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The Birth of… (Part Three)

1 Sep

So after pushing for two ungodly hours…

Side note: Thanks so much, Doc, for letting me push that long even though I kept telling you that I didn’t think things were progressing (and I imagine that you could definitely tell that things weren’t progressing, but didn’t respond to my comments). Oh yeah, and super thanks for following up my frustrated pleas that I just wanted the asshole baby out of me with: “Well, it’s all up to you.”

Really, lady? I think everyone in the room, included a pee- and poo-covered YOU, can attest to the fact that I literally was pushing my guts out. How I managed to not utter a big “Fuck you, you stupid mother fucker” at that moment is beyond me. Who knew I could maintain somewhat of a filter in such a time of stress?

So the doctor had just told me that we could try yanking Bug out of my vagina, but if that didn’t work, we’d have to do a C-section.


After a very light tug, the doctor decided that there was no way that the baby was going to come out my babyhole as intended.

People have asked me if this is when I totally freaked out. Surprisingly, no. Like I said before, I just wanted the dude out of my goddamn uterus. I’m pretty sure that if the doctor had suggested letting a pack of vampires gnaw the baby out of me, I would’ve ushered those sparkly douche bags in to the birthing suite with a smile.

I gave a quick goodbye to my family (who I guess were freaking out way more than I was) and was wheeled to the operating room. Mr. Bee was taken aside to get dressed in some ridiculous Hazmat suit. I’m guessing it was just a precaution in case Bug turned out to be radioactive?

I also got to wear a hawt shower cap, which was pretty considerate figuring that I had taken the time to flat iron my hair before we left for the hospital. Who knows what kinds of junk would be flying around when they cut in to me?

As Mr. Bee donned his hard hat and eye protection, I was wheeled in to the OR and thrown on to the table ER style. Doctors and nurses started prepping for surgery by counting all the instruments (which I kindly reminded them to please not leave in my abdomen unless it would somehow ensure me a free tummy tuck later) and the anesthesiologist settled down at my head to get me nice and numb.

See, friends, all this time, I’ve still been having contractions. I’ve just been completely without my support system to deal with them. So while I’m being laid out on the table with the big blue sheet up so I can’t see the God-awful things that they are about to do to me, I’m contorting about trying to get through contractions without hitting someone.

After 30 minutes (THIRTY MINUTES) of suffering through contractions and having to declare “Yep! STILL FEELING THEM!!!!”, the anesthesiologist finally got me numb enough for doctors to slice me open. Oh, and during that 30 minutes, I also got “prepped”. And by prepped, I mean that some poor nurse who totally doesn’t earn enough had to shave part of my…region.

This is where I sincerely apologized for the 1970′s porn-esque bush I had been maintaining (or not, as the case may be). She assured me that she had seen worse in her day and I felt obligated to explain my “I can’t see it therefore it doesn’t exist to me” pubic maintenance policy.

Honestly, I can’t believe that I’m allowed out in public most days.

At this point, I am laid out Jesus-on-the-cross style, with the big curtain up, and my right arm hooked up to a blood pressure cuff. Shockingly, I was tied down completely because, girlfriend, I was fucking seizing around from either shock or the fact that apparently the operating rooms were all occupied and they had chosen to open me up in the cafeteria’s freezer.

Seriously, I half-expected to see a piles of Drumsticks and ice cream sandwiches on the tables that surrounded me. Maybe the nurses had been counting plastic cutlery instead of operating implements? I swear to God if I end up getting sick because someone left a spork in me…it will be the most awesome thing EVER! I mean, how many people get to say that?

To recap, I’m so cold that I’m having shivers so severe that my entire body is shaking AND I’m still suffering through contractions AND THEN I notice my right hand. Remember, my right arm is hooked up to the blood pressure cuff? Well, apparently I was suffering some weird calcium deficiency that would cause my right hand to contort up every time the cuff filled with air.

That’s right, folks. Every few minutes I got Palsy Hand.

Also referred to as The Claw.

So, yeah, I was a fucking mess. And the baby wasn’t even out yet!

Since this post is ridiculously long, stay tuned for Part Four: Why I’d Rather Shoot A Baby Out My Vag Hole Than Have It Cut Out of Me. Shit, that’s a long subtitle…

Song title: The Birth of… by Imperia

Crazy Bitch

30 Jul

Don’t forget to enter our very first Giveaway for free Tea children’s clothing!

For realios, people. You’re making it really easy for the two people who read this blog! Spread the word! Enter the giveaway! Win and give the clothes to me!

Geesh, fine. Keep the prize for yourself. Greedy, much?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Okay, today we’re going to discuss a little dark secret of mine*.

Mom, Dad, you might want to go read The Onion or Martha Stewart or something right now.

Go ahead, we’ll wait.

{jazz musak}

Oh shit, that will just KEEP my dad around. DAMMIT!

Alright, now that we’re all comfy and cozy, I have to tell you a little story about a crazy ass bitch that road raged on me today.

