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The Shoes You’re Wearing

22 May

If you must know, I am not a fan of taking off your shoes at other people’s houses. Especially at the house of someone you are not very close with. If you are my BFF or family, I could give a rat’s ass if you see my janky snaggle feet.

So imagine my surprise when I received this invitation:

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Has it come to this?! Hosts can actually dictate what kind of shoes guests can wear now?!

Please discuss.

Side note: all guests to the Bee Haus shall now be required to wear wooden Dutch shoes.

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I’m pretty sure you can find them on Zappos.com.

Song title: The Shoes You’re Wearing by Clint Black

Wal-Mart Special

11 Jan

I fucking hate Wal-MartLast week, I confirmed something that, yes, I already knew.

I fucking hate Walmart with all of my being.

On a good day, I would usually prefer to trim my lady garden with a dull cheese grater over stepping one in-grown toenail in to the gates of Hell door to Volde-Mart.

But post-Festivus, Mr. Bee and I found ourselves in possession of roughly a metric fuckton of video games and DVDs (gotta love those relatives that give you a full year’s supply of VeggieTales – gag). Since we were 99% positive that said gifts were purchased at Volde-Mart, and since we found ourselves chock full of Holiday Cash (I really love those relatives!), AND since VM carries the type of SLR camera that I’ve having wet dreams about for years, we decided to return all those cherished gifts to cut the cost of the camera by a third or more.

And so begins my Lord of Rings-esque quest(s) through Wal-Mart Hell.

With an upcoming snow vacation looming (photos and stories soon!), last Tuesday I ventured out of my anxiety-free home with gifts galore to purchase my our lover camera.

So after I willed myself to have the intestinal fortitude to endure the customer service line, I found out that Wal-Mart sucks in a whole new and exciting way: you can only return items that carried at that particular store. Example: If you received gifts that were purchased online (or even at another store), you can only return them online or at that particular store. Even if it’s a bajillion miles away.

Of course, we don’t have the receipt, and although I weighed the ramifications, I decided we shouldn’t be totally rude and tell our relatives that, “Uh, thanks for the presents, but can I have the receipt? You know, just for, um, reference?”

After my FIRST VM visit (foreshadowing), I came away with only $30 of return money, about $100 short of what we thought we’d get. I was crushed. I suffered through my VM anxiety for this?!

I immediately called Mr. Bee for help because I am a whiny 5 year old who can’t do anything for herself. After a few hours and an acupuncture appointment, Mr. Bee tells me to go get my camera anyway.

Because he’s looking to get some totally awesome!

I was near a different VM that I knew should have the camera model (thank you Interweb) and arrived at my second VM of the day ready to swallow all of my pride and beliefs to give VM hundreds of Mr. Bee’s hard-earned money.

You know, if I could actually find the camera.

I’m told upon arrival that, “Oh, they lie online, we probably don’t have it, but let me look…yeah, no.” Then I’m told that said worker could look it up in the system to REALLY find a location with it…if only we had something to scan in.

Did you get that? I need to have THE CAMERA WITH THE BARCODE FOR HER TO SCAN in order to FIND THE CAMERA.

It’s like trying to look up how to spell “vaginal discharge” in the dictionary but needing to know how to spell it in order to look it up! (Thank God for spell check, right?)

Through a post-Christmas Wal-Mart Baby Jesus-esque Miracle, I actually found the barcode for the camera in a nearby catalog and worker bee went hunting yet again. Soon, low and behold, she found the camera!!

For $80 more than the online price.

Fuck. You. Walmart.

So after what seemed like 527,000 hours at 120 different Wal-Marts, I left with my tail between my legs and no camera.

It seemed too late to order it online (even with $17 rush shipping, fuck you again Walmart) in time for our upcoming snow vacation, so as a last resort I checked Amazon

And found the camera! For $50 cheaper! And with $4 next day shipping!!

As of Wednesday, I we are the proud new owners of an SLR Canon. And I’m no Pioneer Woman, but hopefully the photos on the blog will suck a little less now.

