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Lost Friends

1 Jun

Does anyone else out there have an insatiable urge to reconnect with old friends, even (or especially) if the friendship ended badly?

You can pretty much guarantee that if you were once a friend of mine and our relationship ended more than five years ago, the thought of tracking you down on Facebook/Google and sending a “How are you doing?! Isn’t it totally funny how our relationship ended with a threatening of small claims court and a hearty Fuck You?! ::insert awkward laughter::”

I regularly have to remind myself that there was a reason that these relationships ended (mostly the other person being full of The Crazy) and I probably wouldn’t want to be their friend again even if I could hunt them down on the Interwebs.

But what if they’ve changed? What if getting married and pushing a baby out of their vag hole has somehow made them less of a bitch face? We could be friends again and talk about…you know, stuff and whatnot…like how they totally ditched our friendship and disappeared off the face of the planet 13 years ago…or that they still owe me $50 goddammit…

Okay, so maybe it’s not a great idea to reconnect with some old friends. And now that I think about it, maybe using the term “friend” is being generous…

Song title: Lost Friends by Eddie & Ernie

The Right to Write Me Off

17 Jan

30 Posts of Truthiness Question Number Four: What is something you have to forgive someone for?

Today’s post is about forgiveness and to be honest, forgiving people? Not really something that I do. Seriously, I can hold a grudge like a rusted-shut bear trap. So I really had to sit down and think about who exactly I need to forgive.

Do I forgive Bee for ruining what was once a semi-decent (“semi” being the key word) body?

Do I forgive Bug for throwing up on me daily, including today on my beloved iPod?

But I decided to do something on the blog that I don’t usually do:

Get serious.

You see, there seems to be some confusion recently so let’s clear this up once and for all: this is a humor blog.

As in, if you don’t have a sense of humor, please feel free to click that little X in the right hand corner of your window.

And as such, there may be a sprinkling of, I don’t know, JOKES posted on this blog.

Some may be crude. Some may be offensive. Hopefully most are funny.

But that’s me. THIS BLOG is me. I’m loud, offensive, inappropriate in mixed company and, again, hopefully sometimes funny. Yes, I’m crass but I’m honest. I’m loud, but maybe a bit funny. In your mind, I may push the envelope, but if no one did, the world would be pretty damned boring, wouldn’t it?

And if you know me in real life and you don’t think I’m all of the above, you must be blind, deaf, and maybe just a little bit mentally handi-capable.

Just know one thing: I don’t write this blog to push the envelope. I’m not trying to stir up controversy in order to get a few more readers. And if I use the occasional “bad word” or twelve, it’s because that’s the way I speak in the real world when I’m not working and/or at Bee’s preschool.

I know that this blog isn’t for everyone. I know that I’m not for everyone. And this is where the forgiveness comes in.

Don’t ask me why, but I always really want people to like me. Not in a “I’m the center of attention oh oh look at me” kind of way. I just want to be everyone’s friend. I want to be a good friend to you, too. Not a “talk shit behind your back unless I can be your hero in a time of need” kind of friend, either. A real, genuine friend.

And if you don’t like me, it kills me. I don’t need everyone to be my BFF, but I hate it when I find out that someone doesn’t like me. I mean, why? I’m pretty goddamn awesome! (<-- that'd be a joke for those confused. Please see above.) Even if I don't like the person...scratch that...even if I really dislike the person, I still want them to like me. And the blog, for that matter. Just knowing that there is someone out there putting out negative thoughts in my direction (or even worse, recruiting others to think poorly of me as well), well, it just eats at me.

But I’ve realized recently, that it’s okay.

I don’t need everyone to like me.

In fact, it’s okay if people really don’t like me. Especially if I don’t particularly love them either.

It’s okay.

And I forgive you.

You don’t have to like me.

If it makes you feel better, you can go on thinking that I am a distastefully, cruel and unfunny person who will soon suffer the wrath of Karma.

I forgive you.

Just know that I am none of those things. And if you think any of that of me, then you don’t know me at all.

It’s just too bad you never really tried.

Song title: The Right to Write Me Off by Amber Pacific

Praise the Lord

1 Dec

Yesterday it was raining.

