flashback! bitches! you guys are all bitches!

i will now narrate flashback friday for all you bitches: in the first one i'm like, "oh? is someone taking my picture? i'm unaware of anyone doing anything..." and then the second one i'm like, "i'm so intense. i call this one pink steal." and then the third one, i'm like, "weeeeeerk it for the MONAH!"

that's right, bitches! it's the same shirt as my famed birthday party circa a long time ago. i effin rock that hot pink mini. effing. rock. that. shit. can you even believe the utter hipness of this whole outfit? awww yeah. well it doesn't have cleavag but it DOES have dyed pink hair and a missing tooth. BOOYEAH!

fine! i'll do it! but i'm only doing it because i have guilt! deep in my soul!

my brother sent me a note with an accompanying article complete with circling:

now, i'm gonna let you know, that despite the fact that i am ALLERGIC!!! to everything about scones, i made scones for those mother fuckers this xmas. and even though i chuckled appreciatively at this note slash magazine article (um, don't only grandmothers circle and send articles? brother?), i am boiling with rage (i know, you guys say i don't do anger very angrily) at the ungratefulness this whole communication implies.

do you even know what happened after i made EIGHT batches of scones? do you? those mother fuckers complained that they didn't get the same mother fucking amount as the other mother fuckers. well, mother fucker y'all. i'm so mother fucking sorry that your needs haven't been mother fuckin completely met. do you know what happened to me after making the scones? hmmm, did i get to eat a mother fucking flaky delicious scone? no. i mother fucking didn't. i got a mother fucking migraine. that's what i mother fucking got. and then i got the runny mother fucking bunnies. and then! i got joint mother fucking pain and all the other lovely things that happen to me afterward.


so, NEXT year i think i'll poison the scones. problem. solved. thank you, robert for your note. YOU'VE RUINED IT FOR EVERYONE! MOTHER FUCKER!

now, the story of the scones, for your enjoyment. one time, about tenish years ago, i was watching martha stewart making scones on the teevee. they were blueberry scones and they looked delightful. i like trying new recipes and scones seemed to be just the ticket. i tried them, i tinkered with the recipe because i don't really like cooked blueberries and i don't really like lemon zest in too many things. i feel it overpowers the flavor. i ended up changing the baking soda as well. mostly because i'm a mother fucking badass.

what resulted was flaky, chocolate chippy goodness. mmmmm. my first mistake was being proud of myself for making something so tasty. my second mistake was wanting to share my awesome tastiness with my crazy family because for the past one million years i have had to make countless scones under duress. that's all those mother fuckers want.

birthday? scones
christmas? scones
saturday? scones
AIDS? scones

i'm glad nobody in my family has the AIDS *knock on wood* but if they did, they would want scones. i'm telling you. one time i tried to teach my whorey sister how to make them and she said, "they never taste the same!" and i said, "it's because you're not angry enough." and she said, "YEAAAH! i think the extra ingredient is becky's anger!" like she had discovered something. what. a. whore.

my brother's wife made them for him and he slipped up and said they weren't the same. ooooops. now? if you ask him? he says, "noooo. i didn't. say that. they're. fine. really. delicious." i think she may be poisoning and brainwashing him at the same time. i did send them some when i made them last. i hope she doesn't hate me too much.

i blame myself. i should never make things for people. i'm just too good at making things. if i made a something gross everyone would love it so much that everyone would be like, "give me more of that gross stuff you make." and i'd be all, "curses! i've done it again!"

doggie friday: cream cheese icing edition

here's the still of the dog that started it all. pants the wonder dog somehow got icing on her nose and i swear that i didn't do it on purpose. swearsies. for reals. it was like jesus put it there him(s)self.

and then the video. you are allowed to watch it with the sound off otherwise you might go deaf from the cackling hyena noises that someone (the videographer, apparently. very unprofessional, i'll not use her again) is making during the entire thing. also, while the videographer was videographing someone (chuck) put his toe in her butt crack. that's why she fell over.

