Mom to Bee

I think I found out who stop following me and I think it was one of my favorite bloggers.

Sigh.

Do You Want To Break Up? by Eurythmics

The results are in
I am officially…

…

…

not pregnant.

Fuck you, January. Fuck. You.

February, you’re mine. All MINE!

And just to make things sweeter, apparently my uterus has decided to revolt against me for my attempts to knock her up again. Not only do I have my lovely little monthly visitor, but she decided to visit EARLY and FEROCIOUS. Arg. Being a girl sucks monkey balls.

But in happier news, this means that I have another month of eating stuff all the stuff I shouldn’t eat while pregnant, like rare beef, sushi and hot dogs. Sah-weet!!

And last night I discover THE yummiest food on the planet: California Rolls that are…wait for it…DEEP FRIED! Holy crap, right?

Like I told my friends, my body is my temple. And this temple requires all the food that enters it to be purified by way of hot, tasty grease. Man, I’m already craving more of it. So good.

Song title: Joy and Pain by Rob Base

Are you one of them?

But wait.

Huh?

Um, Pretentious Douche*, why is their a pile of dress shoes by the door?

But…uh…urr…see, I have this pretty little dress on. Yeah, it’s cute huh? I got it for my high school reunion to hide my post-pregnancy belly almost 2 years ago but it’s totally hot, right? I know! It’s BCBG. But wait, where was I? Oh yeah, see I have this pretty little dress on and my shoes…yeah, they *are* cute! See the little ruching in the front? Yeah, and see they match my dress perfectly! ::poses like Americas Next Top Model, Cycle 13:: I know, right?! Totally perfect. But if you force me, against my will, to take said perfect shoes off then, well, I’ll be barefoot. In someone else’s apartment. Who I don’t know. And meeting a bunch of people I don’t know. In my bare feet.

And, wait. You have a dog. A dog that shits and licks herself and whatnot. Like most dogs, I presume that your dog also periodically walks through her pee and poo.

But *I* have to take *my* shoes off before I come in your house?!

Pros and Cons of the Shoe Removal Policy

Pros
(1) You keep your rug clean (::cough::lazy::cough::)

Cons
(1) You have to see my ugly feet.

(2) I never get to show off any cute shoes and therefore it never matters what shoes I wear.

(3) My feet get cold.

(4) It’s embarassing (i.e. I don’t get regular pedicures and/or I’m wear junky socks that I had no intention of showing you)

(5) (Somtimes) it is inappropriately casual. If this is the first time I’m meeting you or have never been to your house before, it makes me very uncomfortable to be that informal. Why don’t I just help myself to your bathrobe and grab a beer from the fridge while I’m at it?

(6) It’s just awkward. If I’m in a cute party dress with strappy sandals, now I have to put down my purse and coat, bend over without showing the world my chocha and unbuckle my shoes, just to have to do it all over again when I leave? I just look like a douchebag. Can you imagine watching a movie and seeing Angelina Jolie strutting in to a party and stopping to remove her shoes? Or James Bond with a martini and no shoes on? No, you can’t, because it would look retarded.

Unless it’s a family gathering or a close group of friends, when your guests arrive, they want to drop their coats and get to socializing. They don’t want to fumble with their footwear like they’re in line for a security checkpoint.

*Mr. Bee saw Pretentious Douche at another gathering where he (1) brought his dog to another persons party, and (2) fed said dog sushi from the expensive sushi platters provided by the host’s parents. I now deem you Sir Douche VonDoucheyPants.

Song title: Stone In My Shoe by Alisha’s Attic

I think I broke a toe today.
And unfortunately, it’s one of my toes.

A Re-enactment
Open on a quaintly messy living room. An adorable young toddler plays on the couch while a loving mother tends to her. When the beautiful and graceful young mother (hey, it’s my re-enactment…) approaches her young daughter, a threatening, nay, homicidal ottoman (which had laid dormant until this very instant) jumped out at the young mother, throttling her foot.

Anywho, now I’m forced to hobble around all day like frickin’ Verbal Kint. And, of course, I have a client meeting this evening. Think Starbucks will let me use the handicap parking spot?

*All ottomans are presumed innocent until found guilty by a jury of their peers (i.e. ottomans, stools, love seats, etc.)

Song title: Hurt so Bad by Alicia Keys