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Sleeping with The Enemy

I’m not really one to make rules for myself. I’m a go-with-the-flow kind of gal. I’ll try almost anything once, and I rarely freak if a risk I take doesn’t end in my favor. But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t certain standards by which I live. Let me explain.

I don’t let just anyone or anything into my bedroom. My bed is a cone of trust. You don’t get to enter it, especially with me, unless I know that you won’t betray me. It’s a Becca law that I have always honored.

cat in bed like human

Jack = Allowed

This being said, something has happened to this law. I have broken it.

Read the rest of this entry

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Mr. OB and The Unwanted Threesome

no cat swinging

You don’t want to see the original image I was going to use for this post … but if you do, it is at the bottom.

As promised, I have decided that today I will bestow upon you all the story that so fascinated and terrified me a few weeks ago. Yes, the one with sex and cats. I sure hope that it lives up to your expectations, because I know you have been fantasizing about what it could possibly be all weekend.

I have a geriatric boyfriend of sorts (this is not the sexual fetish part). A long time regular of the restaurant I worked at in college, and a shorter than average bearded man of about sixty-something, Mr. OB and I often find ourselves dining alone at the same restaurant. We have our declared spots at the bar. We have our usual orders. We both like our wine with a nice cold diet coke on the side. So, in retrospect, we don’t ever actually eat alone. We eat together.

There are a few things you should know about Mr. OB. He always orders the same thing. He “only dates women under forty”. He knows people. He can and will tell you anything and everything there is to know about New Orleans even if you didn’t ask.  He can not hear but refuses to get a hearing aid. I assume he thinks this would confirm his age, thus he avoids it. He is also known for something called the champagne bath, which by its name alone should give you an idea where this story is going.

Mr. OB and I share a no-shame attitude in regards to the openness of  our conversations. I’m almost certain that it has nothing to do with the bottles of wine. Being that I mainly talk about cats in regular discourse anyway, and he about hot women he has courted, it is to no surprise of mine that the following conversation happened: Read the rest of this entry

I Don’t Watch “Girly” Shows

Some things about me:

girl and kitten

Check out my mink stole!

1. I don’t eat cereal, but if I did I wouldn’t eat it with milk. That’s disgusting.

2. I don’t have barbies anymore, but if I did I would totally line them up on my ceiling fan blades and flip the switch to on. I make it rain… dolls.

3. I don’t have cable anymore, but if I did I would be watching the premier of the new season of Grey’s Anatomy in exactly ten days. Don’t look at me like that. There is sarcasm all up in that title.

Did I do the trifecta thing right Edward? I had a different Rule of Three experience, so I am not too sure.

So, what have we learned? I don’t like soggy food, or the word soggy, and I don’t  have the healthiest ways of entertaining myself. My previous barbies will vouch for that.

Speaking of entertainment and TV shows, I have discovered a new series. You’ve probably never heard of it, but it is named Dawson’s Creek. 

Somehow I was never properly obsessed with this show ten years ago when it actually aired. I was probably too busy seeing how many items I could sling off of my ceiling fan. I also remember being ridiculously consumed in The OC and fantasizing about seven minutes in heaven with Adam Brody. Between the two activities there wasn’t time for much else.

How I never so much as channel surfed my way to Dawson’s Creek in between dodging commercials is beyond my comprehension, but I didn’t. I fret not. Thanks to Netflix, I can now time travel back to the nineties and earn this right of passage. I might possibly be one of the last people still wondering when Dawson is going to get laid.

Regardless, It is nice to go back. Back when twenty-five years olds played fourteen year olds and there was always a moral at the close of an episode. Back when scenes became more intense with an Alanis Morissette song. Back when ceramic hair straighteners didn’t exist and actresses looked more like normal people.

With seasons one and two down, I began to wonder how much these fictional high school dramas have probably changed in a decade. After reading The Hook’s post referencing Glee, I don’t think I am quite ready to leave the nineties. Dawson and Joey may be frustratingly prude, but at least missionary sounds less dicey than scissoring. Cue audience laughter.

What is your favorite show from the 90’s?

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