[Open on a one-way two-lane-wide road climbing a hill and about to merge onto a larger road]

Here I am, coming home from today’s doctor’s appointment (more about that later), minding my own sweet business listening to talk radio (shut up) and climbing the hill that leads to my neighborhood.

As I look in my rearview mirror, I notice a shitty white car zoom out in to the next lane (that is about to merge on with MY lane in a few cars lengths) for no apparent reason besides trying to be an asshole and cut me off.

Now, there are many more cars in front of me and some that are legitimately merging in to the lane. THOSE PEOPLE, I would’ve let merge in front of me. But this stupid girl (I won’t compliment her by calling her a woman), for no reason, zooms up and tries to cut me off at the merge.

Here’s where some background on me might be useful (*This would be said deep, dark secret). It’s probably easiest said like this: Don’t fuck with me when I’m in the car. ESPECIALLY when Bee is with Grandma so I REALLY don’t have any reason to be careful. Because, while I won’t purposefully insight road rage against someone, if you cut me off or are a total dick or are speeding beyond reasonable amounts, well, first I’ll probably call 9-1-1 because I’m a total narc, but next I’ll probably try to fuck with you and thwart your evil plan of evilness (trademark!).

So when this chick tried to be a bitch and cut me off, I didn’t let her. My car is bigger and way faster so it was fairly easy and non-confrontational. She, on the other hand, didn’t think so.

Needless to say, there were a few hand gestures exchanged (only one from me – guess which one). I was actually trying to be the bigger person and didn’t try to box her in or anything when we merged on to a road giving us two additional lanes. She’ll zoom off and I’ll just smile and wave and get back to my errands.

It looked like it was going to go that way. I stayed in the slow lane as she zoomed ahead, cutting off other innocent drivers (without her blinker, of course, because if you’re gonna be a dick, I guess you just have to give it 110%). On we continued for a half mile or so, me going on my way cars and cars behind her while she drove like a douche bag.

As we approached a stoplight, I was turning right in a right-turn only and, luckily, wouldn’t have to stop next to her because AWKWARD. As I passed, she shot her car out in front of me causing me to slam on the brakes so I didn’t hit her.

Oh no you didn’t.

Now this is where a normal person would probably just yell obscenities to themselves in their head (we already know how I feel about that) and go on their way. I made the poor decision to instead cut her off (slightly, albeit) to take another route to the store I was heading towards.

That, as it turns out, was a bad idea.

So this crazy. ass. bitch. starts following me.

The trouble is: I’ve got all the time in the world, a half-tank of gas and Bee chillin’ at home with the Grandma. How do you handle such a situation?

You drive around the block, through the store parking lot, over and over.

And over.

And over.

Because the bitch just won’t go away.

I figure, I could do this all fucking day if I needed to and, luckily, she finally gave up when I decided to take a tour through the adjacent parking lot and expand our little round robin.

But seriously. WTF!

I doubled back to fill a prescription at the local drive-thru pharmacy, making sure to be sickeningly sweet to the pharmacist in case he happened to just witness the last few minutes. As I was a leaving the parking lot, a local cop car pulled in and I am just crossing my fingers that they weren’t called on my (and crazy bitch’s) behalf.

Upon arriving at home, I was so full of energy and adrenaline (not in a good way) and I just knew that I had to get this story on the blog so that I could forget about it and that you could assure me that crazy bitch isn’t going to hunt me down and deface my car in the middle of the night.

Thank god for gated communities, right?

Song title: Crazy Bitch by Buckcherry

Forgive & Forget

9 Mar

In the last week, I’ve noticed a very horrifying and frightening trend spreading throughout this nation that threatens the very things I hold near and dear to my heart.

The trend is: Forgiveness.

Now before you go off and start thinking that I’m talking about some serious and grave topic, let’s not forget who we’re dealing with here.

Of course, I’m talking about The Bachelor.

From Ellen to my very own girlfriends, it seems like the majority of the world has forgiven Jason Mesnick for not only breaking the heart of sweet, dear Melissa, but doing it on national television.

But you want to know a secret?

I’m kind of forgiving him too. For all that’s worth, right? I mean, we were BFFs (before the letter, anyway).

I figure this guy actually is the real deal who just happened to have a temporary slip-up in to Douchebaggery or he is the greatest conman who ever lived.

Because I do not hand out forgiveness easily. But who can stay mad at this face:

Nom nom nom

Oh, did I say “face”? I meant “abs”.

Song title: Forgive & Forget by Alien Ant Farm

New America

4 Nov

Vote, dammit.
Remember that here in The Hive, we’re all about judgment and complaining. But if you don’t vote today, you don’t have any right to complain about how the election shakes out. So, in order to join our shit-talking later, please please please please please vote!! Because no matter what, in January, we will have a new president and a new America!

But God help me if that old white dude and his token vagina win…

Song title: New America by Bad Religion