And then I yelled at a total stranger and he threw my own shoe at me.

I was going to fake post today and make you read something from the archives since I’m being eaten alive by meetings this morning. However, I decided instead to share with you this quick story from my morning commute.

So every weekday of my life is spent in a false race to the top during my commute to work, along with every single commuter in the tri-state area playing the same game on the subway. We all know that the mere fact that we’re taking the subway means that we have not, in fact, won at life.

Regardless, there’s a hierarchy to subway riding that becomes quite clear:

Top: You got a seat
Middle-top: You’re standing, but have your own hand-rail to hold all to yourself
Middle-lower: You’re standing and have to share your hand-rail with at least one other person
Bottom: You are standing, don’t have a hand-rail because it’s too crowded, and you’re using the balance of those around you to keep from falling over when the train is moving

However, there’s one level of the hierarchy that doesn’t always come into play, yet I experienced the dichotomy first-hand this morning.

You have your own seat: Top. Also, you’re unknowingly stepping in dried, sticky coffee on the floor: Bottom.

Cut to:

Eight minutes later I’m heading off of the train and one of my shoes decides it likes the ride and wants to stay on, submerged in the sticky goodness of the dried coffee. However, I’m several steps ahead of it, slow-motion figuring out that I’m one man down in the shoe department, and so I turn and yell “My shoe!!!!!!!!!!!!” at three total strangers, completely giving my power over to them in a moment of despair and realization that I may actually be getting a foot infection from the New York City air while I balance on one leg.

Luckily, Quick Draw McGraw was on the train, bent over, and tossed the black flat at my torso as the train doors were closing, rendering him my Hero of the Day and giving everyone on the platform and the train a good chuckle on a rainy Monday morning.

You’re welcome, New York. I’m here to serve.

Happy Monday, everyone! 

Friday Wrapup!

The sun is finally shining, I think it may stop snowing at some point in the Midwest, and it looks like everyone has taken their summer Friday’s a bit earlier than normal. It’s that time! Let’s get to it.

***

I don’t know how many of you are big NFL fans, or live in the same house with one, but for those of you who didn’t know, last night was the annual NFL draft.

Yeah, I didn’t know that was a thing, either.

But I wish I could retain information about any one thing as much as CB does for, specifically, football and baseball. He spews out stats and fun facts like I do when talking about chick flicks starring Meg Ryan and Julia Roberst.

Oh wait, I just got it. The NFL and MLB are his Meg Ryan and Julia Roberts….he’s going to be so happy that I was able to turn this around and make a rom-com reference.

Also, if there was as much cursing in
rom-coms as there was in CB’s apartment
last night, the FCC would have their hands full.

***

This is one of the many reasons why I love New York City.

***

For this week’s Book of the Week, I’ve chosen a book that got such a good write-up on the blog that I’ve added it to my list of spring reading! Especially when I read “While the prose in the first half of the book is beautiful, lyrical and eerily hypnotic, the second half will jolt you out of your trance with a much grittier and more disturbing tone.” Um, sign me up! As CB knows, “grittier and more disturbing” is right up my alley!

So, if you’d like to check it out for yourself, please click here.

***

Also, I want to thank those of you who have voted so far on BlogHer. I’m not even including links here, because this really is just to say thank you. I appreciate all of the support and I wouldn’t be writing this blog without you!

***

And now, the Video of the Week.

This came to me earlier in the week when I was reflecting back on my weekend and, specifically, our trip down to Atlantic City for our friend’s bachelorette party. We got stuck in traffic and ended up hearing this song, conservatively, one billion times.

But I’ve taken a week’s hiatus from it and am ready to let it invade my ears again. Plus, JT can rock a leather suit. Truth. 

So…..enjoy! And have a great weekend, everyone, go out there and feel the sunshine!

And then I went completely insane.

So, I’ve recently realized that I may have the propensity to be slightly insane. Like, I’m starting to notice that I have some “habits” that don’t really lend themselves super-well to logic and reason, but I’ll be damned if I’ve ever let those two things stop me. And as I’ve gotten older, I’ve become more concerned with being one of those super-rigid old people who only likes a certain kind of raisin bran and will refuse to wear anything but those aggressively padded sneakers that they don’t sell in regular stores.

However, after a conversation with CB last night, I realized I may already be there:

Me: “Wait, they’re making an Iron Man 3?”
CB: “Apparently.”
Me: “Ugh.”

Silence.

Me: “Did you see any of them?”
CB: “I think I saw the first one, yeah.”
Me: “And did you like it?”
CB: “Yeah, it was pretty good.”
Me: “Oh my God, I hated that movie.”
CB: “Well, that’s because you don’t like fiction.”
Me: “Um, I love fiction. I just don’t like unrealistic fiction. Or comic book movies.”
CB: “Right, you only like the super realistic fiction. Like When Harry Met Sally.”
Me: “I can sense your sarcasm. However, When Harry Met Sally is very realistic.”

CB, unresponsive because he’s too busy rolling his eyes.

Me: “Also, for the record, we are the living reincarnation of When Harry Met Sally.”
CB: “Excuse me?”
Me: “We are! It’s like they wrote that movie from the future about us.”
CB: “You’ve completely lost your mind.”

Whatever, in my mind, I won that argument and that’s all that matters.

But not liking comic book movies – or cartoons….or movies that seem like they’re either a comic book movie or a cartoon – is totally normal.  What might not be as normal is the realization this morning that I was totally thrown off by having to walk up the stairs on a different side than I normally do while ascending from the subway.

Um, am I the real life Rain Man, just with limited toothpick-counting abilities and no interest in watching Wheel of Fortune?