First SLR Photo of Bee

So the moral of the story is Amazon rules and Wal-Mart drools.

Oh, and FUCK YOU WAL-MART. FUCK YOU TO HELL.

Song title: Wal-Mart Special by Royal Wade Kimes

When You Hot You Hot

29 Jul

I imagine what most people do when it is nearly 100 degrees outside…

Go to the pool/beach/lake?
Turn on the air conditioning?
Hunker down inside the mall/movie theater where it’s nice and cool?

While all those options sounded enticing when the temperature INSIDE my house reached the mid-80′s…

that's the temperature INSIDE

Yeah, that was the temperature INSIDE the house around noon yesterday. By 8:00 p.m., it was 88 degrees inside. DOWNSTAIRS.

Ker-azy.

So what did I do to cool down?

What else? I rearranged the furniture in the hottest room of the house and organized the pantry.

For some reason, I finally got a bee (har har) in my bonnet and decided that today was the day to, well, you know, be able to find any particular item in our pantry.

Before it was organized, it looked something like this:

Junky junk

Seriously, I think I saw a 1964 Buick in there once.

But now, everything has a place and nearly everything is in it’s place.

I'm not suggesting that I'm that organized. That would make me a monster...

You know that guy, the real estate agent who had some reality show on Bravo, and everyone thought he was crazy and OCD because he insisted on having all the labels of the bottle water in the fridge facing forward?

Yeah, I totally want to be like him someday. I shit you not.

The only problem is that my innate sloth-ness overpowers (so far) my insane OCD. If I was less lazy, I swear my house would be spotless.

Too many snacks. Nom nom nom.

It would probably also help the OCD if I would stop buying things in bulk.

I’ve obviously discovered that my family should be banned from Costco for life. Or join some sort of Addicts Anonymous program for people who can’t say no to purchasing large boxes of snacks that we never finish.

I pretty much threw away enough stale crackers to feed Guam. Or New Guinea.

I always forget which is which.

Song title: When You Hot You Hot by DJ Honda

Neighborhood Watch

16 Apr

On Wednesday, I became that woman.

You know, the old bitty in the neighborhood who screams at the tweens on their gosh darn, new-fangled skate shoes.

Except I didn’t yell at the tweens for skating (although it is just a matter of time…). I was heading to my morning play date when I noticed two tweens looking as suspicious as I do after an unsupervised shopping trip to Target. Otherwise known as: guilty as hell.

The kids were standing at the nearest fence line with spray cans in their hands, which they quickly hid as my car drove past. “No they didn’t!” I thought as I made a u-turn and tried to decide how to deal with the situation:

Option 1: Call the neighborhood security people.
Honestly, I only thought of this in retrospect, but I don’t even think we really have a security guy. The neighborhood has a security CAR, but I’ve only ever seen in parked in the community center parking lot. I’m guessing it doesn’t even have gas in it. AND I don’t have their phone number in my Crackberry, requiring effort on my part.

Option 2: Call the police.
Again, effort. Of course I know The Number but I figured two hoodlums weren’t exactly 911 material.

Option 3: Confront the asshats myself and scare the love of God in to them.
This, on the other hand, requires very little effort as I can stay in the car and yell at them out an open window. And should provide to be quite entertaining. And it was…

So I drive up, roll down my window and yell, “You guys can stop what you’re doing right now or I can call the police. Your choice.” in my meanest I-Mean-Business tone.

The kid who had the cajones to actually talk to the crazy old bitty in the Soccer Mom SUV had the weirdest, kind of questioning look on his face. So I followed up with, “Are you tagging or graffiti-ing or whatever?”

Threatening, I know.

Then the kids hold up their cans and say, “Uh, we were just gonna Silly String our friend when he comes up to the bus stop…”

“Carry on…

…and have fun with that.”

Man, I’m a jackass.

