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We Love Each Other

bad wrapping

I wrap good.

Don’t you love a good conversation with your family on the Holidays? My family sure does…

Brother (from a room on the other side of the house): “Come help me, I don’t know how to wrap.”

Me: “No.”

Brother: “Come help me.”

Mom: “She said no.”

Brother: “Okay.”

On shopping last minute…

Brother: “What can I get for Dad?”

Me: “He likes to be outdoors. You should get him a tent so he can camp out in the back yard.”

Brother: “He would probably love that.”

Me: “Or, a pillow for when he sleeps on the floor. I was joking about the tent.”

Brother: “I am going to get him slippers. If he doesn’t like them I will take them.”

Me: “I don’t think that is how it is supposed to work.”

Brother: “Do you have any money?”

Merry Christmas everyone. May all of your conversations be this deep.

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Don’t Hate The Re-Gifted Blog

I am overwhelmed since the end of Becca on Fire, so this is an old post I wrote back in May that I re-edited for today. I wanted to revisit my blog’s history for a moment of deep reflection on how things have changed and how I have grown.

We both know that’s not true. I am really just too busy re-gifting last year’s snuggies and bad DVDs. So here, have this re-gifted blog specially selected by me for you. I will most likely not post again until the weekend. Instead, this week I will throw myself back into YOUR blogs that have been neglected in lieu of the beautiful chaos.

tuesday sucks

Is it just me, or is Tuesday the most uneventful day of the week? Check it out.

  • Monday is the black sheep of the weekday family, but at least it is known for something. It’s famous for all the wrong reasons, but that’s the way to do it these days, right?
  • Wednesday is kind of like the just-popular-enough step brother of Thursday. It also is often referred to by using the word hump, which is never a bad thing unless it is in the same sentence with the word surprise or butt. If you aren’t familiar with humping, just ask Daan.
  • Thursday is just close enough to Friday to switch your thoughts from putting proximity mines in your favorite co-worker’s cubicle, to thoughts of drinking rum in your  backyard in a hammock for two whole days. Isn’t that everyone’s idea of a weekend well spent?
  • Friday = Parties, paychecks, and pandemonium. I don’t think elaboration is necessary.
  • Saturday is Mecca. Saturday is that distant cousin of all other week days who ran off from the weekday family to live a Summer in Paris sipping Cafe au Lait by day and squandering Absinthe by night. It is the day to sleep in, do whatever you want, and then entertain the enchanting notions of  the unpredictable course Saturday night could take you. OR you can play Hitman until your eyeballs look weird and everyone thinks you are either stoned or Steve Buscemi.
  • Finally, there is Sunday Funday. Even the most chill day of the week gets an inviting name. Host of family barbecues, abundant naps, football, catching up on housework, and maybe even a little front porch swing action, Sunday is akin to Wednesday but with slightly better genes.

What happened to Tuesday? You never hear anyone say, “Dude, you will never believe what went down last Tuesday”. Okay, maybe you might, but for me Tuesdays remain the most mundane of all the days, and the only thing that’s “going down” is my spirits.

Maybe I will reinvent Tuesday. It’s time to take the monotony out of Tuesday. It will finally be envied by all the other weekdays. Here is what I am thinking:

Tool Tuesday: Wrap things in tulle while listening to Tool and sitting on a stool.
Why it won’t work: Tuesday will always suck, and I used all of my tulle to make an indoor hammock for Saturday.

I will be working on getting my shit together and writing a legitimate post with awards, tequila, fireworks,  people doing ridiculous things in horse masks and maybe even some real jokes! You know, something worth seeing. Until then, please go visit Le Clown and help him get another deserving blogger Freshly Pressed. There, I pulled a Santa. I am done until 2013.

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This is My Festivus Post

The last time that I participated in any kind of gift exchanging game for Christmas was on a first date. Can you imagine that? You don’t have to. I will tell you how it goes. If you are me, that is.

awkward christmas

Holidays aren’t holidays until things get uncomfortable.