So I grabbed my new hooded jacket and went about my day, dropping Bee off at preschool, sitting around the house doing absolutely nothing, picking Bee up at preschool…

While waiting for her class to be dismissed, I even struck up a conversation with a cute mom of one of the girls in Bee’s class. I was so proud of myself for making a new connection and being social.

To celebrate not making lunch at home, I took both kids out to Red Robin for lunch.

After we were done eating, I was looking over my new coat when I saw this:


That’s right. I had been wearing a bejeweled Jesus pin all morning and didn’t even notice it.

I’ll give you two guesses as to who was behind this hilarious little prank.

Surprise! It was EVERYONE I KNOW! Apparently, Sissy spotted the pin at the Glitter Sale, Arla-Shay bought it and then pinned it on my coat, only after asking Mr. Bee’s permission. So pretty much every single person I called to say “Guess what I just found on my coat?!” responded with “Heh heh, yeah I was waiting for you to find that…”

Now I just have to wait and see if my new mom friend noticed the pin and thinks I’m the kind of person who would *purposefully* wear a pin praising the Lord.

Jesus must certainly be the reason for the season because I can’t seem to escape his holiness lately…

lov god

Now if I could only figure out how to steal that license plate and attach it to Arla’s car…

Song title: Praise the Lord by O’Yaba

Get My Drink On

30 Sep

You know what makes you totally feel like an alcoholic?

You know, besides drinking a ton of the alky on a regular basis.

Being pregnant.

Can I get a holla, moms??

During both pregnancies, the thing I craved the worst was just a chug sip of some booze juice. With Bee, I craved red wine throughout the entire pregnancy and I don’t even LIKE red wine! This time around any liquid with an alcohol content was the Bella to my Edward.

(Twilight reference! Woot!)

So when Mr. Bee and I were out shopping for last minute baby supplies for Bug months ago and I saw these:

milkscreen, the gateway test to alcholism

Giddy up, cowboy.

I knew for months that at some point I would definitely need to be testing my boob juice for the hooch. Little did I know that “some point” was a few weeks ago.

See, Arla-Shay finally turned 21 (muuuaaahahahahahahahahaha!) so Sissy and I thought we’d take advantage of the event to celebrate.

If by “celebrate”, I mean “get totally fucking wasted on moonshine.”

And wasted we did get.

Did I mention that despite having been friends for going on eleven years now (holy shit balls!), Arla and I had NEVER gone out drinking together before?

When we met, I was a wee young lass. A wee young lass that, for whatever reason, was adamant that drinking underage was not for me. Go me! By the time I was legal, we lived a college campus apart, which to our lazy asses was apparently too far to cross in order to hang out. Once we reconnected years later, one and/or both of us have been too pregnant to drink. Meow meow.

So yes, there was some drinking the other night.

Let’s just say that some people might have thrown up. Some people also might have suffered excruciating hangovers that left them feeling like they had (and I’m quoting here) “twenty headaches simultaneously.”

But not me, young Padawan.

(Star Wars reference. Double woot!)

Which was awesome, but also left me suffering from some serious survivor guilt. But yay for no puke, right? Because, girlfriend, I drank.

Well, okay. Here was my first drink…

the hootch

And the sad part? After this HALF OF A COCKTAIL, I was druuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuunk. As a skunk, people.

Three and a half Mai Tais later, I was pretending to be possessed by El Diablo in an elevator and drunk texting Arla’s husband about anal sex.

You know, pretty much just another Saturday night for me.

Once we got back to our hotel room, I used said breast milk testing strips to see if I had to pump and dump or if I would be able to save the Liquid Gold for my sweet little Bug. I’ll let you make the call…


1. The two bottom colors below the line are safe for baby. The two top colors (the darker colors) mean your breast milk is not safe for baby.

2. What does it mean when your breast milk turns the test the darkest shade of black you’ve ever seen?

3. I was so drunk that, at the time, I thought this photo was totally in focus.

Needless to say I had to dump this batch or risk the breast pump catching on fire due to the flammable fumes.

But that night was totally worth the lost Liquid Gold.

From what I remember, anyway.

Song title: Get My Drink On by Toby Keith

Golden Shower

7 Jul

Typically, when one thinks of a baby shower, you think of smelling melted candy in diapers, lots of “oooh”ing and “aaaah”ing and, well, general boredom. I mean, is anyone ever really excited to get an invitation to someone’s baby shower. Shit, I am pregnant and the idea doesn’t even sound good to me.

