I Hate You, Aunt Flo

I don't have an Aunt Flo. I have my period.

My head aches, my boobs are sore, my tummy is upset, I'm swollen all over and you people are irritating me.

As soon as I approve Matt the Miller Man's tile choice tonight, I'm going home to bed at 8:30 like it's second grade. God, what I wouldn't give for a jacuzzi bath tub and a box of wine.

Shocking New Development

I got my results back today from the Jackson Vocational Interest Survey Dr. Hampton gave me. (I promise I won't be that girl who talks all the time about what her shrink said.)

I majored in the completely wrong subject. I'm so glad to know finally that I wouldn't have been happier going to UT rather than A&M because I rated highest for Environmental Resource Management, which is really a big deal with Aggies. And which is totally weird because just the other day my dad was joking about me being a game warden and I thought it was ridiculous. Dads are smart.

I thought I wasted the '90's on drinking Lone Star Light because it was always on sale at Apple Tree, that one summer I smoked dope every day and my little brother used to pinch my bag and he thought I wouldn't notice, and sleeping with moronic guys in the Corps. Turns out the real problem was I wasn't supposed to be an English major. No wonder it took me nine years to graduate.

Also surprising is that I have a strong general interest in Engineering. WTF? Maybe that's why I don't need the instructions when I buy something that has to be assembled.

I ranked even higher in my interest in Medicine. It's #4 on my occupations list. Who the hell am I? Was I supposed to go to med school? Get me an application. STAT!

My interest in writing was shockingly low. It's only #11 on the list. Sport and Recreation ranked higher. I'M A FUCKING COACH! I never played a team sport in my life. Day is night! Up is down! I no longer feel guilty about not having a half-written novel under my bed. Explains why I don't post every day, too.

The top three job groups for me were Fine Art (Charlotte York), Entertainment (rock star), and Commercial Art (all the Art Directors I've been berating for the last six years for not knowing how to spell).

Who would have ever guessed I'd be a jock game warden with a merit badge in first aid and a nice collection of Picasso sketches who plays in a band on the side and freelances for Goodby in my spare time? You just can't make this shit up.

St. Patrick's Day, 2002

I haven't had sex since St. Patrick's Day, 2002. Yes, I realize it's been almost four years. Shut up.

This is the longest I've ever been deprived since I first Did It. (August 12, 1989. During the annual meteor shower. Hi Bennett!) The previous record was eight months. (In Ireland. Hi Mark!)

The Streak began because of Evil Edward. Meeting him was like buying a broken heart from an infomercial. It took six to eight weeks to arrive.

When he literally deserted me, it was one of the top five worst things that have ever happened to me. I was absolutely devastated. Nuclear winter devastated. Me and my devastation moved to a fallout shelter and we kept each other company. We didn't even want to have repopulate-the-species sex.

But revenge sex, that was ok.

So I picked up some English guy during the 2002 Greenville St. Patrick's Day party, which was the one-year anniversary of the day I met Evil Edward, also at the Greenville St. Patty's bachanalia. You know, because Evil Edward was English and it was our anniversary even though I hadn't seen him since the previous June. And I'd already made out with a French guy right before Thanksgiving. You know, because the English hate the French.

I told the English guy that I didn't want to trade email addresses or anything like that. (Hi Christoper. Still don't email me.) I just wanted to do it and not talk.

HA! I'll have sex with some dude I don't know and then just forget him. Take that, Evil Edward! Even though you'll never know about it and you wouldn't care even if you did! And it'll just make me feel gross and I won't enjoy it at all and the whole time I'll be thinking, "This was a mistake. Just get off me and get the hell out of my apartment which I haven't cleaned in six months because I've been busy crying." And won't my triumph over Evil Edward be complete when Substitute Edward falls asleep and stays the night and I have to drive him to his hotel the next morning and I have to live with the knowledge that he told his friends disgusting things about me! YAY! I TOTALLY WIN!

So The Streak is making a lot more sense, no?

I did try to break The Streak once. (Hi Tucker! Hi Mrs. Tucker!) And then we went to Medici for Jacquie's birthday. You all remember Clayton, right? (HELLOOOOOO CLAYTON, YOU HOTLANTA HOTTIE!) Man, I should have made out with that kid.

So I still got it. I just don't have anywhere to put it right now. The Streak may have been caused by trauma, but it lives on because my focus has changed. When I'm out with the girls, I'm having a good time with them, not looking for a hook-up. It doesn't even occur to me to try, and no one approaches me.

