Grills, Girlyness, and Bees
Jun. 3rd, 2011 08:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tanarillBad tan, bad! Dropping off the face of the earth, and everything. Oh well.
Today is the forty-fifth day of the Omer, which is six weeks and three days into the Omer. Four more days until Cheesecake Holiday! \o/ You should all eat cheesecake, and thereby be religious.
What am I up to? A few things.
First is that our grill caught fire. I am aware that grills are supposed to have fire, but not on the outside, a foot tall. This happened several months ago, but it was as winter-ish as SoCal gets, so it did not bother us much. But it was Memorial Day weekend, so on Sunday Panda and JJ and I went shopping, and acquired a grill on sale. Then on Monday, JJ and I put it together, with some shouting, but mostly the instructions were pretty good. And then we made hot dogs and corn on the cob and kebabs. Now, I know what you're thinking: tan, you are thinking, are hamburgers not more traditional? And the answer is yes, but we had no hamburger buns, so we decided to make them hot-dog shaped. And since they were going to approximately the right shape anyway, and we had kebab mix . . .
That was Monday. On Tuesday I did exactly nothing.
On Wednesday, I went bra shopping with MW and her friend Helene. But before I tell you about that (and guys, if you want to read funny female antics, read that bit), I must tell you about Helene. And MW, I suppose.
MW is the kind of person who absolutely needs a person to talk at, all the damn time. Since the person who used to do that now has a three-hour time difference with MW, she went looking for a new best friend. Helene is said new besty. That part is fine; MW deserves to have friends too. The bit that I do not like so much is the bit where Helene seems determined to covert me to a more fashionable aesthetic.
I? Do not care about fashion. I don't actually hate it, since it makes some people happy, but I just don't see the point. My criteria for clothing have always been:
1. Does it cover my bits?
2. Can I get into and out of it without amusing contortions?
3. Is it comfortable?
4. Do I like the way it looks on me?
At no point on that list is there anything about fashion. In addition, I've never really worn cosmetics, except for things like lip balm which have a different purpose altogether. And I have long, frizzy, unmanageable hair. All of this is apparently fashionable. Not that I care.
So, anyway. Bras. At the beginning of high school, I was wearing underwired foam-padded bras, and this was okayish except for the way that, in certain positions such as any other position than vertical, there was quite a lot of room between me and the foam. Also, the underwires kept poking me in the armpits. So I gave up on those and moved to sports bras, which had the additional benefit of making my utterly insane boobs a little smaller. (Make no mistake, guys. Boobs are possibly the worst secondary sexual characteristic ever. They get in the way all the damn time.) So that was good, and comfortable, and if my boobs ended up being lower when the elastic stretched out, I was fine with this.
But Helene, and everyone else in the state of California, seems to think that your bra must result in your tits being in everyone's face -_- And, all right, I needed some new bras, so we went shopping.
First: why are there no bras on sale, anywhere, that don't have underwires!?! I mean, support is all fine and dandy, but if you have to use spring steel to get it, then obviously someone is doing something very, very wrong. So, fine, I settled for underwires, although I did stick to sports bras because it has more padding and is stretchier and are designed to keep boobs from flopping around. I am assured there is some kind of difference, although honestly I don't see it. It's fine, I guess :/
But then Helene insisted that I have to get one bra that shows them off. I don't see why; it's not like I have any low-cut shirts, or anything. Fine, whatever. Second: Why do none of the bras fit me?! Either there was a cone of fabric in a location that made me look like Madonna, or there was too much fabric just under my armpits so it made a visible-through-my-clothes wrinkle, or the shoulder straps were much too long, or it had pokey underwires, or . . . So, in the end, I decided that I'd buy the best of a bad lot, cut the underwire by an inch using Panda's wire shears, and then have MW sew the damn thing back in. But no. I can't modify a bra to fit, no. I have to try on forty more until we find the right one.
Eventually, I got four bras: one sports bra in three different colors, and one that is supposed to make me look nice, although I think it's kind of sluttish. And I point out to everyone, everywhere, that bras are relatively new, replacing corsetry as female undergarments only during the metal shortages of WWI. Also, I hate having big boobs.
Today, I did a hive cutout. This is what one does when the bees are living in an established hive in a wall, or something like that. These are the most aggressive bees, because they have a home and young to protect. It involves first removing a section of wall, and then using a knife to cut the comb so it fits in the frames of a standard hive, and then closing the wall back up.
This one was in a kind of pillar-like column, but the structural pillar was tiny and the feature was bigger, so there was a space between the two that had not been properly filled and sealed. As a result, the bees found a way in and built up inside there. The owner said that they'd been there for six weeks, but from the amount of hive in that hive, it was more like 18 months to a year.
These were amazingly, ridiculously docile bees, for having their home invaded. They were pretty much totally calm while we ripped open the wall of their house, stole their babies (and killed some of them :<), and dropped their honey everywhere. They really only got aggressive when we started to literally scoop them into a cup and dump them in the new hive.