Because when I started to run down the very incomplete list of things that seem normal to me but, when said out loud are completely f’ing insane, I got a little nervous that perhaps I needed to reel it in.

But I’ll let you guys be the judge.

1. Before going to sleep, I have to go through the list of all of my family members and our former and current pets. Is this weird? It’s like roll call Waltons-style in my head before going to sleep. Maybe this could be considered a mental exercise to keep me sharp? Except I’m not sure how sharp you have to be to remember the name of your poodle from childhood, but whatever. I’m on it. 
2. I will only brush my teeth with hot water. Why? Because I assume that hot water kills more of the bacteria than cold water. Though, when I mentioned this to CB one morning, he pointed out that, unless I was brushing my teeth with boiling water, my logic was flawed. I disagreed with him in my mind and continued to brush with authority.
3. I must sing happy birthday (to myself, because out loud would be crazy) while washing my hands. Again, in my defense, this is just good hygiene and something they teach you in grade school so you don’t have pee hands when you’re touching the glue sticks.
4. I have to bread and butter around light poles. Um, what? I know. But please tell me you guys know what this is? Because I don’t remember who taught this to me or when I started doing it.  All I know is that I’ve done it for quite some time now and I consider it bad luck if I walk on the “wrong” side of the light pole, mailbox, etc. So, in order to erase that, I say “bread and butter” and all is right with the world. Also, if none of you knows what I’m talking about, then….yeah, I totally don’t do that bread and butter thing either. Weird.
5. I don’t believe in jinx. Ok, this is less “you’re crazy” and more “that game is stupid.” But I just had to put it out there because it drives my friends insane when they try to play jinx with me and I’m like “shockingly, you telling me that I now cannot speak because we just said the same word at the same time does not, in fact, render me unable to speak.” And then they glare at me and wonder why we’re friends and I go about my day feeling superior over people who play jinx.

Like I said, a very incomplete list, since I’m pretty sure my friends and family who are reading this have already come up with seven other things that I do to make me crazier than what is listed above. However, I threw out a sampling for my valued and loyal readers because I’m depending on you guys to make me feel sane.

Which I now realize may be a futile attempt since, from what I can tell, a lot of you are as crazy as I am. But it’s why we work, so let’s roll with it.

Happy Wednesday, everyone!

Blog Note: Tomorrow I will be a Featured Blogger on BlogHer in their “Money” section. You know, because when you’re looking for financial advice, I’m the gal you come to! Or, because they thought my blog was funny and enjoyed my post about getting all of my money stolen. Either way, thank you to BlogHer for being such a big supporter of this blog. And thanks to all of you who have voted so far for my blog to be one of the “Voices of the Year.”

And if you’re interested in voting (and are a member of BlogHer), feel free to click here! And here! And here. 

On how I became xenophobic by accident.

So this morning I had to go get blood work done, which I’m sure was a genius move on my part in light of the fact that I went to a bachelorette party this weekend and so my blood was having a love/hate relationship with anything that wasn’t 100 proof vodka yesterday. But whatever.

Anyway, I do this every year as part of my Let’s Keep Becky Alive and Healthy program, and so it’s pretty cut and dry. Fast for 12 hours, check in, obsessively think of everything you’re going to eat when you get out of here, and then sit for an hour and a half longer than anticipated because they never schedule these things accurately.

So when I was feeling a little light-headed walking into the lab, I knew that it was that common feeling I get if I haven’t hydrated or fed myself for approximately 3 hours. Also, I didn’t take my allergy medicine this morning because I was nervous it’d have weird side effects if I hadn’t eaten anything, and so my head was also foggy from all of the pollen floating through the air trying to kill my sense of joy.

Basically, I was sort of killing it this morning with how on top of my game I was.

But when I sat down and was making light-hearted banter with the lab tech, I got a little worried as I started to see two of her. And then this is what I remember happening:

Me: There’s not two of you, right?
Tech: Excuse me?
Me: You’re not, like, a twin?
Tech: A twin?
Me: I see two of you.
Tech: Are you feeling alright?
Me: I was until there were two of you! And now I’m feeling sort of panicky.
Tech: Just relax and breathe and don’t look at the needle.
Me: Um, the needle is not my issue. I’m totally fine with needles.

And then I glanced down at the needle and the next thing I know, I’m being propped up by two lab techs speaking in Spanish.

Now, for those of you who have never passed out, a few things to note: 1, it’s a disorienting feeling because, well, all of the oxygen rushed out of your brain and so it takes a minute to remember how to, you know, be a person. And 2, when people are speaking another language as you come to, you, for a split second, wonder if you’ve had a stroke and no longer understand English.

Also, in light of this, you might come across as slightly xenophobic.

Me: Are you speaking English? Can you please start speaking English?! I don’t understand anything but English!

…said the crazy lady who hates all romance languages.

Tech, in English: Rebekah, are you feeling ok? You started to pass out there for a minute.
Me: I think so….and thank you for speaking English. I got scared that I had a stroke.
Tech, laughing: No, you definitely didn’t have a stroke, you just started to fall off the stool, but by the time we caught you, you were coming to.
Me: So I only half passed out? That’s actually impressive on my part.
Tech, unsure how to respond: Would you like to reschedule your appointment?
Me: Are you kidding? I can’t fast twice! Let’s get this show on the road so I can eat some cookies and drink apple juice.
Tech: Actually, we don’t have that here today, unfortunately.
Me: If I pass out again do you think you can score some?
Tech: I’m sorry, ma’am, it doesn’t really work that way.

Happy Monday, everyone! 

Friday Wrapup

It’s been a long week everyone…..TGIF! 

Let’s get to it.

