Me: (returning from my 7-11 pilgrimage wherein I purchased a Double Big Gulp of Diet Coke) “This Gigantic Diet Coke shall continue preserving myself from the inside out.

Me: “I like Britney Spears.”

Me: “Oh, I see the garbage has been taken away, I shall bring these recycling bins inside my garage so that I may fill them with more recycling stuffs.”

Me: “I’m Captain Motherfucking Recycling.”

Me: “I can’t carry three bins at once.”

Me: “I like donuts, too.”

Me: “I’m very lazy and do not wish to make a second trip down my twenty-foot driveway to carry in a bin.”


Me: “I shall use my foot to move the third recycling bin into the garage where I shall fill it with more stuffs.”


Me: “This is a BRILLIANT plan. I shall have to exert no more effort than I have to.”


Me: “I certainly admire these wooden-soled shoes that I am wearing.”

Me: (kick, kick, kick the recycling bin)


Me: (kick, kick, kick, CRACK)





30 thoughts on “Aunt Becky Bites The Dust – Or, Why You Should Be Glad You’re Not As Stupid As Me

  1. Aunt Becky,
    that sounds like the voices in my head. I’d tell you to get the fuck out of my head, but sometimes, it’s such a beautiful place to be.

    Thank you, for reminding me that I am not alone and that it is absolutely OK to be a little crazy.

  2. You could plant an entire garden full of STD plants: PUSSYTOES (Antennaria plantaginifolia), JOE-PYE WEED (Eupatorium fistulosum),SCOURING RUSH & SHAVE GRASS (Equisetum arvense).

    And I’m very dissapointed by the Brittany comment. {sigh} At least it wasn’t Bieber.

    Cheers. VB

  3. Hahahaha! You need big ass blue garbage cans for your recycling like we have in Tucson! They fit a shit ton of stuff and have wheeels!!!

  4. Hahahaha! You need big ass blue garbage cans for your recycling like we have in Tucson! They fit a shit ton of stuff and have wheeels!!!

  5. you sound like me. I like Britney too. I make my kids bring in the cans, we don’t have recycling cans though. right now it looks like my kids used the garbage cans as trampolines though. I need to unsmash them.

  6. Me “I can make macarons.”
    Me “I want to be Cameron Diaz. I can be Cameron Diaz. I am Cameron Diaz.”

    The End of Hope.

  7. What in the holy hell kind of shoes were those?!? Now I can only think of those wooden shoes made in Holland. I fear your feet with those things on.

  8. Bahahahhahaaahaa!!! You’re awesome!

    ..btw….If going back to school to play with those pretty microscopes and sparkly beakers is your passion…then effin do it, lady!

    You only live motherfuckin’ once…and you can always keep the blog going, maybe just not daily 🙂

    Love, Sarah

  9. Oh, Aunt Becky! It took 2 years of my husband living in another state and countless trips un and down the driveway before I realized that my trash cans and recycling bins actually fit inside one another, and that I could stack them, throw corer the recycling bins inside my trash cans, the long way and I could just roll ONE trash can up the driveway ONE time. I am not proud…you would think that someone as lazy as me, even after guzzling many, many Big Gulps of Diet Coke a day, would be able to think a little quicker on her feet.

  10. Holy Crow! Were you all scraped up and bloody? I do crap like this all the time and I’ve always got some half-healed scrape, bruise, or gash. It’s realllllly attractive.

  11. me: fuck, there’s clothes to iron

    myself: better do it before it gets hotter, you know the air-conditioner on the magic bus struggles to cool the place when it hits 102 degrees outside. You’ll sweat.

    I: I need to dump the black water tank before it gets to 102 degrees because that shit stinks when it bakes in the afternoon sun.

    me: I’m allergic to oranges.

    myself: the fucking shower curtain is stuck on the shower door and I can’t get the fucking ironing board out.

    I: I don’t want to go to the meeting tonight. It’s going to be too hot to wear clothes.

    all three voices, simultaneously: Pants are bullshit

    (dumps tank, sets up ironing board, begins ironing)

    me: why on earth would Armani design a soft, silk shirt with a scratchy polyester lining?

    myself: he must have been high

    I: I hate ironing. Where is the dog?

    me: ooh, blue. Pretty! is this silk a dupioni?

    myself: it’s tafetta, dumbass.

    I: Oh, yeah, I never did go dig out the tag so I could go to the website for this line

    me: what was it again,, no that didn’t work. that was some gun lover website

    myself: guns are cool

    I: I don’t think tafetta is the silk they use for blouses.

    me: dry cleaning destroys natural fibers.

    myself: Stacy London and Clinton Kelly would like this blouse.

    I: what the hell was the name of that website?

    me: it’s one of the magaschoni lines

    myself: didn’t I have a diet dr. pepper already open around here somewhere?

    I: what the hell is wrong with my computer? It has been importing the same CD into iTunes for over an hour now and it’s still stuck on track 4

    Mollie (my dog): are there any more cookies?

    me: cashmere should be hand-washed and dried flat, NEVER dry cleaned

    myself: I hate the dry cleaner.

    I: that’s why I hand wash my clothes with Johnson’s baby shampoo. I learned that on the internetz.

    me: there’s a lot of important information on the internetz, just waiting to be read

    myself: jeans, mom jeans, moms who wear their teens’ jeans

    I: i really liked those “bing” commercials, even if Bill Gates IS the antichrist and Windows is from the devil

    me: information overload

    myself (light bulb goes on): that’s what AB’s post about the recycling bins reminds me of–those fucking bing commercials that sound like the voices in my head

    I: I gotta go tell Aunt Becky about this!

  12. I just need you to know that this post gave me courage to get gut level honest with my sponsor about my own thought process. She laughed at me. Which confuses me, because I don’t know whether that laugh was bad or good.

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