like any other day.  It was early summer and it stayed light out until late.  Our bed time was 7:00 pm.  It did not matter that we could still hear all the other kids outside playing.  It did not matter it was still broad daylight out.  The drunk step parent said BED TIME, so, it was bed time.  To this day, I’m not sure why he came in our room.  But he did.  Hermie was under my sister’s bed, in the index card box that was his home at night.  Drunk step parent heard the scratching.  Of course, we both said we didn’t know what the noise was – and of course – he looked.  With the details being fuzzy – I remember a lot of anger on his part, a lot of sadness on my sister’s part.  Her, begging and pleading to let her keep him, begging and pleading to give her another chance – Him blustering about whatever tangent he was on at that moment — which honestly could have been anything – MAYBE that day he was going to be “a good guy” and let us back out to play with our friends, maybe he was going to yell at us because our friends were playing too loud, who knows.  (yes, I know, it had nothing to do with us, and you know it had nothing to do with us, but in his drunkin mind, most things, everything, whatever things – were our fault.)

I remember him saying this was her fault, as he flushed Hermie,  because he had told her to get rid of him.  I remember —  of course thinking what a gigantic dick head he was — but I remember being so hurt for my sister.  Actually, I was a horrific bitch to my sister, which I still feel immensely guilty about, still, now, even today.  I remember being so hurt for her, and with her.  She loved that stupid crab.  Even though i didn’t show it as much as could have – as much as I should have, I was heartbroken for her — I remember most about that day, besides the re solidification that drunk step parent WAS actually, in fact, a gigantic dick head – my sisters heart being broken, like I had never seen up til that moment. This memory is a deja vu for me — a snippet – a slide show.  I think, for my sister,  It’s a movie memory.  A memory burned in, complete with smells, and sounds – A recollection that shaped her – one that just doesn’t come to the surface when she reads a friend’s post about hermit crabs.  And just like “Facebook friends” don’t talk about growing up with a drunk – even though it “overlaps” – families don’t really talk about it either.

i’m 47 years old – i AM 47 years old – I am 47 years OLD

Written By: IAmBeeMiceElf - Jul• 31•15

I went to get ice cream the other day — they were out of chocolate sprinkles.  The girl working asked if I wanted rainbow instead.  NO! I don’t care that I’m 47 years old – chocolate and rainbow sprinkles are NOT the same! They are not interchangeable.   I can’t even believe she would suggest such a thing and obviously had no business trying to sell me ice cream.  Once, when I was in ShopRite – a little girl was zig zagging as she walked down the meat slash seafood aisle.  Her mother looked down and told her to knock it off.  The little girl respectfully pointed out that she could only step on the white tiles in the black and white floor.  I don’t understand how any parent can not know this unwritten childhood law of supermarket shopping.  It’s right up there with not stepping on the cracks in the sidewalk.  I was actually very sad for that kid who’s mother did not remember this basic rule and would not let her continue with the plan. Someday, that woman may have a broken back from her kid stepping on the crack – or a broken spine because her daughter stepped on the line – and she will have no one to blame but herself.

Last summer I won so many concert tickets — Buckcherry – Crosby, Still, and Nash – Journey – Cheap Trick – Fuel – Boston – Steve Miller – Candlebox –  and so many more … I met so many cool people at those shows;  like I always have since my very first show — Twisted Sister – You Can’t Stop Rock n Roll Tour 1984 at the Mid Hudson Civic Center in Poughkeepsie NY.  I am so lucky to have been born when I was.  January of 1968. I have seen hippies, punk, and disco – I have seen 8 tracks, reel to reel, compact discs, and mp3.  I saw bell bottoms being worn in the 70’s, 90’s and now again (they may change the name -bell bottom to flair leg to mermaid leg … it’s all the same).

I’m 47 years old.  I can remember thinking, “35 years old is ancient, you might as well be a hundred, it’s almost exactly the same.” — yet somehow, as I get closer to 100 – I realize, not only am I grateful for every single year but that there is no such thing as grown.  There is only growing.   A friend recently tagged me in an article he posted on his Facebook page about how former metalheads grew up more “mentally well adjusted” than the kids who listened to other genres of music. It’s funny – that I’m 47 years old – I remember “meeting people” over the CB radio – and now 40some years later I”m “meeting people” on the internet.  I think of the people who are 100 now and imagine what they have seen in their lives. Do they want to deny themselves any of the years they have lived? If 35 is old… if 47 is old – what is 100? Pretty friggin awesome if you ask me.