***

First off, thanks to everyone who has voted so far over on BlogHer. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, first click on over here for why my parents and CB are the best around. Then, Click here! And here! And here.  And thanks! 

***

So, I got this from a friend the other day and absolutely loved it. And while I’m sure my hormonal imbalances, which make CB love me more with every passing day, had absolutely everything to do with the fact that it made me teary, it’s still worth the five minutes to watch. 

It’s been making its way around social media and the news, so you may have already caught it. But I think this is an important lesson for women AND men. So...enjoy! 

***

Obviously, we’re all well aware of the tragedy in Boston this week, but it’s been comforting to see people coming together and helping each other out. Also, it’s good to have a laugh now and again, so click here for the perfect combination of humor and compassion. Best. 

***

As I promised in last week's wrapup, the book review is ready, so check it out here. 

***

Um, you literally have no soul if you don’t smile while watching this. I mean, c’mon people! It’s a chow puppy in a bowl! AND HE CAN'T GET OUT! 

***

And now for the Video of the week. Kind of goes without saying. 

So, I’ll be back atcha’ on Monday – have a great weekend, everyone - stay safe and live it up!

Happy Friday, everyone! 

Not a real post. But I do love democracy in action!

So do you guys remember when this blog got nominated for one of the Top 25 Humor Blogs over on SkinnyScoop? Well, during that time, CB was super-excited that, by mere romantic association with me, he was slightly obligated to get on board and vote.

And then this happened:

Email from CB: 

I voted for you… but let it be known that in order to vote for you (because I’m not on Facebook) I had to register with SkinnyScoop and now I am officially a member of a group that sent me a welcome email advertising beauty essentials, parenting products and the things ladies love the most right now. I believe my man card was just revoked.

Me: 

That’s awesome! If I’d known that I totally wouldn’t have asked you to do it (but I’m sort of glad I did). Thank you!

CB: 

It opens with “a list of women who inspire me”… from Maya Angelou to Beyonce… from Margaret Thatcher to Madeleine Albright…

I’m a member of a group who probably wouldn’t have me as a member. I can’t wait to get my first email from Oprah and an invitation to be on The View.

Well, it’s happened again. Except this time, I unintentionally roped my parents into it, too! 

So remember last week how I told you guys that a few of my posts are up on BlogHer for the “Voices of the Year” contest? Well, I was intending for other fellow bloggers who stop by here regularly to vote if they felt moved to do so. But apparently, my parents took this as a directive to work the system and rack up a few extra votes. 

Mom: “Oh, by the way, your father and I voted for your blog on BlogHer.”
Me: “Wait, you did?”
Mom: “Yeah, but it took me a while to figure out how to register. Your father got it before I did.”
Me: “Mom, I didn’t mean for you guys to vote!”
Mom: “What do you mean? You asked people to vote!”
Me, laughing: “I appreciate it, but I meant for other bloggers to go over and vote if they wanted.You guys aren’t bloggers!”
Mom: “Well, we joined SkinnyScoop so we could vote for you. By the way, I get emails from them all the time.”
Me: “You know you can take yourself off of that list, right? Although I think CB still gets those emails, too.”
Me, to CB: “Are you still on the SkinnyScoop email list?”
CB: “That’s where I got the spring cleaning tips that I printed out. But then I took myself off the list right after that.”
Me, laughing: “The things you guys will do for my blog...”
Mom: “Well, we wanted to make sure we voted. And your father and I will stay on there until the voting is completed in May. We want our votes to count!”
CB: “I’m not joining BlogHer to vote for your blog, sorry. Joining SkinnyScoop nearly got me kicked out of the Man Club as it was.”
Me: “It’s ok, I know you still love me.”
CB: “Apparently.”

So, if you're not my parents or CB and you DO want to vote (and are on BlogHer), please....

Click here! And here! And here. 

Sorry guys, this is a fake post today because my brain isn't working quite yet. But, since I posted yesterday, hopefully you'll all give me a pass and I'll make it up to you on Friday with the wrapup! 

It's About All of Us.

I’m a runner. I’ve run in rain, sleet, snow, wind, humidity, and sunshine. I’ve run when my body aches and I’ve run when I’m feeling on top of the world. I’ve run to clear my head, run to strengthen my body, and I’ve run just to run.

I’ve also run two marathons, pushing my body to its furthest limits, feeling as if I couldn’t go on and making it through by sheer determination, hydration, and the crowds of friends and strangers cheering me on.

But I’ve never run in fear. And I’ve never run for my life.

So I can’t wrap my head around the events in Boston on Monday. What possesses someone or someones to bring fear, terror, and tragedy to an event surrounded by all things good is beyond me. But, I suppose, that was the point.

My friends who are runners have been posting on social media outlets about going on their run today in honor of those who never finished, and I’ll be doing the same. But perhaps it’s the inherent narcissism of human beings that allows us to take this tragedy and make it about us as individuals, as well as a society at large.

And maybe that’s what makes it bearable. Maybe that’s what makes it less obtuse.

Or maybe it’s because it IS about all of us.

It’s about the runners who stopped to help their fellow marathoners and those cheering them to the finish line. It’s about the spectators who carried people to safety. It’s about the police, fire fighters, and first responders who ran towards the chaos while most people were running from it.

And it’s also about the guy in the middle of Iowa today who goes for a run because he can. It’s about the doctors and nurses around the country who are reminded of why they get up and go to work each day. It’s about the thousands of people around the world who are gearing up to train for the New York City marathon in the coming months. And it’s about the people who take pause in the face of new-found fear before getting out there to cheer loved ones towards the finish line.

It’s also about getting out there anyway, because that’s what we do.

