eHow to get rid of a migraine

how to describe a migraine.... migraines are like if angels were drilling a hole into your brain for hours on end. see what i did there? i think that's what the kids are calling an allegory ... ? wait! no! a smiley face? ... noooo, how's about alliteration? i don't really know. it's one-a those things that "good" writers do to make you all like, "wow. becky is a good writer because she just used a puggle device in one of her sentences. that is one great literary thingy that she just utilized. i am IMpressed. a lot." which, in turn will make me go, "i know. i am so becktastical it's really almost too much for most 'normal' people to grasp all i gots going on."

why can i never stay on topic? gee darnit! guess what else? my sister got migraines for the first time in her life at 20ish and my mother took her to get a cat scan. a cat fucking scan. i've had migraines since i was 12 and NOTHING! my mother's excuse? "you don't like doctors." AT TWELVE, MOTHER? TWELVE?

see? that last paragraph contained stuff about migraines! staying on topic five, becky! america! fuck yeah! i'm so good at staying on the topic of topics. speaking of which, i wrote a tweet about something fun. it contains jesus and christmas and ice cream at the same time. this is my way of saying, yes, i know xmas just happened but no, i don't feel like talking about it. so there....

but really, who wants to talk about how hilariously funny my tweets are? well, maybe in like five minutes because we're supposed to talking about migraines for cripes sake. um, migraines? this is my thing now? like i say i'm talking about migraines and then i just let my mind wander wherever completely disregarding my original intent? do you find this funny? is this what i've come to?

yes, because here's the video announcing the LUCKY winner of the contest! ooooooooooo. luckeeee.

um, just the one girl? calling number fifteen? email me your address and some money. oh, wait, no i'm sending you things. in conclusion, migraines are the fucking devil. helpful hint: orgasms totally either get rid of the migraine OR make you go to sleep and when you wake up, it'll be gone.

my friend, who also gets migraines was all like, "yeah ... i know ... but sometimes i don't wanna do the whole thing when my head is exploding." let me spell it out for you: masturbation, it's not just for ugly people anymore. not that i'm saying pretty people don't masturbate. um, hello? my name is becky and i have a vibrator. get one. do it now. funny coincidence? jag and i talked about naming vibrators one time. she was trying to name hers and i said chuck and i call mine "doctor johnson" because that's what it says on the side! *tying it all together five*

did you guys even see that? it really all fucking tied together. migraines to other stuff to winners to masturbation to migraines and BACK to the winner thing. i am the fucking mastermind of everything. you may bow down to my aaahhhhsomeness.

and yes, my dog choosing the winner video was tooootally inspired by the lovely becky of the becky club... BECKY!

becktastic give a way. here, here's a "way" just for you. i hope you like your "ways" spicy!

*giggles* i have ballz. and moose antlers. i also have a giveaway so shut it and pay attention. i am no longer in texas so don't try looking for me in texas. i'm not there. i'm here.

this giveaway is the best giveaway since jesus was "given" "away" to mary. FROM GOD! i'm going to get a flat rate box and it's gonna be a party in there. all sorts of shit and stuff.* there will be at least one kickass gift card now with more money! i have purchased a one million dollar gift card from visa, just in case you don't like all the other crap i put in there.

all you have to do is leave me a compliment. if it's creepy, i'm disqualifying you. please do not use the words: soiled, breasts, vulva, "the" or anything pertaining to the buttocks of anyone. (ps i do have a really nice butt. but you already knew that, right? oh, becky. you give the best compliments! i'm entering you seven times! ok, everyone else, butt compliments are taken. now it just sounds forced. i'll be wondering if you really think i have a nice butt or if you're just fishing for extra entries).

how can i get more entries, becky? i'm glad you asked, johnny! you can tweet about this giveaway (link to this post and @mylittlebecky), you can link to this giveaway from your website-i-cal, you can send becky money, you can comment on this entry as detailed above, you can tweet on multiple days if you would like. i need people to do my work for me while i'm playing in the snow that's not in texas.

so, if you do any of those things, just come back and leave another comment each time you tweet/link. then an angel will get it's wings. also, you might win cool stuff! i like stuff! do you like stuff? the giveaway will end the next sunday at the witching hour and i will announce a winner on monday(ISH!) by picking one of you lovely people, randomly. you will then tell me your address and i will send you a bomb. no, i'm just kidding. although, now, if it does explode this will probably be entered into evidence as proof that i pre-meditatedly killed you.*knock on wood*

note to self: no bombs, just poison. second note to self: please stop announcing your murder plans online. it's unprofessional. note to law enforcement: i do not intend to poison or bomb anyone with this giveaway. i'm a nice girl who ain't never done nothin to nobody. except sometimes i give people hugs. IS THAT AGAINST THE LAW NOW???? i need to call my lawyer. and my mother.