I don’t understand why – especially women – deny their age.  I am 47 years old.  I WANT all of those years.  There are none I want to give  back to make myself younger.  I read all these stories about how women in their 40’s don’t give a crap what people think.  I never gave a crap.  Now, people will say – “Yes you do, or you wouldn’t have to say you didn’t” — except – I mean — I obviously dont’ want people to dislike me – I’m not a psycho – but really … if you don’t like me (ESPECIALLY for a non reason or because “you heard something” or because your friend doesn’t like me) well — no, I have no use for that.  I don’t care what you think.  I’d like to think that I was ahead of my time — that my peers have finally caught up in the “this is me, take me or leave me.”  And then I wonder how, a person can claim to be “grown and mature” and not like someone because their friend doesn’t.  I guess childish adults are another blog – this one is about this adult – who is admittedly “immature” and doesn’t pretend to be otherwise.

I’m 47 years old – that means … Ive seen shit, man I’VE SEEN THINGS!!!! I KNOW you don’t interchange chocolate and rainbow sprinkles — I know that it means you don’t step on the {color set by the child at the time of the encounter of the multi colored square} tile in the supermarket — I know that it means you reach out to “the kids” because reality is reality – in 1968, 1984 in 1999 in 2015 people have NOT changed — then I think – maybe it’s because “i’m metal” – maybe it’s because the outcasts knew there were no grownups.  Maybe metal kids saw through the hypocrisy of “grown up” because — well — Twisted Sister were “grown up” – Judas Priest was “grown up” – Alice Cooper was older than all of them and he was definitely NOT “mature.”  Maybe it’s because I felt those “grown ups” understood.  They remembered what it was like to be a teenager and they obviously must have been in on the big secret of “not caring” what people thought.

As I write this out – I can’t help but notice my own hypocrisy.  I talk about “grown ups” as if I don’t know, I am one ((and it kills me to write that out loud!)) I mean – I am 47 years old, I know I’m not “a kid”.  I know, in every analogy of life … whether it’s “the path” or “a hill” or “a journey” – I know that I’m on the descent; the second half of my “growing up”.  I also know I want these years and I am grateful for them.  That’s the theme here, right, that I’m thankful to be older -every day for every day?  I graduated, probably at the bottom of my class.  I had no intention of investing my youth in school work.  I had a life to live and it wasn’t in the walls of a high school. Actually it was, because that’s where my friends were – but as far as “the institution” itself, I had no interest in learning, being there, or paying any kind of attention.  I did the minimum that was required to pass with a 66 average and got the hell out!  My graduating class’s salutatorian passed away our 2nd year out of school in a boating accident, while away at college. He wasn’t the only one – there are a few of my old classmates who haven’t made it this far.  There have been a few (too many) who have recently passed away – from “the usual” things “old” people die of … accidents, cancers, heart attacks, suicides…

Which year do I want to give back to take some numbers off my age? The year we skipped school (more than once) and spent 6 hours at the Ponderosa All You Can Eat Steakhouse?  2-3 cars full of friends, wasting the day in the buffet, smoking cigarettes, talking about boys, and what we were going to do after we graduated? No, I want that year.  What about the year, when I was far too young, to get pregnant with my daughter.  No, I want that year too.  Would I give back the year my grandpa died? No, because to give it back would still be one less year I had to spend with him.  There was that one year I got my car repo’d.  Yes, I still want that year too, and the 2 years before that I drove around in my first “new car” — well — no, you can’t have any those years back either.

Youth thinks they have a 100 years and that it will feel like one hundred years – Age knows, those years last for one second. Youth thinks old people don’t know anything – old people were young a million years ago and this is a different world now.  Age knows, people don’t change, but age is forgetful.  Age says things like “we weren’t this disrespectful when we were young” and “these kids today…” — what I like to remind my peers, is that, there were no “good old days.”  We are 47 years old.  We were born in the 60s!!  A decade definitely NOT famous as a mellow and calm or “respectful” era.  We were kids in the 70s – cocaine, punk, Kent State,  Charles Manson, and birth control  (were these the years kids were “decent and respectful”?).  We became of age in the 80s! I do NOT want to give back ANY of the 80’s, totally, fer sure, gag me with a spoon – I LOVED the 80’s!! But I’m not about to claim we were sweet and proper. It was the birth of the PMRC – my metalhead years!  The years WE WERE “these kids today”!!! How do we forget that? Please, my peers – DO NOT forget that!