Song title: Neighborhood Watch by Dilated Peoples

Wiggly Worm

5 Apr

At the end of this last week, Baby Bee’s super sexy boyfriend (can you say a toddler super sexy in jest without it coming across as disgusting and pervy? Yeah, I didn’t think so. Sorry ’bout that.) found out that he has, well, a temporary “condition.”

Well, there’s no easy way to say this, so here it is:

He has worms.

In his butt.

Did you clench your ass cheeks together just then? It’s okay, we’re among friends. My ass has been itching every since I heard the news. I’ll give you a minute to unclench…

Better? Okay.

Well, here’s the good shit. These worms (pinworms, to be specific) come out at night.

Oh yeah, you heard me. These little fuckers, after taking 1-2 months to grow from eggs in to worms (gag) in your stomach (gag), like to poke themselves out of YOUR ASS HOLE at night (dry heave) and lay eggs around your butt hole (vomiting tonight’s gourmet dinner of popcorn shrimp).

Seriously, how the fuck do we have vaccines for fuckin’ small pox and shit but I still have to worry about WORMS crawling out of my baby’s ASS?!

Oh and this is the best part. Guess what the super high-tech technique is for diagnosing pin worms?

Scotch tape.

That’s right, friends. You have to scotch tape your poor little itchy baby’s ass first thing in the morning so the doctor can examine the tape for eggs. Either that or poke around in your baby’s butt in the middle of the night with a flashlight, looking for the worms to poke their little heads out and say hello.

Seriously. What. The. Fuck.

Scotch tape? Really though?! In a world of advanced medical technology, there’s no better way to find out if a child has a parasite laying eggs in their ass crack than slapping some tape up in there? Like they aren’t traumatized enough with itchy butts and mom looking at their butt for five minutes every time she changes their diaper!

Any who, luckily it seems like Bee and her BFF (who all play together approximately 200 hours a week) have avoided Worm Invasion 2009 so far. But of course, they could have little wormies growing in their tummies right now just waiting to poke their little heads out in a month or two (gag).

Just in case, guess what I got to do this weekend (with the help of Mr. Bee)? Clean every. single. toy in the house. Looked a little like this:

Who Needs So Many Toys?

While I’m not a huge fan of Worm Invasion 2009, mostly because it means I won’t have the escape of ten million play dates this week, I did at least get my house a little cleaner.

But my ass still itches even thinking about it.

Song title: Wiggley Worm by Nomeansno

Big Time Operator

19 Feb

I’ve got big news!

My blog can now be found at www.momtobee.com!!

I won’t take down the blogspot blog right away, but I’ll probably start posting the new stuff on the new Mom to Bee.

I’m still trying to figure out WordPress (seriously thinking about jamming a fondue fork in to my right eye), so give me a little slack when it comes to random retardedness on the new site.

Start updating your reader subscriptions now!

Song title: Big Time Operator by Big Bad Voodoo Daddy

Dancing Queen

12 Jan

“You are the Dancing Queen, young and sweet, only seventeen 20 months…”
Out of the 100-ish weddings I’ve been to in my life, I think I’ve only been to maybe 4 that I wasn’t in some capacity working. It’s actually a good thing because, since starting my wedding business about 5 years ago, attending a wedding as a guest is pretty painful.

Like, you know when you are planning your wedding and some one says, “Hey, don’t worry about it! NO ONE will notice…” Yeah, sorry to burst your bubble, but I will notice. And pick it apart. In my head, anyway (and to Mr. Bee later in the evening).

So when we got to go to a wedding this last weekend, I was pretty stoked to see what the bride will be wearing, who the vendors are, etc.

This wedding was even better because it happened to be one of those weird Small World Coincidences that kind of creep me out. The Groom was Mr. Bee’s cousin, but the Bride was a chick that I went to junior high and high school with. The Bride and I were friends when we were like 13 but since then, not so much. So I never thought that I’d (1) ever be invited to her wedding and/or (2) be related to her (albeit, by marriage).