My date picked me up for dinner somewhere back in December of 2008. We were supposed to go to a simple dinner. Me and him. On the way to the restaurant, he receives a phone call, which he takes, and has a casual conversation from which I infer that plans are about to change.

Date: “That was my mom. My family is having a Christmas party down the road. Do you want to go? It will be fun”.

Sure, I love meeting entire families on first dates. 

Me: “Umm… I don’t know, I mean, I don’t want to intrude. They don’t know me.”

You barely know me.

Date: “Oh come on. They are super friendly. They will love you. There will be a lot of great food and presents.”

Me: “Presents?”

Date: “Yeah, they play Dirty Santa every year at this thing.”

As we continued down the highway, the dialogue went back and forth between him assuring me it wouldn’t be awkward and me trying to find a way to escape the moving car without looking obvious. Or killing myself. We ended up going, because I have an adverse reaction to telling people no, and guess what? It was awkward. Imagine that. Read the rest of this entry

Beauty and The Becca

See what I did there? Did you see? Did you?

matted hair baby

I saved this picture as “matted baby”. I feel uneasy about that.

Let me preface this by saying I was inspired to write this post after reading Melanie Crutchfield’s How to Be Beautiful. If girls pooped I probably would have shat myself laughing when I read it. I’d award her with free underwear if that wasn’t a weird thing to do. If I hadn’t given up Photoshop so quickly because I sucked at it  my free Photoshop trial hadn’t expired, I too would use it to make my own funny image additions here on my blog.

My mother is and always was into fashion, beauty products, make-up, and stuff of similar categories. This is why I do not understand how I was so beauticiously challenged growing up. I don’t remember her ever teaching me how to do things like put on my make-up, shave my legs, or pluck my eyebrows. I don’t think this is because she didn’t want to or try to, I was just too stubborn to wait for her to decide that I was old enough. I can’t blame her. I know she just wanted to see me as young and innocent forever, but come on, I was walking around with so much blonde hair on my middle school gams that it looked like Cousin It was humping my leg.

Because of my impatience, and therefore, lack of instruction and proper guidance, I had one too many beauty fails as an awkward 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, and 16-year-old girl.

For starters, I was initially too afraid to shave using an actual razor, so I resorted to Nair. If you like to bathe in acid you should try it. Nair should be illegal.

Once I conquered my fear of the razor, I became adversely razor-happy and went on a razor binge. It started out innocently enough. You see, my hair is naturally curly (had you fooled didn’t I?). This means I had what I call whispies (also known as fly-aways) framing my face. I had a ton of them, and I wanted them gone. So, what did I do? I shaved my fucking hair-line. When that worked out dreadfully, of course I didn’t hesitate to moved on to my eyebrows. I am still trying to grow them back to their full volume to this day. Read the rest of this entry

New Reads and Pumpkin Seeds

the bellman chronicles

Oh, so you thought my obsession with men’s long johns was a lie? You were sadly mistaken.

If you don’t already know about Robert Hookey’s new book The Bellman Chronicles, you fail at internet, reading, and life. Just kidding… or am I?

I have been following his blog, You’ve Been Hooked, for quite some time now. The Hook handles his profession very seriously but knows when to poke fun at all that comes along with it. His hilarious takes on the wide variety of characters and situations he encounters on the clock as a Bellman are always a pleasure to read (to put it simply). So,  when I read that he published a book, I knew I had to check it out.

If you want me to get all mushy about it, I’ll say that I look up to him as a writer and think he is generally an outstanding human being and shit. He also is one of my top commenters/cheerleaders. It took me a while to get to it on my to-do list, but I finally ordered a copy which came to my doorstep last night. I’m considering it a Chrsitmas-in-October present to myself. You should do the same.

I’d also like to give a present to you while I am at it. My gift comes in the form of a recipe, but you will have to read my little story first. Get excited. Read the rest of this entry

Cordial Holiday Meals With The Cords

mad thanksgiving cat

I am the savage one. You might want to check your yams for cat-eye crust.