The man who coined the phrase “Never trust anyone over 30″, just turned 75 years old. I heard he’s still a community activist.  I bet he wouldn’t take back any of his years either and I’d bet he is proud and happy for every one.   I am 47 years old.  I want all my years.  I want my peers to want their years.  I want people to ask “how old are you?” and every woman to proudly say *the number* with NO shame!, with no hesitation, with no reluctance or waffling! SAY IT! Say I AM 47 YEARS OLD and I want every one of my years.  I want as many more as God wants to give me … and as long as I have the ability to remember (most) of the previous ones, –as long as I am able to know you can’t change rainbow and chocolate sprinkles, as long as I am able to remember you don’t step on the black tiles in the checkerboard floor, as long as I am able to control my bodily functions, I want many many more!!   And I’m not giving any of them back!








The Shape of My Damage – Kintsugi

Written By: IAmBeeMiceElf - Dec• 28•13

I don’t cry in front of people- it means I’m “a baby” and I’m weak,  at least that’s what I was told.  I don’t talk about the things closest to my heart, like my kids or my deepest fears, I don’t talk about the shape of my damage – because people will use those things against me to hurt me.  BUT – If you cry in front of me, or tell me your thoughts and dreams – it means you trust me and that you are strong enough to have an open heart.

I become weirdly attached to my possessions; my clothes and tchotchkes – because as punishment my most prized stuff was often thrown in bonfires. If I throw them out it means they meant nothing to me either.. BUT – every few years I clean out a bin or closet and I find something I forgot I had. It’s like my own personalized thrift store.  I AM getting much better at throwing away the “junk” and keeping just the important things. I got rid of all the Jordache and acid washed jeans (no matter HOW good they DID look on me back in the day…) and kept the one pair all my friends signed one day after finals. I remember sitting on the front lawn of the high school  —  Joe, Charlie, Carl, Eddie, Bobbie, Andrea, Kelly – “I hate jocks” “Sex Pistols” “POWARE” {punks on warpath anarchy rules evolution} “Plasmatics” a random “I heart Japan”, which, I’m sure, at the time, meant something – all permanently recorded in black marker like a denim time capsule. I still have a long way to go in parting with things though.

I’ve never read any of the classic books like Tom Sawyer or To Kill a Mockingbird because I would be punished if I was caught reading.  If you read for fun when you were young, I’m almost jealous – I couldn’t even imagine the joy of reading without the fear of “getting caught”.  BUT – nothing is stopping me from reading them now, although, I’m sure it would have been more meaningful if I had read them during my formative years.  I was 40 by the time I heard of Hunter Thompson and only recently read Animal Farm and Brave New World – it’s the best kind of second childhood! Finding new thoughts and ideas for the first time, well after I thought I was all done growing.

I distrust most grown-ups and authority figures – I question their motives – I wonder if they are the ones who go home and kick their dog and beat their kids…. because it’s NEVER the ones you suspect — so EVERYONE is suspect!  …and even though I AM loud and opinionated – when faced with said grown-ups and authority figures, I sometimes become like a 2nd grader being sent to the principal – almost afraid and VERY uncharacteristically insecure and self conscious. BUT -I don’t see adults as automatically deserving of respect.  “They” are all hypocrites – every single one! I might be fearful or insecure but I’ve only recently come to realize (even though I don’t like it) I AM one of “them”.  I love to see kids stick up for themselves against adults. I have the odd? nice? UNIQUE! perspective of vividly remembering what made adults seem like douche-wads when I was young.  Mostly, treating kids like “non-people”, like their opinions and feelings and their (however limited) experiences don’t matter.  Why do grownups forget how awful it was being young? It was ONLY “the best time of our lives” because we have 40+ years of perspective. It sucked! Other kids were horrible, grownups were horrible, we had raging hormones that we had no concept of, we are expected to “act” like adults but still treated as “children”.