I suspect I'm putting out (pun intended) a Not Interested vibe. How did that happen, exactly? I've been described as "a sparkly sex angel" and my skills as "majestic" and now there's no men in sight, anywhere. It used to be so easy and natural. I used to feel like the sexiest girl in the room, whatever room I was in. I had confidence and a smoldering gaze. I used to slowly take off my glasses and toss my hair around, and I wasn't kidding. I used to stare at guys and will them to come talk to me. And they would!

I miss that girl. I want her back.

Anybody seen my sex life? I left it around here somewhere...

Coming Attractions!

Did Carrie Bradshaw Have a Grandpa?
St. Patrick's Day, 2002
Him

I Hate You, Elsa's Blog

www.writinggal.blogspot.com

It has structure. It has facts. It has a plot. It has posts before 7 am. WTF?

ReadBecca has profanity, sex, depression and no guarantees I'll ever post again.

And yet they coexist. Cue "What a Wonderful World."

Note: Elsa the person is delightful. It's only her blog that makes me want to kill myself.
Note: In case you happen to read this, I don't really want to kill myself, Dr. Hampton. And Dr. Schaeffer. See you Monday!

Not So Much a "Bridesmaid" as a "Wedding Guest"

Oops, big miscommunication on the Kimbo wedding front. It's ok though, because now I can wear pink and Kim can't stop me. It's good to know people are reading ReadBecca. It's all good, Kimbo!

You know, I think it would be fun to be a wedding planner. Maybe I should look into that. I could specialize in informal weddings since a lot of people are doing that these days. Hmmm. Who do I know that knows somebody in the business? I have vacation time I could use to intern with a successful planner. I'll know I've made it when a celebrity sells the photos of the wedding I planned to Hello! Magazine.

I could get on the Today show! OOOH! Oprah!

A world without tacos would be a sad place indeed.

The thing is, I don't really want a job.

I don't want to be lazy either. I just don't want to work. I want to have more money than God so I can go to Paris and learn French and study art. I also want to learn about sculpture in Italy. I want to take yoga and fencing. I want to learn Russian history and Argentinian tango. I want to volunteer in Darfur. I want to become a labor and delivery nurse. I want to write for a couple hours in the morning and then have lunch somewhere. I want to design my own evening gowns. I want to go to chef school, but I don't want to work in a restaurant. I just want to cook for my friends. I want to drive across the Outback on my own. I want to build houses for the homeless. I want to be on the International Best Dressed list. I want to cure cancer. I want a pony.

The Death of Innocence

Last week I saw the Wiener Mobile on 635. I realized it's a giant wiener with only half a bun. I feel like I just found out Santa isn't real. (Auntie Becca is just making a point, children. Santa IS SO real.)

It's not like a PB&J you can just fold over if you only have one piece of bread. You can't fold a wienie! I've tried! Seriously, half a bun just doesn't work. You might as well have no bun. And without a bun, who wants a wienie? You'd be better off with a bunless burger and calling it chopped steak.

What's next? Am I going to suddenly discover that the Slip N' Slide is not a fun summer splash, but actually a great way to kill your grass while slicing your arm open on a hidden tree root?

Rosebud!

Mary Kay Snipers, Go Away

On my lunch hour, I like to browse. I don't even care much what I browse. I've browsed tires.

But my browsing is being disrupted by those damn Mary Kay ladies who attack you with a compliment before you have a chance to stop, drop and roll. I want the Pinkie who came up with this world-wide, flirty-fishing recruitment scheme strung up by her suburban thumbs.

I am not all that impressed with MK products, except the clear lipgloss. I love that stuff. But I won't buy it because I don't like those pushy women and their sneaky sales tactics. Like inviting you to a "party" and finding out it's a "regional sales meeting." It's a pyramid scheme, man. And I ain't no Egyptian working for no Pharoah.

Next time one of the Snipers tells me I've got great skin, I'm going to sell her a time-share.

His name is Robert Paulson!

Oh yeah, you want to high-five me right now. I don't owe Discover Card a damn dime as of yesterday, and I didn't even have to go all Fight Club on the credit reporting bureaus to do it. I am two-fifths of the way to the Shangri La of no credit card debt, where no one gets hassled by The Man. Yeah, I know I did this to myself, but screw The Man anyway. Fuck you Amex Travel and Leisure and your little dog Discover too! And as for you, MBNA, Chase and Providian, you're all gonna be my bitches soon. I'm not waiting for death to give me a name, you dirty whores. And you can take that to the bank.

