Joon!!!

June always seems like such a big deal. Warm weather, end of school, vacations, sunburn, bikini waxes . . . Last June I found out I was pregnant, was miserably ill and lost my 91 year-old grandmother. I also contemplated getting a gun, taking a dear friend out back and putting him out of his misery. Must have been those damn pregnancy hormones. Oh god, I am so thankful not be pregnant this summer. I know a few of you out there reading this are pregnant and yes, I'm very happy for you and yes, it's wonderful and you'll be so happy when you have that little baby (or will eventually, don't fret if that happiness isn't instantaneous), but let me be clear: I am so happy I'm not you right now. I am so happy not to be pregnant -- especially in the summer.

I remember late last August I was four months pregnant, not really showing, just having that little tummy and wearing my low-rise pants just a little bit lower than a woman in her 30's should. I was at the beach, in an outlet store, bent over, perusing bedsheets when two cows walked by, one said in a rather loud voice "crack alert" and the other cackled. I looked around and I was the only person in the vincinity. I placed my hand on my backside and yes, those bitches were refering to my ass crack. When I got home I marched myself to Mimi Fucking Maternity and purchased pants that fit properly. There I met a 7 week pregnant ninny who was already shopping for maternity gear. "I'm so excited that I can finally shop here!" she kept exclaiming. Being excited about a baby, I get that, but being excited about maternity clothes? Even nice designer maternity clothing, you have got to be kidding me. Chris felt I was harsh on the young lady. I don't think so. If I could have gotten away with it, I would have slapped her for her own good. This past weekend I walked past that same Mimi Fucking Maternity and the glee of not having to shop there was overwhelming.

This post is a distraction from writing my "Crucial Rooster" column. Shh, we don't want An Angry Booker.