I (mostly) love the analogy that children are like clay – that we mold and sculpt them with everything we impress upon them – the good and the bad! We leave a mark, we shape them. I say “mostly” because unlike clay, people have will and spirit and can help shape themselves.   I can’t completely buff out the dents that were imprinted upon me and I wouldn’t want to.  I like my perspective and I wouldn’t be able to see things the way I do if I was impressed upon any other way.

Kintsukuroi or kintsugi is the Japanese tradition of fixing broken pottery with gold. I like that idea.  Instead of seeing my shape as “damaged”, I see the “mistakes” fixed with something beautiful.  I had no control of the damage that was put on me, but I can fill it in with something beautiful.  I am a gold filled, cracked pot! I can’t think of better way to describe myself.

I might be damaged because I don’t stick up for myself, but the gold I filled it in with let’s me loudly and vocally stick up for a child.  I might be all scared with a polka dotted pattern of randomly sprayed drunkin’ fighting and violence but the perforations have been filled with gold.   The broken part of me thinks, putting stuff like this out there, it’s too much information, it’s none of anyone’s business.  Nobody gives a crap because everyone is damaged.

The golden part of me knows … There is a “grown up” somewhere, right now, who had a shitty childhood and feels damaged.  They tried to fix it with clear glue, so they would “blend” – They don’t see why they are perfectly broken, why they should embrace the cracks. There’s a kid somewhere -RIGHT NOW- being wronged and NO ONE is listening, no one sees what’s right in front of their face, no one wants to “get involved”.  Maybe, someone does see, but they don’t know what to do, because they don’t trust other adults either. I put this out there for the ONE kid – who MIGHT read this – and KNOW – he is being shaped and molded and maybe even “damaged”, but if he keeps his will and spirit, if he knows that he can fill the damage with gold  – so he never gives up on himself.  Even if it breaks my first rule – of not putting my damage out there.

Humans, Compassion, Policies, Lawsuits and Independent Contractors

Written By: IAmBeeMiceElf - Oct• 09•13

I have a big mouth, I’m unsophisticated and I’m juvenile.  It’s gotten me trouble more times than I can count, for as far back as I can remember.  Now, as a grown up –I shudder even typing those words– I sometimes don’t know when to speak up.  I don’t know whether, it’s the immature me “fighting authority” or there really is something “not right”.   The thing is – I don’t even “fight authority”.  I do not follow ANY rule or policy I don’t agree with. I’m just as happy to quietly disregard it, rather than fight, so when I do speak up, I feel pretty confident that I’m not wrong.

I actually have another blog that goes some length into what led up to me becoming the temporary crossing guard – a position that is STILL AVAILABLE by the way (tell a friend!)! Check the media links, the blog titled “why this is important to me”  and my disclaimer.

While every responsible entity (the school, the police, the town, and the village) all believe it’s a horrifically dangerous intersection – NO ONE wants to be responsible for it. They are going to such great lengths to distance themselves from the position, that I am not even employed by the school, the police, the town or the village – I’m an independent contractor.

This blog is a “Tales From the Intersection” inside an “I Am Bee Mice Elf”  to make sure everyone understands that these are MY words and observations – me as MaryAnn (parent, human, tax payer and person standing in the rain) NOT as MaryAnn (the independently employed crossing guard standing in the rain).

During my short stint as a lunch lady (employed by the school) I learned there were some things we (employees) shouldn’t talk about, mostly things that could appear unfavorable about the school if taken out of context.  Of course at that time my area of interest was food and the cafeteria because that’s where I spent my days and saw what was going on.  Now, I’m standing outside in the rain, employed by myself, so my area of interest is traffic and pedestrian safety.  All the while, my main concern, my reason for giving a crap, is because of the kids.  I could care less about meeting government requirements for a balanced lunch if it meant one kid throwing away an apple that another kid would have enjoyed eating. I will “steal” the apple destined for the garbage, and give it to the kid who will eat it, and “THIEF” being permanently added to my employment record is something I can live with.

So now I find myself – again – in a position of shaking my head and thinking this is the reason I don’t want to be a grown up.  If grown ups can reason and rationalize why you should leave people outside in a tornado because of policy – then I don’t want to be a grown up and I won’t follow the rules.