However, while watching the events of yesterday’s tragedy unfold on the news this morning, I found myself standing in the middle of my apartment, crying. But I couldn’t figure out what I was crying about.

I mean, everyone I know and love is safe, both in Boston and thousands of miles away. And I watched footage and heard stories all day yesterday from the scene and felt complete and utter compassion for those having to endure this nightmare in real time, but was able to take myself out of it; it wasn’t about me.

So why now? Why, nearly 24 hours later, am I standing in my living room with tears streaming down my face?

Because it’s about all of us. And it’s about getting out there anyway, because that’s what we do.

That’s why. 

Becoming a Woman and Walking like a Fawn: A Lesson in Fashion.

Sometimes, in spite of the glitter and my intense love for romantic comedies, I fail at being a woman. But not in the Sheryl Sandberg-esque, “I can’t have it all and I make seventy cents to your dollar” kind of way. I kill it when it comes to that. Obviously.

No, I mean in the everyday, blatant ways, leading me to deduce that I may have missed a day or two in school when All Girls learned how to do girl things, like own more than one dress or walk in heels without looking like a day old fawn.

However, as with any A list rom-com, I sort of turn things around right before it gets way too campy and unbelievable, emerging down the spiral staircase looking like that super pretty actress that they had to ugly-down for the role in order to pretty-up halfway through so that Freddie Prinze Jr. would fall in love with her and take her to the prom.

It was so much easier
when you could just
rock a bitchin' barrette
and call it a day.

Case in point: within the course of a seven week period, CB and I have three weddings to attend. And while I didn’t know for quite some time that you couldn’t just own one black dress that’s kind of shapeless and wear it to everything requiring heels, I found this out recently when I started looking at pictures from the last two years and couldn’t distinguish between the events because my outfit, hair, and date were the exact same.

Also, in my defense, I actually think having the same date isn’t a faux pas, and if anything, is the mark of a healthy relationship. But if I’d been a bit less discretionary in my life choices, I may have been able to look at that wedding from 2011 and say “Well, that was obviously Susan’s wedding, because my date was that guy who drank too much and then groped the bride’s mother during the cocktail hour while I was busy convincing the DJ to do a killer Beyonce mash-up.”

But since CB insists on going to all of these functions with me, I’ve had to step up my game. And by “step up my game” I mean that some friends have decided to take pity and charity-dress me so that they can post these pictures on Facebook without having to explain to others that I was some style-less party crasher who’d never heard of Rent the Runway.

Cut to: Me standing near-naked in Jen’s bedroom with six or seven elegant dresses sprawled out on the bed while she and Danielle gave me explicit orders from the other side of the door.

Jen: “You have to come out, even if it doesn’t look good.”
Danielle: “Hurry up and get out here. And put on the shoes, we want to see the whole package.”

Oh, something you should know about me. I have the type of body that linebackers and Sherpa’s covet, complete with broad shoulders and a strapping back that’s perfect for muling large packages across borders and stopping quarterbacks in their tracks.  And while these features have been known to cause one or two massive and tearful breakdowns in various Macy’s dressing rooms over the years, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to embrace these characteristics and have convinced myself that it somehow means that I won’t, like, get back cancer or something because I’m way too strong and sturdy.

But sometimes this makes for a challenging excursion with fashion, since these features are deceptive. I look all normal and regular-backed until you get about an inch from the top of the zipper, just when you think maybe your arm will snap off because you’ve contorted it in such an unnatural way just to get the zipper nearly all the way up your back. And then you realize that, inexplicably, it won’t quite make it.

So I was fully prepared for such an event, having to explain to my friends that the gorgeous Vera Wang was super killer, but only if it came in size Football Player. However, I was pleasantly surprised that, aside from a few moments of Group Zip*, this didn’t go half badly. 

But while I’ve fully committed to gowns and glamour, what I’ve yet to embrace is how on earth anyone can walk in heels.

First of all, it was like a Natural Geographic special where Jen and Danielle were the scientists/explorers and I was the rare species of Not Quite Girl walking down the hallway with wobbly ankles and a pained look of disgust (in my inabilities, as well as the cruelty of the design of All Heels) and anxiety on my face. Let's get real, I’m semi-surprised they didn’t have cameras out while pointing and whispering.

Danielle: “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in heels. Or a dress. But you’re kind of walking like a baby giraffe.”
Jen: “Are you ok? Do you want us to come to you? You’re walking really slowly.”

But hang on. Oh my God, you guys. Have we actually just gone ahead and gotten on board with heels? 

Also, have we all watched “Pretty Woman” one too many times? Because while I remember wearing heels at prom and not ending up in a body cast, I do not remember the heels being eight inches tall.

However, if this is what it's come to, I will fully need CB to carry me around every wedding reception from hereon out, stopping periodically so I can grab a vodka and a pig in a blanket or two. 

Wait, hold on. Come to think of it, ladies, this is genius! Well done and I take it all back. 

So regardless of whether I'm able to physically walk or bend over, I now have both a dress and heels, and I'm sort of smokin', if I do say so myself. And really, if I've learned anything during this Fashion Evolution, it's that breathing, walking, and sitting down are highly overrated activities while Looking Hot. 

Challenge Accepted.  

*You know what Group Zip is. It’s when you bring in everyone within the vicinity of your dressing room to pull that damned dress together and get it to zip. It usually entails moments of shouting “Don’t breathe!” and saying a silent prayer to your God that it won’t split in two, met with audible sighs of relief when it finally clasps and you haven’t passed out.

Friday Funday!

It’s raining sideways, my hair has decided that I’m not in charge today, and I don’t think my coffee has kicked in yet.

TGIF! It’s the Friday Wrapup!