That is, until my crazy ass friends decided to throw me a shower in Cletus’ honor. You see, last time around, my friends had a blast planning a shower for me. While it was more traditional than not, the planning process included brainstorming of ideas such as a vaginal entrance to the party (symbolizing birth, of course) and decorating the place with penis sheep (photo coming soon! Who knew that it isn’t advisable to draw and email half penis/half sheep from work?).

So when the opportunity arose to throw me a shower for Cletus, don’t you know that my ladies jumped on the chance.

To give you an idea of the party, weeks before, when asked for a guest list, I was told that the shower may not be “all audience appropriate” (aka: you probably don’t want to invite children or your mom). Factoring in that this baby features new and fun genitalia to work with, I won’t lie: I was very excited and just a tad apprehensive.

Goddammit, I need a cocktail.

Upon arriving to the shower, I was surprised to find actual balloons and not just blown up condoms sprinkled around the house. But my disappointment wouldn’t last long…

Tastiest penises I've ever had in my mouth

Apparently my friends had a lot of fun shopping for penis decorations. When the penis cookie cutter was purchased, the clerk asked my friend, “Ooooh! Are you making cookies or jello shots??” My friend replied, “Tea sandwiches for a baby shower…?”

Cheesy peepees

Obviously, it wouldn’t be an important celebration if Guillermo, the inflatable penis (who has traveled to Mexico, Vegas, and wine tasting in Walla Walla with us), wasn’t a guest of honor. In his high chair, of course. Safety first, people.

guillermo, ready to dine

And the pièce de résistance…


A homemade cake made by the one and only Sissy! Can you believe that she made that hospital gown (and don’t forget the tiny little penises) herself out of gum paste?! I still have the Barbie and baby sitting on my kitchen counter because I can’t bear to disassemble it! I have to say, my vag IS kind of awesome. Although, I have never looked that coiffed during labor.

But I think the best part is imagining the tray of iddy biddy penises hanging out in the back of her fridge, just waiting for her 13-, 6- or 2-year old to discover them before the party. Man, I would’ve loved to see her 13-year old boy confront her with a tray of gum paste cock-a-doodle doos! Classic!!

After dining on penis-shaped delectables, we continued to the game phase which included all of my friends horribly insulting me with how gigantic they think my belly is (seriously, people. I’m not a Biggest Loser contestant for Christ’s sake!!).


Later we attempted to drink 2 oz. of punch and/or vodka-laced punch out of baby bottles.

Needless to say, hilarity (and a lot of “that’s what she said”) ensued.

I think we were all surprised at the end result, which probably doesn’t say much for the ladies we thought would kill at the “sucking”.

Despite the lock-jaw and penis-cake induced sugar coma, this shower was definitely full of the Golden. But, you know, in the non-pee on you kind of way.

Song title: Golden Shower by Space Barber

No Words To Describe

21 Jun

Lately, it seems like my childless friends are more and more curious about how the whole labor, delivery and parenting thing works. I can only imagine it is due to my impending D-day (delivery day) and that they are getting closer to signing their life away to children as well. The fact that I am getting so big that it looks like the baby might actually choose to just explode out of my abdomen Aliens-style probably doesn’t hurt either.

Honestly, sometimes I think I may prefer Aliens-style to, you know, the “natural” way.

And by “natural” I mean hopped up on whatever drugs (legal or not) I can get my hands on pre-, post- and during labor.

I absolutely love when my friends ask questions about pregnancy and parenting. Not that I’m all that educated on the topic, but since I’m the only one of us who has blown out their vag, I guess that makes me the resident expert (you know, besides our friend who is in medical school and actually is somewhat of an actual resident expert).

I do my best in these conversations to assuage the fears of my friends. Their biggest fears seem to gravitate towards said blowing out of vaginas, pooping on the table and just pain in general. Unfortunately, I’ve found that my filter-less honesty policy does more to freak the crap out of the girls than make them comfortable with the idea of childbirth.

Most of the time my friends leave these conversations looking completely terrified and double-checking their stock of condoms and birth control pills. Except for the one time I told them about our neighborhood’s Wine Play Date. That they were on-board with.