Monday there was a tornado watch (meaning conditions are favorable for one to form, as opposed to a warning which means RUN AND PRAY!)  School was let out at regular time but after school activities were canceled. My shift is 2:15 – 3:15 in the afternoon with the school dismissing at 2:35.  As the winds were picking up and I could see the black clouds rolling in, I thought I would pack up a little early – all the kids were supposed to be gone and the parking lot was mostly empty.  At 3:00 I walked over to the school building where an employee was outside.  I asked “are all the kids gone” (explaining that I was probably going to head out).  He said yes, except for the two kids waiting for their parent.  I called to the girls sitting on the steps to see if they needed to use my phone to call anyone.  They said no, their mom was on her way.

Now, the big gray and black cloud is completely overhead, the wind starts picking up and it’s raining gigantic drops but only a few every few seconds.  I asked, “if it gets any worse can they go wait inside”   –NO, once they leave the building they are not allowed back in, the school is closed.”  I said, “I don’t want to just leave them here.” —Now the wind is blowing out of control and the sky just opens up dumps sheets of  huge heavy rain drops – I was soaking and completely saturated through, literally within seconds!!  People were making mad dashes around us, running for car and cover.  So we stood there for maybe 2-3 minutes – the girls on the steps and me in the parking lot  … and then their mom pulled in.

I’m glad the mother got there when she did – I was scanning the parking lot looking for a ditch to huddle in if a saw a funnel cloud approaching – yes, I’m dramatic – but this is what goes through my mind when there’s a tornado watch – WATCH for tornadoes – the conditions are favorable. I later posted about what happened and I did it in a public forum.  I posted out of concern. NO, there was NO tornado.  YES, the kids mom came right away. NO, no one was hurt, maimed or killed. …But – what if the mother had been hung up in traffic?  What if we DID see funnel clouds?  I posted because I am a human being who was concerned for other younger human beings.  It was suggested I speak to the principal of the school and see what the actual policy was and take it from there.  I didn’t get a chance to do that as I was approached first thing the following morning.

I was confronted by a person who was upset by what I had posted.  I was informed to “speak to him in the future before posting things like that”  I was informed that my version of the events didn’t happen the way I explained them.  The purpose of his “talk” was clearly to reprimand me and not to inform me of what the proper protocol is when leaving children in dangerous weather conditions.  After I finished my shift, I went into the prison after passing through multiple doors and buzzer systems, oh sorry typo… I went into the school, yeah, that’s it.. the school – I asked to speak to the person who confronted me earlier.   I needed some clarifications and wanted it known that I had NOT posted to make anyone look bad and the events as I explained are EXACTLY what happened.

The end result of the conversation was that he wouldn’t be opposed to letting children back in IF he saw funnel clouds but he’ll have to take it on a case by case thing.  If something like this happens in the future I should instruct the kids to go to the youth center or “the pizza place.”  Each potential disaster will be taken on individually.  In the event any children are left behind, the general rule is that — NO! They will NOT let a child back in the school.

This answer might appease some people.  Some people are okay with kids being left outside in hazardous weather conditions .  They understand policies and laws. I’m a human being.  I can’t accept “we’ll cross each bridge when we get to it.” — When should I start knocking on windows and steel doors in the hopes that someone will hear me to buzz us into the prison? Should I wait until I see funnel clouds? What if that person is gone for the day? Who else is authorized to disregard “the policy” and let people wait in the vestibule when the funnel clouds start forming?  I pass this on so in the event of a natural disaster… if you can’t find your middle school student – check “the pizza place.”



We’re All Alone Together – I’m out on a Day Pass

Written By: IAmBeeMiceElf - Sep• 23•13

I hate doing housework.  Not that housework itself isn’t reason enough to hate it, I usually wind up thinking … well not so much “thinking” as listening to the angel on my one shoulder converse with the devil on my other– It’s more like… eavesdropping on myself.  Sometimes I blast my stereo to drown them out, but sometimes they’re really entertaining.  Oh yeah – and before you get all worried and think I forgot to take my medication, I don’t think Satan actually lives on my shoulder or in my head, and there are no angels there either, I ASSURE you – it’s just what I call them –you call them whatever you want – Yin and Yang, peanut butter and jelly, Sylvester and Tweety … just know, I am not a danger to myself or others.

Today, the devil was telling the angel how we’re all alone in this world, while the angel professed we are all in this together. So while I was sorting laundry and defunking the bathroom this is what was going on.