here she (the dog, not the videographer) is later. she might be scarred for life. it's a price we're all willing to pay.

ok. you guys. one of my employees made this snowkitty face for the forced snowkitty that my boss was making us make (i didn't help. I WIN!). and um. what? do? you? think? i meeeeeean, is it just me? vagina nose anyone?

i've posted a poll (up top, to your right), aptly named "vagina nose." take it. do it. love it.

inside, internal, middle, bologna, lettuce, mayo-ayo-naise

this is my childhood doggie and candi... wearing BOOTS! eeeee!

inside jokes are for winners. making people say, "whaaaat the hell are you talking about?" is funsies. i mean, i'm not exclusionary but i love an inside joke. love it. chucky and i are full of them. we've lately been saying, "grapes" instead of a sarcastic "great." so we're like, "oooooh, grapes!" and then the other one will be like, "grapes," in that same tone of voice. we go back and forth saying our sarcastic grapes and then we end in laughter.

it's good fun for the whole family! banana hands. see? that's another one. chuck envious of my long slender fingers because he has short stubby ones. and now? after seeing avatar... he calls me avatar hands. and then eric said something about my eight year old hands and i was all like, "these people are crazy! my hands are just fine! STOP LOOKING AT MY HANDS! AAAAAA!"

there are also all sorts of scrubs related jokes that i say all the time and another scrubser will recognize and laugh with me about. chuck's tried to break me of the habit by saying things like, "you watch too much tv." this statement is patently untrue, i say. the thing i do? i just remember too much scrubs. there's no shame in that, people. my favorite part was when that one irish dude was on there (guest star) and he told carla her hair was curly and then she started to make out with him and then turk said "baby!" and then carla said, "but he said my hair was curly" and then the irish dude said, "'tis curly" and then she goes back to kissing him. see that? if you don't watch scrubs you're probably dead or shaking your head in a snooty and uncool way that suggests i might be uncool but you would be wrong because i am so cool i don't even know what to do with myself some days.

we have family inside jokes. i think we all do. many are cropping up around the memory of my aunt. she said some illogical funny things while that brain tumor was in there mucking around. this tale is according to my mother, they were taking the dogs on a walk and my mother ripped a toot. she claims it was a tiny, ladylike toot but it was obviously audable because my aunt said, "that was a nice bullet point!" and now? now we call toots bullet points at every opportunity. the best thing to come out of a brain tumor is that sentence. love it.

i love knowing people. knowing what's going to make them laugh. my favorite thing in the world is to say something and watch the reaction. i love to see the smile slide accross someone's face. it's like my cocaine. i'll admit that sometimes i go too far and people get angry but i'd rather go too far than not have the chance to see the smile. i go too far out of LOVE and really, how are you going penalize me for that? you aren't, that's how.

"Bidet to you sir."


ps my "o" isn't working and it's like totally pissing me off. or "ff" because right then? the effin thing didn't work at all. bastard.

pps i have, in my possession, a video that contains me snorting because my dog SOMEHOW got cream cheese icing dripped on her nose and when i turned around she didn't quite know what to do about it. it is the best thing that has ever happened to the  american people. ever. i might be able to post it this weekend. if i don't die between now and then.

kitteh and kitteh and blondeh

this is the picture that chuck picked out of about a million pictures. he said, "look! i found a really great picture of you! i think it's my favorite." i don't know why but i was expecting a, i don't know, grown-up/teen age/college picture but no, he chose the eight year old kitteh picture.

here's what happened: we were living in the grand ol' state of cali* and our neighbors (to my left in the picture) had a shitload of cats. then they pooped (popped?) out some fuzzy kittens... and then i held them. a lot. after that, my mother (who's "allergic" to cats, pfft) came out for the picture op. she never misses a picture op, that woman. i'll have to track down the picture she took of me in the hospital. i won't go in to detail, BUT I'M CRYING. TEARS! of FEAR! while my mother is taking pictures.

but this really isn't about fear tears is it? no, it's about the fact that chuck is attrached to an eight year old girl.