During one of our last conversations on the horrors and awesomeness of becoming a mother, as I excused myself to pee for the 51st time that evening, I had an epiphany of sorts…

…wait for it…

…no really, I’m drawing this out because it’s probably the lamest “epiphany” you will every read…

…okay, here it is…

While it’s really easy to describe and catalog the endless aches and pains of pregnancy, how in God’s green Earth are you supposed to explain to a non-parent the immediate and absolute bliss that comes with pushing out your baby and seeing him or her for first time?

Not to mention the delight of seeing your little one grow, learn and shape who they are and who they are going to be (in between temper tantrums, of course).

As hard as I try, the words just seem so dull and lackluster. I assure them, “No, no, really! The second you bust that baby out of you, all the pain goes away. You could care less about what has just happened, momnesia sets in, and all you care about in the world is this precious newborn laying on your chest.”

But in comparison to the nausea, backaches, urinary incontinence, pooping on the L&D table (which, I promise is not a big deal, people!! Just swear everyone in the room to secrecy and you‘ll never even know if you shit or not.), and possibly getting stitches to close up your butt-gina afterward, the “but your iddle widdle bebee is so precious” argument seems to get a little lost in the haze of fear.

My last pro-baby/vaginal birth argument always comes down to the fact that I am chicken shit AND had a pretty traumatic birth with Bee and I’m still going on this crazy ride again.

So I figure I’ll either convince my friends that pregnancy and childbirth is not really that bad or that I’m some weird freak who is in to S&M.

Maybe both. (wink wink)

Song title: No Words to Describe by Ever We Fall

Enjoy the Silence

7 Jun

One important thing that was discovered on my Girls Trip to Orcas Island, besides the scary ass doll sacrifice rock (::shiver::), was that my ability to hold an appropriate conversation is inversely, conversely, perpendicular? Well, it’s totally related to how quiet my location is.

See, on Orcas Island, apparently it is frowned upon to talk. At all. Ever.

We would be out at dinner or lunch with at least a dozen other patrons and every single one of them were absolutely mute while dining.

I’m talking monk-ass mute (trademark!). Complete restaurant silence.

And for some reason, that is obviously connected to the alignment of the planets and whatnot, in these circumstances our conversations would naturally steer towards genitalia, sexual fantasies and our favorite curse words. In fact, I’m pretty sure at one café we were the impromptu entertainment as the table of 50/60-somethings sitting near us did not speak a word the entire time, but seem captivated by our conversation.

What can I say? We *are* pretty delightful.

But what was totally hilarious is when we had breakfast at a normal, non-mute café one morning, with families and patrons who possessed the ability of speech, we probably had the most public-appropriate conversations of the entire trip. Which says something, because normally when I’m around children, my Tourette’s really flares up.

God help me when Bee starts preschool in the fall. Poor girl might get blacklisted if any of the teachers read this blog…

Song title: Enjoy the Silence by Depeche Mode

Big Island Ladies

25 May

This last weekend, Sissy, Arla-Shay and I kicked our families to the curb and high-tailed it out of town to the San Juan Islands for a little girl time.

Ooh, that sounds a little gay.

And it was. Totally.

Let’s just say that it’s a good thing I had a pregnancy pillow as a boundary between me and Arla-Shay in bed. That girl is handsy, yo.

But, anywho, back to the trip.

All three of us were counting the minutes until departure time and then we roadrunnered the shit out of town and headed north to the Anacortes Ferry (FYI to Non-Northwesterners: It is a FERRY. Not a FERRY BOAT. Fuck you Grey’s and McDreamy for saying “ferry boat” approximately 25 times per episode.).

We made it safely on the intended ferry with no help from me (the ticket cashier: “Where are you headed?” Me: the San Juans…? Uh, I mean…Dur….”). Once on Orcas, we drove towards our resort…


…and we even saw some nature…


But there was one thing we saw as we crossed the island that made our drive go from this:


to this:


“What did you see?!” you ask.


Big Foot?


Oh, those are all the same guy? Fuck.

Well, it wasn’t him anyway. For those of you who know me, my deepest darkest fears include three things: Heights, Clowns, and Dolls.

Luckily all the Mountain Climbing Clowns on the island were busy that day, but we did end up driving by this monstrosity:

doll sacrifice rock1

I’m not fucking with you. We were simply minding our own business, maybe screeching the lyrics to Ice Ice Baby or Footloose at the top of our lungs (maybe), when we drove by this crazy doll sacrifice boulder and screamed our bloody heads off.