Devil: We’re born alone, we die alone.

Angel: We’re born from love and there’s always someone who loves us.

D: You’re naive. Are you trying to tell me anyone has ever felt exactly the way you have? Are you trying to tell me, every person alive has someone who care about them? This is why we can’t be friends, that’s ridiculous.  Some people are assholes, they deserve to be alone and unloved.

A: Maybe they ARE assholes because they’ve been left alone and feel unloved.

D: So you proved my point – we’re all alone.

A; You don’t see a difference between being left alone and being alone?

D: If we were together, and one of us left we’d all have to leave, because… well – we’re together.  Just the simple fact that someone could be left alone, once again proves, we are alone.

A: Being left requires an action, just being doesn’t.  Not having people around you means you are left alone, either you left, or they left.  Being alone means you’re by yourself you stand ALONE.

D: whaaat the fuck are you even talllkkking about?! If you are left alone, you are by your SELF – ALONE!

A: Okay than, what’s his name?

D: Whose name?

A: The guy who’s alone.

D: There isn’t ONE guy! There’s lots of people!

A: There’s lots of people alone?

D: Exactly! By your own definition! You said  something like not having people around you means you are left alone being alone means you’re by yourself. There are lots of people alone by themselves.

A: It means there are a lot of people alone who don’t know they’re together – No one left.

D: If they are alone it means someone left.

A: Nope. If they are left alone it means someone left, if they are alone it means they are by themselves and no one is by themselves. .

D: You’re talking in circles.

A: You’re listening in circles.  You’re connecting the end of being alone to the beginning of being left alone.

D: How can I not?

A: You are hearing, when a person is left alone, they are alone – AND – you are saying by that reasoning, they can never be left alone, because we are together.  What I’m saying is once they are left alone – that’s the end of that – they are NOW together with the other people who have been left alone and therefore they are all together and not alone… They just don’t know there are other left alone people.

D: I hate you, this is why I moved all the way to the other side of the shoulders.

A; It’s okay, you’re not alone.

Nine Twelve to Nine Ten

Written By: IAmBeeMiceElf - Sep• 11•13

imagine if your entire town was wiped out in a fire set by arson

THOUSANDS of your brothers and sisters were killed

HUNDREDS more horrifically scarred from helping survivors




from picking through body pieces and parts of their neighbors and friends

and then told FUCK YOU when they ask for help with their healing


just the ability to die debt free of medical bills

and you SEE these people EVERYDAY

you FEEL the sadness EVERYDAY

but once a year

other people

want you to live in the ruins of the town


and see pictures of the destruction

and hear the names of your neighbors


and relive the horror

second by second


so YOU don’t FORGET

until next year

as if you could



((I think we should let people “remember” any way they want – if that means spending a peaceful day media free with people they love – if it means riding a motorcycle to Washington – if it means moments of silence – if it means a reading the names of those lost – if it means praying – DO IT – but, Jesus!! Do we have to judge the way other people mourn or honor?? If YOU really believe it’s “us against them” then why would you look at your own as people to fight with? hate begets hate what the fuck is so hard to grasp about that – EVERYTHING isn’t a FIGHT – THAT’S what got us what we have!!!  let’s FORGET world peace and try for peace on our own back yard – and if we can’t get that on 9/11 from other Americans then, God help us all, just bomb EVERY selfish angry piece of scum human off the face of the earth and at least give the real animals on the planet half a chance!))

If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other. ~Mother Teresa 





Mom of a Daughter? Mom of a Son? Mom of Human Beings.

Written By: IAmBeeMiceElf - Aug• 26•13

I was just very recently introduced to the expression “rape culture”, by a 15 year old girl who thought it was her job to school me on why I’m a “misogynistic pig who clearly hates her own gender.”  What did I do? What did I say to warrant  this very passionate presumption about my entire character?  I said “You should drink responsibly, and not the point where you will have no control over your own actions.”  I suggested if a girl wanted to get fall down drunk she should have sober friends to keep an eye out for her.  That’s what friends are supposed to do – because you could fall and get hurt, you could pass out in the street, you could choke on your own vomit and die — OR someone with bad intentions could use the opportunity to take advantage of your situation.  So rather than explain why I’m not a misogynistic pig who clearly hates my own gender, I’m going to embrace it.  If thinking that people should take responsibility for themselves and their own safety, (even and especially FEMALES!) makes me any of those things, than I accept that that’s what I am.

