The Amazing Bee Girl



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When I was growing up I was the kid who fell out of trees, got lost in the airport, rode my bike on the ice during the winter and slid out of control right into traffic.

When I was almost four years old I got bees in my hair and my Mom had to pull them out one at a time with her fingers ( without getting stung) while my Dad ran in and out of the house screaming something about calling the Fire Department.

I watched my Mom flick one of the bees into the bushes.

” What is in your hair?” she asked.

” Bees” I said.

” You know what I mean.”

” Orange Soda Pop”

My Mom slid another bee off the side of my head.

” How did you get Pop in your hair?”

” I wanted my hair to be orange so ” I mimed washing my hair with my hands.

” Well, your hair isn’t orange, it’s full of bees. Are you getting stung?”

I was listening to the buzzing that was floating around my face. ” No.” I said trying not to laugh.

My Mom got the bees out- she said she pulled about eight of them out of my hair and as luck would have it neither one of us got stung.

I’m not clear on how it happened but my Dad got stung.



After the de-beeing was complete and my hair was washed I ran around the house for the rest of the evening buzzing like a bee and when I did as much as look at a bottle of pop I’d crack up and start to laugh.

My Dad watched me running around in circles buzzing like a swarm of killer bees in one tiny little body.

He said to my Mom, ” Maybe we should sell her to the circus.”

” She IS a Circus.” my Mom said lighting up a cigarette as I buzzed my way up over the back the couch she was sitting on.

Somehow I fell and got stuck between the back of the couch and the wall and all you could see was my foot sticking up over the top.

I buzzed until I was freed.

For my own special reasons, I didn’t go near a circus until I was almost 18 years old.

You know, just in case the family made good on the circus threat…and over the years I gave them plenty of reasons to consider that option.

Taken After I Was "de=bee'd"

Taken After I Was “de=bee’d”


May 29, 2016


My Writer’s  Journal

What I learned about writing and myself  today.

It’s one thing to write about the end of the world, to contemplate the many ways it could happen and who could bring it about.

It’s an entire different kettle of fish when you actually want it done for no other reason then you have decided it would be best for all involved if somebody grabbed a roque mallet and went Jack Torrance on the world.

The world is not a perfect place and all of the yelling and screaming and threats and self righteous rants won’t make it so.

I learned that from training my dog.

If you yell all of the time or step on their paws or slap their noses or hit them with water from a spray bottle when they don’t obey you, they get to the point to where they hide every time you raise your voice for any reason at all.


 In my writing none of my antagonists are angry.

They don’t screed and yell and reach down into someone’s throat and rip their tongues out just to shut someone up.

They don’t jab their fingers into anyone eyes and pull their eyeballs out of their sockets and stamp them into a gooey mess because someone doesn’t see the world the way they do.

They don’t wave their boney fingers under someone’s nose and then jam it up into their nostrils and pull their brains out because someone doesn’t think the way they do.

My monsters, the dark and twisted souls in my stories understand they are imperfect creatures living in an imperfect world.

Despite all of their imperfections and the imperfections around them they find a way to thrive.

We should all be so lucky.


Today I ate a bunch of cookies.

I used to hate cookies.


I learned to enjoy sweetness.


The Grave Tale Of Anita Marie Moscoso


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Of course my first call out to do a removal at the Funeral Home was at three in the morning, it was twenty miles away from my house and from the sight itself I had to drive another 15 miles to the Funeral home and I had to be at work at eight in the morning.

So I hall myself out of bed, dressed as if I were going to work ( no unprofessional looks no matter what you’re doing). I got into my car drove to the Funeral Home, picked up the removal van and drove to the hospital.

My face was numb, that’s how tired I was.


When I got to the Hospital I drove around to the back, found the entrance to the morgue and yes, took an elevator down and ended up in the basement.

This wasn’t an old hospital, it was new and the floors were polished to a bright shine, the walls were white with just a hint of green and the lighting fixtures buzzed and hummed the way fluorescent lighting do.

The halls, oh those halls were long, they twisted and turned for no reason and there were no other doors, so far anyway except for the door I had come through.

Just as my seemingly endless and pointless walk was about to rattle my cage I passed an orderly.

” Excuse me, I’m close to the Morgue aren’t I?”

He didn’t really look at me, just pointed over his shoulder as he passed and nodded.

I heard him say from down the hall, ” I really hate that place. It’s so small in there.”

I found the Morgue and I saw what the orderly meant.

For such a massive building the morgue was small and there were only four drawers in the morgue itself.

It was almost like they had put in miles of hallways just to stash away a few bodies at a time.

I pulled open the drawer, pulled back the covering and checked the ID to my paperwork and loaded my deceased person on my gurney.

I checked to make sure the numbers and names all matched again and closed the drawer and left the room, but on my way out I  turned the lights off and when I realized what I had done I shrugged.

On my way out of the building  saw the orderly near the doors and I thanked him for his help and said good morning.

” We’re in a morgue.” he said.

Some people, I thought, have no people skills at all.


When I got back to the Funeral Home I checked my person in and popped him onto a shelf in the C.U.

He was wrapped in plastic and covered with a sheet- the plastic bothered me so I slid him towards me and unwrapped him and threw the plastic away.

Then as I was about to cover him with the a sheet I saw his face.

I took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling.

I made up my mind to it right then and there as I carefully covered his face.

I was working with the dead now and from that point forward nothing concerning what the living or the dead are capable of doing would ever surprise me again.