Well, well, well. It looks like Blogger Idol is allowing us peons to play along from the loser’s bench. I sound a little sour, but truth be told I think it is a great idea. I also like the challenge of having a topic provided for me to write about. The topic for this week is Family Traditions. You might need a cocktail for this one.

The holiday season is inevitably rushing towards us. I have to keep reminding myself of this, because in Louisiana it feels like summer throughout the entirety of this thing they call “fall”. I am not quite sure what that word means. The first in the string of holiday festivities for my family is Thanksgiving which then leads straight on into Christmas and ends with New Years. I know you are grateful for that uncommon knowledge I just provided.

I present to you a play-by-play of all three holiday dinners in my household, as they are all identical if you swap a ham for a turkey in December. The predictable behavior that repeats year by year is the tradition in itself. Your play-by-play stars myself, my mother, my father, and my brother. Action! Read the rest of this entry

She Made Me an Offer I Can’t Refuse

the gosmother

[Let’s pretend that this is an appropriate photo for this post, and you can just call me whatever the female Vito would be called. Or, just let me pretend I look this cool. Alright, I am a horrible phony. I haven’t even seen The Godfather. ]

You know what I have seen though? A bunch of ultra-sounds and baby bump pictures. Yes, the infamous Booger is growing a tiny human these days. While I never expected we’d planning her reveal party for the sex of the baby this weekend, I also never expected to get so amped about baby stuff in general. And probably the least expected, but most incredibly exciting part of it all… she offered me the position of godmother.

Here in the south, godmothers are generally called the nanny and the godfather is the paran (I don’t think I can give an accurate phonetic spelling, so just pronounce that with your best French accent). When Booger called me to ask what I would prefer to be called (Godmother, Nanny, Aunt Becca), the whole life changing event became more real in my eyes. I can only imagine how she feels.

All of my friends know me as the one who was never overly concerned with settling down or marriage and definitely not procreating. The slightest thought of child-birth always triggers the “NOPE!” section of my brain. Even as a child, I never fantasized about my wedding or was much for playing with baby dolls that were promised to realistically defecate on me. I was more in to putting Ballet Barbie in her convertible and playing make-believe as a restaurant owner. No lie, I had boxes of faux meal receipts that I organized to keep tabs on my imaginary diner’s success. We had the best hot dogs. All the regulars said so. Read the rest of this entry

Me Vs. Mom Vs. Siri

Siri voice command

Driving on long boring road trips, like I did the last weekend, really does wonders for writer’s block. Not that I ever get that. You really have no choice but to let your mind wander. I found my thoughts rolling on top each other, connecting and branching out into explosions of thinking awesomeness. I can only imagine the inside of my head as looking like The Symbiote but less scary. Lacking pen and paper and furthermore, the skill to write anything legible while driving down the highway, I had to use my cellphone. I typed my thoughts in the notepad app. I can feel the judgmental *don’t text and drive* stares. I get it. I only did this because I had a friend in the car, and I didn’t want her to think I’d gone all Whoopi Goldberg on her with my body being invaded by a spirit. I was afraid she would do a tuck and roll out of the vehicle (I’ve watched the movie Ghost way too many times). Anyway, had I been alone, the voice memo recorder is wonderful for capturing thought blurbs on the go.

Other efficient ways in which I use modern cell phone technology:

  • I couldn’t live without Pandora Radio. I open this app before I even brush my teeth in the morning.
  • It is super convenient and easy to send pictures from my phone to my e-mail or Twitter in seconds.
  • If I need to search something lengthy while driving, I use the Google app with the handy voice search.
  • I do almost all of my banking right there on my phone. I can even deposit checks up to $1000.

How my mom uses modern technology:
Note: She has a more advanced version of the Iphone than I do. Unbelievable.

  • Is afraid to say inappropriate things to Siri because she “is afraid she will get in trouble”. Seriously Mom?
  • Finally gets ballsy and makes me listen to her curse at Siri to evoke (in her mind) hilarious responses.
  • Words With Friends
  • Words With Friends
  • Words With Friends
  • Draw Something
  • Words With Friends

Doesn’t she know Words With Friends is so last year?

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