*fornia

UPDATE! chiefy got the package (huh, huh package) i sent her and she liked it! weeee!

i rooooool

there are so many rules. you're supposed to be sad about something for a certain amount of time. you're supposed to not be on top of email or your phone or your goat because it might make it look like you don't have a life. we all want the illusion of having a life, right?

there are rules about death as well. rules in my head. for the most part i'm a crazy person and assume everyone is saying "things" about me and how horrible i am. for instance: i didn't really want to be on twitter or commenting on people's blogs right in the aftermath of my aunt's death. then sometimes i would have a funny twitter thought and i'd be like, "do i have to announce my aunt's death on twitter if i get back on twitter? if i announce her death on twitter am i going straight to hell? does twitter accept death related tweets? do i have to actually interact with people? do i have to preface everything with my aunt died? what's the point of getting on twitter if you don't interact with people? why are you so crazy?????" it was all very confusing.

i try to be all, "whatever!" but sometimes it's hard to be all whatever. ya know? with the searing pretend critism just hanging in the air around you. everyone is judging me and what i do and how i act. i thought i was starting to get over this part of my life. i thought once i figured out some things i could stay forever above caring about what "they" think.

i hate to blame everything on gluten but i can only blame my mother so much. wait, thanks mom for giving me the gluten gene AND marrying a man who has the SAME EXACT ONE then both of you fuckers GIVING ME BOTH! what the hell? anywho, when my life is disrupted, my food is disrupted and i somehow get foodfucked.* one of the multitude of things gluten does to me is to make me anxious/nervous/PARANOID. so i got that going for me as well. in related news, it takes FOREVER for that shit to get out of my system. ugh.

*not as fun as it sounds. well... sometimes. *cucumber sigh* <-almost too much, eh? it just HAPPENED i don't even know WHY!

sorry if i'm inappropriate, sorry if i don't feel the right way or at the right time or for the right amount of time, sorry if i make you uncomfortable. i'm just trying.

i also had a super weird dream recently. it was one of those dreams where you wake up, go to the bathroom thinking that there might be a murderer hiding in the shower or under the cabinet or in the closet when you get back to your room. one of those dreams where you wake up sweating, heart racing and when you try to go back to sleep, as in restful, this is going to benefit me sleep, you're plunged back into the same stinking dream dreams. i told chuck about it and he said, "you should write a book." therefore, just to prove him wrong, thinking i won't follow through and write it down, (what a bastard, believing in me) i DID write it down. suck on that suckah. in conclusion, should i post it? would you read it? and tell me it's fabulous? my mom liked it. I DON'T KNOW WHY I'M SO AFRAID!!!!

this is like the worst post ever, i think i might be going downhill. i need to get back in a flow of bloggggg. where the hell is my floooow? did you guys come over and steal it and then give it someone else? because i'd really like it back, please. thank you.

tomorrow i will post old pictures.

next week i will be interesting.

or at least funny?

or mabes just spastic as per yooj?

what do YOU want me to post about?

in other news, chuck and i met four (4) years ago TODAY! how exciting and life altering and something you really were dying to know is that? huh? pretty neat, eh?

HAPPY MEETING CHUCK DAY!

there's an awkward pause at some point but right after that i break into song (not really) (maybe) (no, it's just nudity) (sometimes youtube edits really great racks out) (i'm just sayin)

i'm going to warn you, this video is juuuuust awful. i mean, it has very cute dogs in it but other than that, you might as well not watch it. i'm going to warn you again though, the very cute dogs are at the beginning AND the end. so you're pretty much stuck watching the whole effin thing. do it.

ps questions? i got answers? clicky here to ask me things about my boobs. or whatever.