*no actual shit will be shipped. i think that's against the post office rules. i'm just saying. although, i did have to ship a cat fecal sample once. it was pretty fun. i'm a cat shit shipping professional. *adds to resume*

exxxe mass

we are going on a lil trippy for the "holidays." it's to go see people. in chuck's family. and they don't live here, they live in another place. a place far, far away. we're gonna go waaaaaaaaaaay up on a plane. high, high up in the sky. and then we'll land the plane and be in a whole new place.

it's similar to MAGIC! because, i don't know about you, but i don't have wings that i can use to fly places. i don't even have any feathers. i know you're all shocked by this information and i might lose a few followers, however! being the ballsy kinda gal i am. i will admit it. I HAVE BALLZ! BUT I DON'T HAVE FEATHERS!

i also had to send eight days of food in boxes up there. eight. days. in flat rate boxes. they're effing heavy, man. i actually pulled a muscle in my neck while trying to get them from my apartment, to the car, out of the car, through the post office door and then i had to wait in line behind some very nice old man. WHO TOOK FOR FUCKING EVER! jesus christ.

THEEEEN i had to have chuck call his family and tell them i'm weird. AND DON'T EAT MY FOOD, BITCHES! except, i don't know if he said that last part. so, it's like a crap shoot if they get my package and are like, "fuck yeah! becky sent us food! let's eat the shit out of it! high five!" next there's high fives all around. while eating my foods.

good thing it's all crappy soup and bars. fuck, this is gonna be a fun trip. do you know how fun eating the same thing for eight days is? naw, it's fine. i like those bars. it's like a party in mouth part. an apple party! now with more nuts!

i do love nuts. that's what she said.

anywho, we'll be sleeping in chuck's dead grandmother's room again. funsies! last year she haunted us in there. uncool, dead grandmother. un. cool. let's not do that again. i am also super looking forward to hanging out with the step motha. she's just peaches. she makes me want to stab things. mostly her face. no, i'm just kidding. mabes a hand.

now i have paralyzing fear that she'll find this site and stab me first. oh, step mother. you're so pretty and lovely and here's nine dollars. why nine dollars? NONE OF YOUR GODDAMN BUSINESS! take what you're given and be grateful for it.

i'm so good with people. oh, dude. we went to my clinic's xmas party (ps no bonus. what the fuck?) and seriously? ugliest baby ever there. i'm not just saying that. the kid looked like the guy from the goonies as a baby. at one point, the dad was scratching his head and he totally went into a trance just like a chicken if you turn it upside down? is that what you do? who knows. scientists, that's who. chicken scientists.

the point i'm getting to here is that: happy holidays, bitches.

and as a final parting gift, i will host a fantabular GIVEAWAY! THE FIRST YET! it's gonna be becktastic! what do you have to do? you ask? well, you have to wait .... and then on sunday i will post it and it will be the ballz. then you will have all next week to enter and then i will send you that wonderful thing in the mail and it will be wonderful and you will want to sing about it from the tops of mountains. and you will all enter and make me happy while i'm in the great white north, far, far away from cowboy boots and truck balls. oh, truck balls, will you ever steer us wrong?

my nut's an aunt

i'm debating if i should post this, i had to write it, should it be posted? the end is near. the end of the end. the tumor is in my aunt's frontal lobe and after checking if the tumor is no longer responding to chemo, we'll stop the chemo and then it will be the beginning of the end. these tumors can double in 10 days. inside a skull, this doesn't give too much room to expand. the end is near.

Dear my A Nut, my dear aunt,

Fond memories have always surrounded your visits. We used to do "girl talk" even when I was a wee lass. Being the second child and a girl, no less, I got the majority of the girl talk. It was a special time for us to hang out and it was always away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the house.

We would talk about everything. We would practice French braids as well. You usually didn't have long enough hair but you were very good at doing mine. I would practice on Barbie dolls after you left. They had some really stylish French braids going on. Also, the horses next door? Never looked better. They really rocked the French braid.

As I grew older, I know we grew apart. Those two summers we spent with you did not make things better. You let us into your home but I had the distinct feeling you were not very happy about it. I'm sorry we cramped your style. Blame it on my mother, she's the one who decreed I couldn't drive all the way into Dallas. What a communist.

These days you're just so happy. That's the thing about this whole brain tumor. You're not mad, you're not upset anymore. You're just being. You're just waiting. My mother, your sister, has always been there for you. She's the one who's there every day watching over you, hanging out with you, trying to make this time last and taking care of everything. Her heart, it's in the right place. You are in good hands.

She sent out an update about you to the family just yesterday. It includes some of the things you're saying now. I'm not one to make fun of other people *coughcough* but I think you're a good enough sport to think this is funny. In fact I know it. That little crack about pairing you up with alzheimer's patients confirmed your feelings.