First of all, thanks to all of you for your comments, emails, and posts yesterday for our One Year Blogiversary! It’s Good Times City up in here, thanks to you guys.

***

So I’m slightly sleepier than I would normally be, thanks to CB introducing me to an addictive app called SongPop. Oh holy crap, you guys, this game is everything that is right with the world and taps into many of my strengths: a healthy and competitive spirit, addiction to terribly wonderful 80s and 90s music, and a killer ability to aggressively high five when CB and I dominate the leader board.

Also, CB should simply know better by now, and so I blame him for creating a monster. He casually told me about it around 8:30, and by 10:15 I was like “We must put our phones away immediately! I’ll never sleep again!” And then he said a silent prayer of thanks for ending up with someone so intensely cool.

Anyway, I'm sleepy is the moral of the story. 

***

I’m actually in the midst of writing a book review for the book blog and should have it posted later this weekend. So, keep an eye out next Friday for that and, in the meantime, check out the blog here for some reading inspiration! 

***

And now, the Video of the Week. These guys came onto my iPod this morning as I was making my way through the tsunami of rain and it just seemed fitting for a rainy day. Also, CB sometimes comments on my music, pointing out that "for as Rainbow Brite as you are in all other things, your literature and your music sound like you're the most depressed, bleak person on the planet." Which I obviously take as a compliment.  Enjoy!

Happy Friday, everyone! 

An incredibly self-serving blogiversary-palooza!

Happy anniversary to my underpants! Or at least to stories about my underpants.

That’s right, folks, one year ago today, I went ahead and published my first post - and the world was never the same.

Or, it’s actually exactly the same, except now there is one more blog out there AND my family and CB have had to go into witness protection. But whatever. 

I mean, in the course of a year, I have flashed a stranger at the gynecologists, gone to Dunkin Donuts with an eye mask on my forehead, have had half of my body become an admiral in the navy, gotten caught in a hurricane, gotten lost in a sea of Irish people, gone pants-free and scared my neighbor, almost gotten shived on New Jersey Transit, figured out how NOT to celebrate Valentine’s Day, continuously worried about kids today, judged other people’s joy, and had the blog taken over by a boy.

And that was just the stuff I told you about! (check out the archives on the sidebar for more!)

But I think the coolest part of this past blogging year has been all of you guys. Fellow bloggers, like Lauren Filing-Jointing, helping and giving me great advice in the early days, other bloggers like AwkwardlyAlive and Pleasantly Peculiar and The Growing Foodie continuing to follow my tales and spread the word to their readers, and all of YOU who comment, follow, “like”, and all of the other randomness that comes with the blogging world.

SAMU (all the cool kids are saying it) has also gotten recognized this year by SkinnyScoop as one of the Top 25 Humor Blogs, and the SITSgirls and BlogHer have been incredibly supportive in promoting this blog to the masses!

Also, if you don’t currently follow me on Facebook, you might not know yet that three of my posts are currently up for "Voices of the Year” in the humor category over on BlogHer.

Um, if you vote for them, I might get asked to read one of them aloud this year at BlogHer ’13 and that would just be ridiculous and fun and anxiety-inducing AND a great post. So……wanna vote?

Click here! And here! And here. 

Oh my God, I'm actually annoyed with myself at the obnoxiousness of this post right now. I'm so sorry. Let's pretend that I didn't just link to a billion different things in one post AND beg you to vote for something you read for fun and to avoid work and IT'S NOT LIKE YOU'RE THE BLOGGESS, BECKY, GET A GRIP. 

Whew. Thanks guys, I needed that. 

But THANK YOU for your support, your "likes", your comments, your emails, and the laughs you bring ME every week. There'd literally be no point to this blog without you. No, seriously. That's how blogs work. 

Happy Thursday, everyone! And happy blogerversary! 

Adulthood 101: Just make it all up as you go.

Obviously, being an adult is the best time ever. I mean, you can totally go to bed at whatever time you see fit, even if you’re well aware that most adults your age make it past 9 o’clock. Plus, you get to choose your own clothes, make ALL of your own decisions, and do whatever you want, when and where you want.

Also, these are the precise reasons why being an adult totally blows at least a third of the time.

I mean, adults are just taller, older, hairier, more disgruntled versions of kids, with slightly more life experience and a broader vocabulary. So if we’re being honest with ourselves here, we’re all just sort of going through the motions at least half of the time.

Right?

Or is it just me?

Me: “I think I ate too much frosting.”
CB: “You did what?”
Me: “I just ate some frosting and I think I ate too much because now I have a stomach ache.”
CB: “For the record, any frosting is too much frosting.”
Me: “That’s just ridiculous.”

Moaning under my breath.

Me: “Why do I do this? I’m like a child with no self-control around frosting.”
CB: “It’s true.”
Me: “And I’m really good at other parts about being an adult.”
CB: “It’s actually impressive. You’re really good at some parts of being an adult, and then the other parts seem to elude you.”
Me, offended on principle: “Hey!”
CB: “What? I said they ‘elude you’ – it’s out of your control!”
Me: “Oh. Ok. That’s fair.”

But other than eating frosting for dessert and wearing pink pants to work (they’re festive, dude), I’m pretty sure we can all get on board regarding a few other “adult” things that we’re totally all just faking.

Jobs.

First of all, why did I ever think that adults were good at their jobs or knew what they were doing simply because they were adults? You know why? Because adults are in charge of EVERYTHING. And that should terrify all of us.

Think about it: next time you’re going in for, like, brain surgery or something, take a good hard look at Dr. McDreamy. Why? Because I guarantee you he has at least three friends who have some sort of dirt on him that would totally either (a) get him fired or (b) make you not want him messing around in your brain. But somehow, he totally aced chem lab in college, is a natural at test-taking, and scored above average on the narcissist quiz online, and so now he’s totally in charge of brain surgery at Major Hospital Where You’re a Patient.