I Have a Girl Crush on the NY Times!

http://www.nytimes.com/2005/08/11/fashion/thursdaystyles/11CRUSH.html?incamp=article_popular

I have girl crushes on everyone in my book club. Also on Angelina Jolie AND Jennifer Anniston, which could be awkward if we're ever all in the same room. I still have a girl crush on Virginie from Paris. And on Gwen Stefani. I have a girl crush on any girl with narrow hips and a small bosom. I could go all anorexic and I'd still have child-bearing hips and have to wear a bra.

Do you have a girl crush? Are you man enough to admit your man crush? Comment away, people!

Fall Fashion Preview

I've been looking at the new fall lines for a month already. I'm obsessed. I'm even considering getting some high-heeled shearling clogs. Shearling clogs! I'll be the most fashionable sherpa in Dallas.

My college roomie Kimbo is engaged. I'm a bridesmaid. Boy howdy, I can't wait to tell the story about the time we were drinking at home and decided we both needed a man and went to The Tap to find some. The Tap had a square bar. We walked in, Kim went one way around the bar, I went the other and we met back at the front door 20 minutes later, each with a man in tow. Man, we were brazen hussies. I wouldn't even dream of pulling such a stunt now.

Anyway, I've been looking at wedding dresses for Kim on the Internet the last two days. In white, of course. Remember what Annie told Millie, "Honey, we all deserve to wear white."

I've also been looking at bridesmaid dresses, 'cause I get to be one. We are so going to drink too much at the shower. I can't wait for the shot-glass wedding favors. Woo!

And I've been hunting for a formal dress that will travel well to New York in February for Lindsay and Chuck's big day. Let me tell you, there are some seriously tacky things masquerading as fashion in this world. I saw a baby blue poofy quinceneara dress in the window of a bridal shop down the street from the bar where the only-gay-in-the-States recent immigrants hang out. I might get it and wear it ironically to show the New Yorkers them Texans is funny.

It's none of your business why I know that bar and its clientele. Didn't I just say I was a brazen hussy?

My Step-Ex

On May 11, 2002, my dad married a great lady named Linda, which is also my mom's name. Before Step-Linda was Step-Linda, she was Aunt Linda. Only she wasn't really my aunt. Her ex-husband is my dad's best friend from second grade. His name is Bill. My dad, Step-Linda, Linda Mom and Bill all used to hang out together as young marrieds.

Step-Linda has two kids, Robert and Kristi. Robert is two weeks older than me. Uncle Bill drove my mom to the hospital when I was born. There are lots of pictures of Robert and me together when we babies and toddlers. There are also some of us when we were sixteen and dating one summer.

That makes Robert my ex-boyfriend and my step-brother. How very Jerry Springer.

Ecclesiastes 10:13 KJV

"The beginning of the words of his mouth is foolishness: and the end of his talk is mischievous madness."


So a few months back, I posted a Missed Connection on Craig's List and found my ex-boyfriend Tucker. There's nothing horrendous to report on the relationship or the break up. It was remarkable for its drama-free status, which made looking for him such a brilliant idea.

Except I wasn't prepared for actually finding him. In a matter of hours. By googling a combination of terms that led me to his wedding website. Which was really beautiful. And finding his wife's blog. And reading every post from the last three years. And deciding she was so cool I'd invite her to join my book club if she lived here and I hadn't slept with her husband. Their kid is adorable too.

As soon as I finished with all the details of their glorious wedding, which wouldn't have had sushi if I had been in any way involved, I got his first email via Craig's List.

It was a Wednesday.

I like to think of it now as The Great Tucker Freakout of '05. I have the bottle to commemorate the date.

Tucker and I exchange chatty notes wherein I mostly make fun of him for his leisure-time pursuits. I ask his opinion a lot. We played "remember when" in some walking-the-line emails, but we were both so conscientious of being decent human beings we never crossed it. Which reminded me why I wanted to find him. He's a good guy. The goodest.

The Great Tucker Freakout of '05 has not been repeated. I ripped the band-aid off and turned Tucker into a friend as quick as I could. Still, a rendez-vous would have been interesting, she said with a grin.

In any case, Tucker and I never would have worked out. I hate the smell of patchouli and that boy will always go back to Austin.

As Fiona said to Charlie at the third wedding, "Friends is quite something."