We went out to dinner last week and here are some of the gems I can home with:
Becky: I think we're going to a Mexican restaurant. Do you like Mexican food?
A Nut: Yes, I think I do. [big smile]
Becky: Well, what do you think you'd like? Any ideas?
A Nut: Well the thing about Mexican food is that it's good. And the thing about that is that it has some really nice sounds.
Becky: Hmmmm, well, do fajitas sound good?
A Nut: I LOVE fajitas!

Becky: [at dinner] So did Grandma Tulip ever call you guys by your middle names?
A Nut: Well the thing about Colleen is that she has really nice hair. Her hair, it just grows and you have to let it grow. Colleen has really nice hair.

While in the car.
Becky: Mary, do you have a favorite Christmas song?
A Nut: The thing about that is that it varies. So, I'm gonna think about that and I'll get back to you. *giggles* I'm not really going to think about that.

While sitting on the couch.
A Nut: I think I have to go to the store.... or the store. Soooo, two things. *laughs*
Becky: Do you need to go to the bathroom?
A Nut: Well, maybe on the way to the airport. [follows me to the bathroom]

Another bathroom phrase:
I think I need to open a map.

It's like you're looking right into my eyes and you're asleep. It's like you're sleep talking all day long. I kind of love it. My mother, your sister, also reported that you said, while your dog was peeing, "“I like the way he does that with sincerity.” I think this wins for the best phrase yet. My mother, your sister, questioned you on this observation to which you replied, “You know, he did that with credibility.” You love that dog.

The other thing you've been doing is stealing reading glasses. You're like a glasses hoarder. You have them on your shirt, you pick up other's glasses and put them on. Also, you don't need to wear reading glasses while watching the TV. I don't think that's their intended usage.

You remind me of your mother more and more every time I see you. As you remember, she had dementia. She collected tissues. She was the one that introduced me to the phrase, "tissue? I don't even know you!" Tissues were everywhere. Up her sleeve, in every compartment in her purse. In every pocket of every piece of clothing she was wearing. She was like a walking box of tissues with died red hair.

You've been collecting paper towels. At first, this mystified me but I think I figured it out. When you walked the dog at your house you would pick up the poop in a paper towel. Now, I've never agreed with this practice because, ew but I know you're preparing to take the dog out. You never know when you're going to need to pick up some poop. Your pockets full of paper towels, you're ready to take on the poop filled world.

Now, we're going to the doctor today for yet another MRI. If your tumor isn't going to respond to these latest drugs everything's going to stop. It's been since February. Not even a year. I know we all know that you don't have much time left but this will be the beginning of the very end. The very, very end. We'll all be together and it won't be scary, I promise. I also promise that I'll take care of my mother, your sister. She's going to miss you.

We'll need a lot of paper towels because this tumor taking you away is pretty shitty. I knew you'd appreciate that one.

Love,
Becky


Update: we went to the doctor today and she had another MRI. it has at least tripled since october. we're stopping chemo and they've given us only six weeks left. balls, you guys, this sucks. thanks for your love and support.

pictures! aka becky was a child. of the corn. aka chuck said my nose hasn't grown at all since this picture.

can you guess which one i am? can you guess where this picture was taken? it's a game!

Update: blonde bowl cut green dress girl is the becky and the picture was taken in italy at the international school.

becky plus coffe equals this. it's not pretty.

so here's what happened. i went to a wedding on saturday, renamed sadder-day because i couldn't find what i wanted to wear. and i was sad. and it was a day. that starts with an esssse and an "eh?" also it sort of sounds the same. use your imagination, mother fucker. do i have to do all the work?

i had to work in the morning. i had finally found a suitable dress that i am in love with, by the way, but i had to tough it out at work for 5 hours. another note: i had a lot of coffee and little else. ok, one thing else and that other thing had contained coffee as well. whey powder with coffee and coconut water and milk? i think? anywho, the fact remains: i had consumed an elephant's share of coffee and i had post-it notes and i had a scanner. the end. or is it?

no, it's not. because, observe: (click to embiggen)

i'll take you through it... i drew pictures of myself. related to coffee and trying things on. did you know that there are no dresses (except the one that i purchased. sorry) that allow for any room for boobs. like none. at all. the dress industry has a boob related vendetta against boobs. dresses hate boobs. there i said it.

also, i like to drink coffee. also i got a coffee cozy and put a note in it's pocket. on a related note, you should get a coffee cozy if you drink coffee that needs some cozy-ing. and really? every coffee could use SOME cozy-ing. let's face it, couldn't we all? when you get right down to it... couldn't every one of us use a little cozy in our lives? the answer is clearly, yes! yes, yes a thousand times YES!