And I really didn’t notice this phenomenon of everyone just faking it until they were making it until I got into the professional world myself and was all like “Oh man, I don’t know how to do X, I’m a new adult!” And then I’d go ask less new adults who had been there awhile and they were like “Yeah, I do it this way, but I’m not even sure if that’s how it’s supposed to be done, so just basically figure out what works for you.”

We should all be crippled with fear.  

Parenting

To be fair, all of my friends and family members who are parents are kinda killing it. But I’m going to let you in on a little secret, kids. Every adult you see? Faking it. Mom and dad? Totally making up AT LEAST half of the stuff they tell you on a regular basis just so you’ll stop talking and they can have some peace and quiet and a glass of wine.

I mean, I was well into my teens before I saw a picture of my dad, riding a tricycle with a beanie on his head with a bunch of his friends. And no, he wasn’t five. He was twenty-two and about to graduate from a prestigious, non online university. Which got me to thinking: “Wait….dad was a person before he was my dad?” and it made my mind reel at the thought and so I likely just went back to watching “Melrose Place” and dreaming of Andrew Shue. Obviously.

But now, as is the cycle of life, the people I grew up doing stupid things with after sobriety had left the building are in charge of the leaders of tomorrow. And all I’d like to say now, as an adult child of parents who were totally people before I took their souls, is:

LIARS!

I bet my eyes totally wouldn’t have gotten stuck that way if I kept doing that, and I probably wouldn’t have puked all over the place if I’d hopped in the pool just after lunch. And you know what? I’ve jumped up and down on my bed a TON of times without it breaking, and so I call foul on that one, too!

Moving on.

Relationships.

I’d like to think that as I’ve gotten older, wiser, and less crazy, I’ve brought a level of maturity to my relationships that was lacking in the past.

Oh my God no, that’s obviously not true. I couldn’t even do that with a straight face.

When I grow up,
I hope I meet a boy
who digs these sorts
of hats on me. 

However, I actually have learned some things along the way and, through time, patience, and a lot of laughter, think CB and I have put something together that’s pretty darned good. Also, I let him watch baseball with very little complaining and he lets me watch Bravo shows and eat frosting on his couch, so we’re obviously made for each other.

I mean, it’s possible that it’s just me, but has the dance really changed all that much since we were younger? Do any of us really know what we’re doing when it comes to courtship of any kind?

When I grow up,
I hope I meet a girl
who loves plaid jackets
with elbow patches. 

Let me answer that question just in case you’ve never seen a reality tv program or haven't glanced at the cover of a tabloid magazine in the checkout line recently: No. No, we do not.

You see someone, you think they’re cute/ interesting/ funny/whatever floats your boat, you wonder if they find you cute/interesting/funny/whatever floats their boat, and then you both act like idiots for much longer than necessary before one or both of you fesses up and agrees to go get some coffee.

That’s pretty much it. That’s dating. The routine, the tumble, the dismount. Rinse,

repeat.

Until, you know, you find someone who’s ok with your glitter shoes and whose laugh you like a lot and realize that people have gotten together over a lot less, and so you go for gold.  And then you make brand new people, tell them a bunch of stuff you made up that sounds believable, and go to your job to make decisions that may or may not be correct.

BOOM. Adulthood.

Am I alone here? What do you guys think?

Happy Wednesday!  

What I Did on my Spring Vacation

You know how you’d have to fill out those “What I Did on my Vacation” worksheets in elementary school and how it’d normally be filled with things like “Went to the beach with my family” or “Visited my aunt in New York City”?

Well, for my seven year old niece, her worksheet will consist of an intimate knowledge of what marijuana is, what testicles are, and why on earth some people consider placenta a delicacy.

What? She asked! Also, that’s way more interesting for the teacher to read anyway, so relax.

But let’s start from the beginning.

First off, it should be noted that I really have no idea how to talk to kids and often don’t think before speaking in general. So, that combination can quickly lead to frustration by parents who have to clean up my mess. Luckily for me, this parent was my sister, so she totally had to know what she was getting herself into, and so let’s just go ahead and blame her if my niece ends up in juvie.

Oh, also, she knows what juvie is.

So my sweet, kind, whip-smart niece does this thing where she tricks you into thinking that she totally knows what you’re talking about, and lulls you into a false sense of security by starting the conversation talking about our matching glitter shoes and love for all things pink.

But then, out of the blue, you drop some testicle humor into the conversation and she’s all like “Wait, I’m seven, what’s a testicle?” and then your eyes dart over to your sister, who gives you a look of “What the hell is wrong with you?” combined with “You brought it up, you explain it” and then goes back to her iPad with a delightful glimmer in her eye, reveling in the fact that she will not be describing a testicle to a seven year old.

Me: “Well, you know how girls have vaginas and boys have penises?”
Niece, fascinated: “Yes.”
Me: “Ok…so boys also have these things called ‘testicles’ that are part of their whole outside package.”
Niece, staring blankly.
Me: “Ok, you know how our parts, as girls, are on the inside?”
Niece: “Yes.”
Me: “Ok, well for boys, their parts are on the outside.”
Niece: “Their penises.”
Me: “Yes! And they have these two…..well……”

At this point it’s important to note that my sister is laughing to herself while I proceed to hold my index finger upside down as “the penis” for a visual aid.  

Sorry, sis. I thought first graders
knew these things! My bad.