Anywho, the wedding itself was pretty uneventful. My favorite part, though, was the beginning of the ceremony. Their officiant was also the emcee and dj for the night. Oh yeah, he was “that guy”.

His ceremony opener was to talk about what love and marriage meant to the Bride and Groom. (and I quote paraphrase)

“The Groom thinks that love is doing something for the other person even when it might not be the right thing for yourself.”

Really, though? Like…getting married? Aaaaaaaaawkward.

It also didn’t help much that the Groom’s mother was something more appropriate for a funeral than a wedding. (another aaaawkward…)

Anywho, the rest of the night was pretty uneventful except for one little thing:
How cute, right?
No offense to the Bride (okay, maybe a little offense since you *did* completely frickin’ ignore me when I tried to be all nice to you during the receiving line), but Baby Bee stole the show! She was totally in the zone that night and had just about every woman in the building sighing in adoration.

Here she is cutting up a rug with Mr. Bee and I:
Dancing Queen(Sorry for how blurry the photo is!) I had no idea she was so obsessed with dancing, but any time I got exhausted needed a break, she would freak out and start yelling “Dan! Dan! Dan!” (Translation: Dance! Dance! Dance!) while pointing to the dance floor.

We ended up leaving the party at 10 p.m., but I think our little party girl had many hours of dancing left in her. I can’t wait to see what fly moves she has for weddings we’ll be attending this coming summer!

Song title: Dancing Queen by ABBA

Do You Know Who I Am

12 Oct

Something has been happening lately that has been creeping me out just a bit.

Clowns?” you ask.

No. Not as creepy as clowns.

I’ve realized that pretty much everyone that I have ever met in my life knows each other somehow.

It started with Mr. Bee. When we first met, I was dating NerdBoy. Mr. Bee was dating Chick. It wasn’t until Mr. Bee started dating Chick that Nerdboy and Chick realized that they were cousins! What?! Yeah! Like long lost cousins that had always heard about each other but had never met.

Then, a few years ago, I found out that one of my BFFs (who I met years out of college) went to the rival high school. Not only had we probably been in the same place once or twice but she also knew one of my best friends from college (they went to the same high school!)

Oh, and one of Mr. Bee’s cousins is dating a girl I went to high school with.

And ANOTHER friend (who I met a few years ago) is friends with a girl at work who is dating one of my high school boyfriends. So at my friend’s wedding rehearsal, when she happened upon SuperDoucheExBoyfriend (who was a server at her wedding venue), they started chatting it up while I was all “WTF! How do you know each other?!”

THEN, this weekend I had yet another wedding (I’ve got some ooey gooey awesome stories to be shared at a later date regarding this event!). I’ve been working with this bride and her mom for months and it’s not until I slightly recognize one of her bridesmaids at her rehearsal that THEY realize that we all went to high school together. So her wedding reception was practically a who’s who of teachers, students, and parents of students who I went to school with for years decades.

Oh, and here’s the topper:
A few months ago, I got an invitation to be “friends” with someone on Facebook. I didn’t really know who the person was but figured that I’d had probably met them at an event or maybe they were a local wedding vendor/colleague. I later met this lady at a local mom’s group. THEN, while totally Facebook stalking old friends of mine, I found out that this particular girl is friends with the older sister of my high school BFF who after graduation disappeared from the face of the planet! So random mom group/Facebook lady is friends with high school BFF’s sister?!

It is totally blowing my mind that practically everyone I meet is somehow already connected to my life! Coincidence? I don’t know. But I’m starting to think that everyone is 6 degrees of separation from Mama Bee!

Updated to Add: Okay, this is getting fucking crazy. Yesterday I added Luke Burbank (the host of TBTL - the coolest radio show evar) to my Facebook friends. Oh yeah, I’m that cool. Anywho, so I’m perusing Luke’s Facebook page and who do I see added him as a friend just a few days ago. The same ex-BFF’s older sister as above!!! WTF!! This is seriously creeping me the fuck out, dudes!!

Song title: Do You Know Who I Am by Elvis Presley


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