Which is not to say they were not stinging. I was wearing leather-palmed gloves, and doing most of the comb cutting, and they kept stinging the leather. This didn't hurt me, of course, and I was all, "D: Don't do that, you're going to . . . die. Damn." This is because bees have a little venom sac attached to the stinger, which is pulled out of the bee when the stinger sticks in something and continues to pump venom into the sting. Having a bit of their insides pulled outside is . . . not good for them. But after a while, I had bees climbing all over the gloves, not to sting, but to lick up the honey I'd spilled. Such cute little probosci!
Then I went to go scoop some bees, and one stung me on the back of my gloves, which is ventilated elastic cloth. The sting, or course, went right through. I'm proud to say my reaction was not to drop the cup off bees I was holding, which would have pissed them off more, but finish with that, and then announce I'd been stung and excuse myself to remove the stinger/venom sac. It is important, when stung, not to grab the stinger and pull it out, since that just injects everything in one go. Instead, get something (like a credit card) under the venom sac, and then in one smooth motion flick it up and away. The glove was useful with that, since there was already the cloth there that I could just pick up to remove the stinger. Then I went and put baking soda on it, which is supposed to relieve pain, although really it stopped hurting after a few minutes anyway. Next time, I think instead I will go suck on the puncture, to get some of the venom out. Anyway, all told, I'd have to say that it's really not as bad as you may have been led to believe; it hurts about as much as getting a shot, and like getting a shot, after the initial stabby pain it becomes more of a bruised-achy feeling.
Anyway, after I came back Danny and the other beekeeper who showed up, Eric, were still trying to get at the bees behind the structural support. Eventually we had to remove the other side, which was completely rotten and explained how the bees had gotten in. After we got maybe 90% of the bees, we closed up the hive and put it nearby. We didn't see a marked change in where the bees were going, but Danny said that when he went back later to get it, they'd all gone to the hive. So we got the queen, and because there are baby bees to care for they are less likely to just randomly leave.
And now I have been stung, and am thus officially a beekeeper XD
Today is the forty-fifth day of the Omer, which is six weeks and three days into the Omer. Four more days until Cheesecake Holiday! \o/ You should all eat cheesecake, and thereby be religious.
What am I up to? A few things.
First is that our grill caught fire. I am aware that grills are supposed to have fire, but not on the outside, a foot tall. This happened several months ago, but it was as winter-ish as SoCal gets, so it did not bother us much. But it was Memorial Day weekend, so on Sunday Panda and JJ and I went shopping, and acquired a grill on sale. Then on Monday, JJ and I put it together, with some shouting, but mostly the instructions were pretty good. And then we made hot dogs and corn on the cob and kebabs. Now, I know what you're thinking: tan, you are thinking, are hamburgers not more traditional? And the answer is yes, but we had no hamburger buns, so we decided to make them hot-dog shaped. And since they were going to approximately the right shape anyway, and we had kebab mix . . .
That was Monday. On Tuesday I did exactly nothing.
On Wednesday, I went bra shopping with MW and her friend Helene. But before I tell you about that (and guys, if you want to read funny female antics, read that bit), I must tell you about Helene. And MW, I suppose.
MW is the kind of person who absolutely needs a person to talk at, all the damn time. Since the person who used to do that now has a three-hour time difference with MW, she went looking for a new best friend. Helene is said new besty. That part is fine; MW deserves to have friends too. The bit that I do not like so much is the bit where Helene seems determined to covert me to a more fashionable aesthetic.
I? Do not care about fashion. I don't actually hate it, since it makes some people happy, but I just don't see the point. My criteria for clothing have always been:
1. Does it cover my bits?
2. Can I get into and out of it without amusing contortions?
3. Is it comfortable?
4. Do I like the way it looks on me?
At no point on that list is there anything about fashion. In addition, I've never really worn cosmetics, except for things like lip balm which have a different purpose altogether. And I have long, frizzy, unmanageable hair. All of this is apparently fashionable. Not that I care.
So, anyway. Bras. At the beginning of high school, I was wearing underwired foam-padded bras, and this was okayish except for the way that, in certain positions such as any other position than vertical, there was quite a lot of room between me and the foam. Also, the underwires kept poking me in the armpits. So I gave up on those and moved to sports bras, which had the additional benefit of making my utterly insane boobs a little smaller. (Make no mistake, guys. Boobs are possibly the worst secondary sexual characteristic ever. They get in the way all the damn time.) So that was good, and comfortable, and if my boobs ended up being lower when the elastic stretched out, I was fine with this.
But Helene, and everyone else in the state of California, seems to think that your bra must result in your tits being in everyone's face -_- And, all right, I needed some new bras, so we went shopping.