UPDATE! here's my first handwriting post

poop is for eating! (tmit)

i'm going to talk about bruin (one good dog). he touched my life with his fluffy no goodness in more ways than i can imagine. thank you to everyone who virtually "hugged" me via twitter/email already. i get very jokey when i'm sad because i'm trying not to cry. don't misunderstand. i loved him. he's taken part of my heart. this is pretty much what happened after i was texted wednesday that they put him to sleep without calling me. i told them to call me. i knew i had to talk about bruin so that i could not fall apart. tell his story. his love of poop. he was a very tmi doggie (ala lilu).

so i debated to tell you all about my ladybits exam because i went monday and it made me very angry. really, what doesn't make you angry? you shut up.

then bruin died and it made me even angrier because they were supposed to call me, goddammit! and they didn't, goddammit. and it made me even more angry. mostly at the world and the god of dogs or whoever's in charge of those things. and those people who were supposed to call me. god. dammit. fuck.

who's bruin? bruin is, was one badass dog. screw it, he's still a badass. he lived at the clinic where i used to work. he was big and fluffy and really just a badass. and he was my friend. saying that made me just break down in hysterical sobbing for the first time. shit. i'll take a page from steamy's book and call him a jackass. he ate mother fucking poop. a lot. that's why he's gross.

when i first met him, he had a schnauzer friend, schultz. i called him schultzie. (ps shultzie died a long time ago.) they really liked each other and ran around the yard together. bruin liked shultzie. especially when he was hungry. see?.... crying is subsiding... replaced by the first inkling of smiles. you see. bruin ate poop, like i told you. every morning, after his meal, we let him out to the yard behind the clinic. he would "clean up" the yard of any leftover poop (vomit) and then spot shultz getting into poo position across the yard. bruin's poop sense alerted, he would charge across to schultz and eat his steaming poop. sometimes, right out of his butt. it was the best thing ever. for reals.

how can you be that gross, bruin?

easy, it just tastes so good.

the first time you see this phenomenon, it goes kinda like this: "what is he? bruin? leave shultz alone. he's p- OH GOD! what are you- he's gonna- oh lord have mercy on my soul he just ate that dog's poo." *faints dead away*

one time? i saw him catch it. and then... he licked shultzie's butthole. true story. licked it. and i said, "jeeeeesus. bruin!" while squinting my eyes really tightly shut. and he said, "mmmmm, poopy."

why are you so upset about some dumb poop eater, becky? first of all, stop being such an asshole. he may have been a poop eater, but he was my poop eater. we were buds, pals, sports. wait, sports? i don't think that really works in that sentence. you know what? i'm am thisclose to throwing you out of this blog completely. watch. your. step.

bruin's story begins like this: he was one of the countless abandoned black dogs in 'merica. he was one of the small minority of black dogs that escape the pink juice. he came to my clinic before i was even born. that's a lie. he came to the clinic approximately 15ish years ago and was a little ball of fluff and got to stay for a while. he was always confused in clinic lore as the one who was chained to the dumpster that one morning. however, that wasn't bruin that was jacob (dumb name for a dog) and jacob was, in fact, an asshole. wake up, people!

bruin was a mere fluffy pup. he was soon adopted by an alleged "couple" who were allegedly "nice." turns out, they wanted to chain him in the front yard as some sort of lawn ornament who growled. the main doctor (previously referred to as "dr father") drove by and declared (allegedly), "no fucking way!" and promptly collected him and took him back to the clinic to be friends with schultzie and later, a little girl called becky.

i started working at the clinic when i was 19, bruin was about 5. we became fast friends. i spoke up about his sleeping arrangements, i gave him extra goodies, i brushed his pretty, pretty hair, i hung out with him a lot. he had just an awesome coat, an awesome smile and a very imposing look about him. i was never scared going to do the kennels on the weekends because bruin was there to save me.

this story wouldn't be complete without a healthy (unhealthy?) dose of guilt. i wanted to take him home so badly. dr father tried to take him home to live and bruin got really scared and didn't like it. supposedly. i took bruin home a few times but because i was living in an apartment, with my parents, or that other apartment, it never worked out. i was vetoed or not allowed. i promised him the last time i saw him (two weeks ago) that i would take him home as soon as i got a house.

what. a. jackass. i'm so sorry bruin. i love you.

ps don't say anything nice. i've just stopped crying for the eleventy hundreth time. quick! somebody start a comment war!

pps next time you poop, can you just say a little something for bruin? he would have wanted it that way. moment of silence poop.

ppps i am a mess.

ppppps the fifth p stands for poop. "post, post, post, post, poop script"

UPDATE: bruin now has a post dedicated to him. it's about vacation poo. that matthewjenks, he's such an asshole. (<-fyi: nice)