Me: “…..sacks, I guess, that sort of hang behind and below the penis.”
Niece: “Oh. And people eat those?”
Me: “Well, not usually, but sometimes, like for a dare on a reality show, they’ll dare you to eat cow testicles or something.”
Niece: “I don’t think I want to eat testicles.”
Me: “Oh thank God. Yeah, you definitely don’t.”

Silence.

Niece: “What other gross things do people eat?”

Crap.

Me: “Well……I mean, all sorts of things.”
Niece: “Like what?”
Me: “Um….well, sometimes people will eat placenta.”
Niece: “What’s a placenta?”

Shockingly around this time, I got a very similar look from my sister. It’s like I just never learn.

But I’ll spare you that description since, as it turned out, I wasn’t 100% sure what it was, either, and have very little actual understanding of everything surrounding children, including how they’re nourished on the inside.

Anyway, a little while later, as we were leaving for dinner, we stepped out into the hallway and my niece and sister commented on the aroma wafting through the stairwell.

Niece: “What’s that smell?”
Sister: “It’s rosemary.”
Niece: “Mmmm, I like the way rosemary smells.”
Sister: “Me too.”

During this time, one could find me starting at my sister to see if she was using the word “rosemary” as a euphemism for pot so we wouldn’t have to go into a long explanation about drugs after the anatomy lesson.

Sister, looking at me: “What, you’ve never smelled rosemary before?”
Me: “Um..have YOU?”
Sister: “Yeah, all the time.”
Me: “OK, so you know that’s not rosemary then, right?”
Sister: “What? Yes it is!”
Niece: “What is it?”
Me: “Wait, ok, are you using ‘rosemary’ as a code word?”
Sister, laughing: “What? A code word for what? Do you know what rosemary is?”
Me: “Of course I know what it is, which is why I’m confused!”
Niece: “What’s that smell, Aunt Becky?”
Sister: “WHAT are you talking about?”
Me: “The fact that you honestly think that’s rosemary….”
Sister, staring blankly.
Me: “Um, it’s pot.”
Sister, laughing: “Oh my God, that IS what that is!”
Me: “I KNOW!”
Niece: “Aunt Becky, what’s pot?”

And then we spent three blocks explaining marijuana to a seven year old.

Sister: “You know that she’s going to go back to school and will tell all of her friends about marijuana and testicles and I’m the one who’s going to have to field those phone calls from parents.”
Me: “Hey, better you than me. Plus, they need to relax. It’s New York. People smoke pot and have testicles.”

And that, my friends, is what my niece did on her spring vacation.

Happy Tuesday, everyone! 

Friday Wrapup!

I’m not at work, my sister and niece are in town, and everything is right with the world. It must be Friday! Let’s get to it.

***

So, while my niece has been to New York City before, it’s been a few years and she was too young to really remember anything from last time. So, this trip is exciting for all three of us because not only do I get to hang with two of my favorite human beings, but I get to show a 7 year old the magic of the city. I see in her eyes the same awe and excitement that I had when I first got here, and that still strikes me now and again when I feel the rush and the pull of everything New York.

Also, there’s a not-so-small part of me that hopes during our travels underground, we get to experience something like what’s on the video below. It’s one of the many reasons I still can’t get enough of this place. Enjoy!

***

This week’s book is purely because I’m the devil and sometimes like to torture my sister (and potentially all of you). It’s a book that’s been around for quite some time and is definitely an acquired taste. Also, it’s one that some people – my sister included – should never, ever read. If you’re one of ‘em, just move on along.

The Road is a book that I LOVED. It’s dark, it’s bleak, it’s compelling, and it had me hooked from the beginning. However, as CB has said many times, my “Rainbow Brite” disposition all but disappears when it comes to my taste in literature and some of my “sad sack” music.

He might not be wrong.

So when I was telling my sister about this book a few years ago, I was gushing for a minute and then realized that she would really, really, really, really not like this book and should never, ever, ever read it. But, since she’s her, she took that as some sort of weird challenge and decided to dive right in.

And then it’s possible that she curled up into the fetal position and started rocking back and forth after finishing the book, only pausing briefly to call me and tell me that I’m the worst sister in the world and WHY DID I MAKE HER READ THAT BOOK ABOUT DEATH AND CANNIBALS?

Why? Because it’s awesome.

So, here’s the book review - read at your own risk. And if you end up in the fetal position, please don’t call me.

***

Remember earlierthis week when I posted about when CB totally wondered if our kids would have arms or not? Well, soon after I received an email from a friend who said:

“I just read your post about armless babies and then watched this video my friend sent me. Hopefully your kid will have arms AND be as brilliant as these little guys!”

And I laughed out loud.

 

***

So next week will be the one year anniversary of this little blog of ours. And while I’m sure you’ve all been keeping careful track of this and have some sort of major celebration in store to mark the occasion, I wanted to take just a moment and say thank you.

A lot has happened over this last year, and sometimes it even included me wearing pants. But this journey, this blog, these stories – they have taken on a life of their own because of you, my loyal blog followers. You’ve told your friends about it, you’ve re-posted on Facebook, you’ve linked on your own wonderful sites, and you’ve become fans of the blog’s very own Facebook page.  

And in wonderful, serendipitous timing, two different sites will be featuring the blog in the coming weeks, sort of adding to my already obvious celebratory mood. And they’re two sites who have shown us love in the past – The SITS Girls and BlogHer – and I couldn’t be more surprised and flattered that we’re being recognized again.

Um, also, I do realize that I’m saying “we” here, so don’t worry that I’ve experienced some sort of psychological break where my multiple personalities are coming out (OR HAVE I?). It’s very purposeful.

Because without all of you, this blog simply wouldn’t exist.