First: why are there no bras on sale, anywhere, that don't have underwires!?! I mean, support is all fine and dandy, but if you have to use spring steel to get it, then obviously someone is doing something very, very wrong. So, fine, I settled for underwires, although I did stick to sports bras because it has more padding and is stretchier and are designed to keep boobs from flopping around. I am assured there is some kind of difference, although honestly I don't see it. It's fine, I guess :/
But then Helene insisted that I have to get one bra that shows them off. I don't see why; it's not like I have any low-cut shirts, or anything. Fine, whatever. Second: Why do none of the bras fit me?! Either there was a cone of fabric in a location that made me look like Madonna, or there was too much fabric just under my armpits so it made a visible-through-my-clothes wrinkle, or the shoulder straps were much too long, or it had pokey underwires, or . . . So, in the end, I decided that I'd buy the best of a bad lot, cut the underwire by an inch using Panda's wire shears, and then have MW sew the damn thing back in. But no. I can't modify a bra to fit, no. I have to try on forty more until we find the right one.
Eventually, I got four bras: one sports bra in three different colors, and one that is supposed to make me look nice, although I think it's kind of sluttish. And I point out to everyone, everywhere, that bras are relatively new, replacing corsetry as female undergarments only during the metal shortages of WWI. Also, I hate having big boobs.
Today, I did a hive cutout. This is what one does when the bees are living in an established hive in a wall, or something like that. These are the most aggressive bees, because they have a home and young to protect. It involves first removing a section of wall, and then using a knife to cut the comb so it fits in the frames of a standard hive, and then closing the wall back up.
This one was in a kind of pillar-like column, but the structural pillar was tiny and the feature was bigger, so there was a space between the two that had not been properly filled and sealed. As a result, the bees found a way in and built up inside there. The owner said that they'd been there for six weeks, but from the amount of hive in that hive, it was more like 18 months to a year.
These were amazingly, ridiculously docile bees, for having their home invaded. They were pretty much totally calm while we ripped open the wall of their house, stole their babies (and killed some of them :<), and dropped their honey everywhere. They really only got aggressive when we started to literally scoop them into a cup and dump them in the new hive.
Which is not to say they were not stinging. I was wearing leather-palmed gloves, and doing most of the comb cutting, and they kept stinging the leather. This didn't hurt me, of course, and I was all, "D: Don't do that, you're going to . . . die. Damn." This is because bees have a little venom sac attached to the stinger, which is pulled out of the bee when the stinger sticks in something and continues to pump venom into the sting. Having a bit of their insides pulled outside is . . . not good for them. But after a while, I had bees climbing all over the gloves, not to sting, but to lick up the honey I'd spilled. Such cute little probosci!
Then I went to go scoop some bees, and one stung me on the back of my gloves, which is ventilated elastic cloth. The sting, or course, went right through. I'm proud to say my reaction was not to drop the cup off bees I was holding, which would have pissed them off more, but finish with that, and then announce I'd been stung and excuse myself to remove the stinger/venom sac. It is important, when stung, not to grab the stinger and pull it out, since that just injects everything in one go. Instead, get something (like a credit card) under the venom sac, and then in one smooth motion flick it up and away. The glove was useful with that, since there was already the cloth there that I could just pick up to remove the stinger. Then I went and put baking soda on it, which is supposed to relieve pain, although really it stopped hurting after a few minutes anyway. Next time, I think instead I will go suck on the puncture, to get some of the venom out. Anyway, all told, I'd have to say that it's really not as bad as you may have been led to believe; it hurts about as much as getting a shot, and like getting a shot, after the initial stabby pain it becomes more of a bruised-achy feeling.
Anyway, after I came back Danny and the other beekeeper who showed up, Eric, were still trying to get at the bees behind the structural support. Eventually we had to remove the other side, which was completely rotten and explained how the bees had gotten in. After we got maybe 90% of the bees, we closed up the hive and put it nearby. We didn't see a marked change in where the bees were going, but Danny said that when he went back later to get it, they'd all gone to the hive. So we got the queen, and because there are baby bees to care for they are less likely to just randomly leave.
And now I have been stung, and am thus officially a beekeeper XD
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-06-03 10:50 am (UTC)I also hate bra shopping. I basically find a bra style/size I like, wait till it's on sale, and buy four or five in that type. This repeats until I realize that the size isn't working for me (4-5 years), at which point I get resized and do the same. Victoria Secret's doesn't carry my size in store anymore, but they still do on-line. I refuse to step inside a store as much as I can. It's so random and uncomfortable, and especially annoying when the salesladies keep trying to get in the dressing room with me. -_-
no subject
Date: 2011-06-03 09:16 pm (UTC)You know, maybe sarashi would just be easier . . .
no subject
Date: 2011-06-04 02:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-08 02:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-06 03:07 am (UTC)I'll remember that thing about not removing the stinger without the venom sac.
Oh man, many times I've seen dying bees without the stingers just crawling miserably on the garden and I want to help them or something, but they're all goners and it's just more sad than it really ought to be. :(
no subject
Date: 2011-06-06 03:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-06 03:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-08 03:03 am (UTC)More like nerves of wet tissue paper. I just accepted that being a beekeeper meant I would get stung. And, like I said, it's not worse than the shots I have to give myself, so . . . [shrugs]
no subject
Date: 2011-06-08 04:59 am (UTC)Well, even resigning yourself takes some courage. :)