Seriously, people of Orcas Island, What the FUCK!?! Later in the trip, we even came across this scary ass brain-eating zombie scarecrow thing just hanging out in some kid’s swing set outside of a craft studio. We exited this studio and I began to say, “Oh, I didn’t realize that the studio owner was out working on the kid’s swing set next to the car…AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!! RUN! RUN! RUN!”

To say that we ran our asses off to the car and made dust out of that place is the understatement of the year.

So while we had a totally awesome time this weekend, we are all left wondering what the FUCK the hippie, doll-sacrificing, zombie-scarecrow-worshiping, mute people of Orcas Island are up to when the main-lander tourists aren’t around. I’m convinced we would have seen a Smoke Monster if we would’ve hung around long enough…

Song title: Big Island Ladies by Ryan

Cow’s Placenta to Armageddon

28 Apr


That is all I have to say about today’s song title.

Wow. And awesome.

Okay, those are the TWO things I want to say about today’s song title.

Wow, awesome, and who the fuck are Alice Donut?

Okay, there are THREE things I wanted to say about today’s song title…

Anywho, for those of you who have been following along in The Days of My Placenta, I finally got in for my follow up ultrasound and the results are…

…drum roll please…

…my placenta is no longer falling out of my vagina!!!

[canned applause]

I gotta say that I will miss all the jokes about my exposed placenta and the idea of leaving a slug-like placenta trail on the ground wherever I go.

Shut up, I never said my sense of humor was classy (shocker, right?)…

(Un)fortunately, that means that I am also off “pelvic rest”.

“Yay.” (read so heavy with sarcasm that it makes you spontaneously lose control of your bowels)

However, there is this hilarious phenomenon that I discovered while on “pelvic rest” that I won’t miss. I have decided to call the “What Would Mr. Bee Say” Manifestation. It typically occurs while accompanied by a friend during some sort of minor activity including, but not limited to, lifting anything weighing more than a feather, managing more than one child at a time, having to exert myself at all (which may play a part in the fact that I gained EIGHT POUNDS last month. Well, maybe the Nom Nom Nom played a part too…)

My slight exertion will cause any friend within ear range to scream “Stop! I’ll do it!” and when I ask why, the response is a scripted “What would Mr. Bee say?! He would KILL me if I let you do that!!”

Apparently his craziness has proceeded him. Or maybe it’s just contagious.

Either way, hopefully people will start letting me be active sometime soon, because I’m transitioning from this:

mama at 24wks

to this:

mama soon


Song title: Cow’s Placenta to Armageddon by Alice Donut

Free As A Bumble Bee

18 Jan

Well, ladies and gentleman, it’s about that time…



Some of you may be familiar with Arla-Shay, my lover from another mother…

Arla-Shay at the Glitter Party

Arla-Shay at the Glitter Party

I swear that she normally wears far less eyeshadow and glitter. And her eyes don’t normally glow red like the Devil either.

Her husband, on the other hand, totally has a mullet.

Well, Arla-Shay has started a new Etsy store that features her awesome knitting. Seriously, even though knitting is for, like, 80-year-olds, this girl can knit with the best of them! (I jest! I jest! I wish I had the skills to knit! I’m pretty sure I would just accidentally poke both my eyes out with those big needles if I ever picked them up…)

So in honor of her Etsy debut, Arla-Shay is giving away a pair of hand-knit pink & charcoal gloves, complete with the cute stringy thing that will make sure that little devils like Bee don’t lose them!

Pink and Charcoal Gloves

The Gloves In Action!

UPDATE: I just got word from Arla-Shay that she’ll knit a pair of mittens for a boy if you’d prefer!!

So here’s the dealio to enter in the contest…

Visit Arla-Shay’s Etsy Shop (click here) and post in the comment section of this post which item is your favorite! If you’d like, you can also comment about how adorable her glove models are…

For an additional entry, sign up to receive Mom to Bee in your inbox (click here). If you are already receiving Mom to Bee in your inbox, you already qualify for the extra entry!

For shits and giggles, we’ll keep the contest going until Thursday night, 8 p.m. PST. (’cause a girl needs to be free to watch her stories). I’ll post the winner first thing Friday morning!

Good luck!!

Song title: Free As A Bumble Bee by ABBA