Or, it would, but it’d be super sad because it’d be like me posting a blog solely for me to read. Which is not only pathetic, but incredibly boring. And a bit redundant.

Therefore, while I’m continually shocked that any of you find anything I say remotely interesting or funny or re-post-worthy, I’m also incredibly honored to have the opportunity to entertain you guys for even just a few minutes a day, a few times per week.

So thank you for your re-posts, thank you for your “likes”, thank you for the constant (and hilarious) comments, thank you for letting me into your lives here and there, thank you for reading, thank you for laughing, and thank you for keeping this going!

Here’s to another year about my underpants! Cheers!

***

 And now, the Video of the Week. Since I’m in an Empire State of Mind at the moment, you know, from living here AND getting to experience it again through the eyes of my niece and sister, I decided this was more appropriate. Except maybe it’s not an appropriate song for a 7 year old? Not sure. This is why I’m not a parent.

Happy Friday, everyone, go out there and enjoy your weekend, won’t you? 

 

(also , special shout out to CB and his family and friends in Austin this weekend!)

It's a Monday Rewind.....

So I promise to blog all about my glorious visit with my sister and niece over the weekend, but that will have to wait until tomorrow, once I've had a chance to let it all sink in.

In the meantime, in honor of my anniversary week, I'm taking a trip down memory lane via 2012 posts that you may have missed (and I may have forgotten). Also, it's a great way to post and not really do any work, which is really a win/win situation for me.

But I do promise a brand new post tomorrow, so stay tuned....and in the meantime, enjoy!

***

II have to admit that I’m still coming down off of the last week of various travels and so my brain isn’t working in its normal, obviously high functioning way. Also, to give you an example of how high functioning my mind typically is, this conversation happened between CB’s mom and me this weekend while we were in the Poconos Mountains:

Me: It’s so beautiful here, all the leaves changing, the mountains…..
CBM: It really is, it’s so peaceful.
Me: So what mountains are those, anyway?
CBM, staring at me because I’m an idiot: Uh, the Poconos Mountains…you know, because that’s where we are.
Me: Oh yeah, that totally makes sense!

In my defense, this could be anywhere
beautiful. With mountains. 

 And then she immediately sent CB a secret text message asking him to please break up with me so that we wouldn’t potentially have stupid children with sparkle shoes some day.

Whatever, I blame it on the fact that I was still delirious from my travels earlier in the week and so my ability to understand geography and how things are named totally went right into the garbage. And speaking of garbage, I had to eat my breakfast out of the trash on Sunday morning because CB hibernates like a bear in the winter time.

I know, right? Our pretend kids would totally have it made.

Let me explain. On Saturday, CB’s cousin and I drove over together and decided that we absolutely had to have car snacks. I mean, we were going to be traveling for nearly two hours, and if I’m in the car longer than about 20 minutes, you best have some treats or I might get cranky! So we got some goldfish crackers and did our best to make it to the bottom of the bag in 120 minutes or less. Unfortunately, it was a narrow miss and so I brought the remainder up to the room and threw the bag in the garbage.

Fast forward to the following morning when CB decided to sleep as long as humanly possible.

The first two hours were bearable. I took pictures of the sun rising over the Poconos MOUNTAINS, read a bit, and even laid in bed and tried to will myself back to sleep. There were a few times that I decided to interrupt CB’s snoring to ask him if he was “ready to eat yet?” and then got secretly annoyed with him for not understanding that my question had absolutely nothing to do with him or his food needs and everything to do with mine.

However, after my very obvious attempts at distracting myself and selflessly offering to help nourish my boyfriend in his sleepy time of need, my stomach started screaming at me because it doesn’t like to go without sustenance almost immediately upon waking up.

And that’s when I started to get desperate.

I dug around at the bottom of my bag to see if I’d forgotten about any plane treats from my earlier trip that were just sitting there begging to be eaten. I found a lint-y mint, but it tasted like keys and I have my standards, so that was a no-go.

So then I contemplated going downstairs by myself to eat breakfast, but then had visions of his family all thinking I was a selfish a-hole who couldn’t wait for the rest of them, which would obviously lead to them all sending CB more secret texts about our stupid and selfish pretend future kids. So that was a no-go, too.

Then finally, it hit me. Garbage Goldfish.

The scene of the crime. 

I’m not saying it was my proudest moment, but I’d also be lying if I said it was one of my worst.

Like an Olympic athlete sprinting to the finish line, I ran over to the garbage, saw the golden goodness staring back at me….and dug right in. But of course this is when CB decides to wake up, look over and say “Are you eating out of the garbage?”

I chose not to answer because my mouth was full, and so I just waved him back to sleep and went into the closet to eat in peace. And while in said closet, I decided to text my friends to get a reading on just how weird this actually was. I mean, sitting in a closet eating goldfish crackers for breakfast at a hotel doesn’t seem that bad, but again, my brain wasn’t at its most high-functioning, so I wanted some back-up.

And this is what I got:

Friend #1: “You missed one meal and now you’re apparently living like a homeless person! I always pack emergency snacks in my suitcase for just such occasions.”

Friend #2: “You ate the garbage goldfish?! Sweet Lord. I really hope (CB) appreciates the treasure he’s found in you. You’re like a helpless child. Go get yourself some coffee. If they sleep like normal people, you’ve got about another half hour to wait, so you might want to find some nourishment from somewhere other than the garbage. Put pants on, run out for coffee, come back, and I can promise either no one will notice or they’ll be grateful you can fend for yourself.”

Judge’s ruling on how we feel about my friends knowing full well that I hate pants and so, most likely, I was eating Garbage Goldfish pants-less in the closet?

Also, if you’re at all related to CB: I’m sorry he didn't fall for someone normal.