I almost titled this blog “Mom of a Probable Rape Victim – Mom of a PROBABLE Rapist” because that was the “cliff’s notes” of the conversation.  One of her exact quotes was  “Instead of telling me not to get drunk, tell your son not to rape women.”  Every male is just a predator, waiting to attack any woman the second he gets a chance and girls should be on their constant guard (by hating and bashing men and boys, not so much by NOT putting themselves in a place where they could be beaten and robbed by a person of either sex looking for an easy target).

INSTEAD of telling ME not to get drunk, tell your SON not to rape women? Where do I even begin with the complete and utter wrongness that is this quote.  FIRST OF ALL– i WILL tell you NOT to get drunk! You are 15 years old!  and – I don’t NEED to sit my son down and instruct him that he should not have sex with an unwilling participant.  He is raised in a way, every single day, so that “not raping someone” is a given in his common sense of humanity and decency.  Even though you believe he would just as soon slit your poor helpless female throat just to get a piece of that, I assure you, he would still hold the door for you (and not expect a thank you from your highness) – although, I do suspect from the rest of the conversation. that you would not only, not say thanks, but probably yell at him for being sexist in thinking you couldn’t hold your own door because you’re a woman.

You would think, that right there, I would have known it was a pointless conversation.  Clearly this WOMAN has learned everything there is to know about me and the entire male population in her fifteen years of life – yet for some reason I had not learned MY lesson and the discussion continued…. So I ask, “Let’s say I agree with you and all men are just rapists in waiting – do you think they should be arrested and brought to justice if they succeed?” – “Well of COURSE I do, but rape is a very under reported crime, most of the time the girl doesn’t even call the police.”  — “Well!?!  Isn’t another awesome reason NOT to be incoherently drunk! If you can’t even walk, if your senses are so impaired that you can’t even put one foot in front of another, how can the police, or anyone else, trust your account of the incident?  You won’t make a good witness, they won’t be able to bring it to trial.”

wait for it…


“So you’re saying I would deserve it?!?!” — THAT is what she took from my question.  I wanted to think she was alone in her non sequitur, but several girls in the conversation were as equally appalled at my apparent suggestion that, it’s justifiable to have sex with a girl who won’t be able to testify against you.  –That’s when I realized there would be no reasoning with them.   We were having two different conversations. They were discussing what happens in their little world.  A world where you can dangle kittens in front of {what you consider to be} hungry wolves and think it’s solely the wolves responsibility to maintain the sanctity of the kitten.  I was discussing letting your kittens out to play when you know they are in a safe environment, around domesticated wolves and sober people whose physical and mental abilities aren’t compromised.   I was discussing the responsibility for the safety of the kitten being with the owner – especially KNOWING some people DO look at those kittens as prey.

They don’t give you a book when you leave the hospital with a baby.  “Raising Girls for Dummies” or “The A-Z Encyclopedia of Bringing up Boys” – I don’t recall any specific lesson that I gave my daughter that I did not give my son (potty training aside).  When my son was younger I used to put his clothes in the dryer for a few minutes to warm them up ((I didn’t do it for my daughter because we didn’t have a dryer in our house when she was young)).  My friends would give me the biggest load of crap for that.  “You’re spoiling him for all other women,” they would say – but I want my son to hold out for a woman that will put his clothes in the dryer when it’s cold out – I’d also like to think I’m raising him in a way that he would do the same for her or even make her a sandwich if she’s running late for work.  I want my daughter to be treated respectfully and to treat people with respect.  I want that for my son too.   I do not want my children taking advantage of anyone, and I don’t want them taken advantage of.  I don’t want those things for them because they are MY kids — I want those things for them because they are human beings.

I hope the smart, albeit misguided young lady from our conversation is never a victim, and I also hope she learns that she IS responsible for herself, her actions and her own safety –  I hope if she doesn’t learn those things, that she has sober friends who will stop her from walking away from a party  or bar with someone she doesn’t know.  I hope if she doesn’t learn those things that her sober friends wont let her drive.  I hope that if she grows up to be a mom, that she realizes boys are not born evil, males don’t have a secret gene that makes them incapable of controlling themselves and that you don’t raise boys and girls differently, you raise them to be responsible human beings.