While I have a hard time believing that my Merry Pranksters aren’t sitting raptly at their computers, reading painstakingly through my archives while taking loving, detailed notes, stopping only briefly to eat MRE’s and change their adult astronaut diapers, I know that most people have lives.

Unlike Your Aunt Becky, who has polluted The Internet every day since, well, let’s just not remind me. It’s depressing.

But, like anyone else, I have posts that are probably better than others. Some posts are turds in tutus, some are shiny! sparkle! diamonds! I’ve assembled some of my favorites below. Click the links after the summary to read more.

Sometimes I am helpful.

Blogging for Dummies! Blogging for Dummies deux and Blogging for Dummies Part Number C. With the help of my loyal band of Merry Pranksters, Your Aunt Becky managed to capture bits and bites of what any new blogger should know. And moreover, what I wish I’d known when I started blogging.

WordPress for Dummies. Technically, I made this page for my other blog, my group blog (yes, you can join it! Please!), Mushroom Printing, but I figured that SOMEONE here might want to look at it.

Sometimes I am a Crappy Photoblogger

In The Kitchen With Aunt Becky. Now, I love The Pioneer Woman. I do. But she is talented in the kitchen. I ruin Jello. And also, I wreck EZ Bake Oven Cakes.

Dearest Dexter. Of my husbands from television, Dexter is one of my favorite. During the holidays, he helped me out…in the kitchen. It was less bloody than you might think.

This Ain’t Your Momma’s Pioneer Woman. Now, photoblogging isn’t my forte. Hell, blogging isn’t something I’m even very good at. But combine cooking (FAIL) with photoblogging and you have the recipe for disaster. An appetite for destruction. Heh.

Sometimes I Am Not Funny

And Now, You Are One. While Dooce writes her monthly letters to her daughters, I’m not nearly so organized. Instead, I write them letters on their birthdays because I’m USUALLY good about remembering one date. Amelia’s first birthday was more special than most.

What Tender Days We Had No Secrets Hid Away. My New Year’s post. Climbing out of the deep ugly hole of depression isn’t always easy.

Music Hath Soothed The Savage Child. Raising an autistic child isn’t probably always the easiest, but music has always touched Ben in a way I never could. Heartbreaking? Yes. Amazing? Also yes.

Chordae Tendineae. My daughter, she has lost her words. This post is the one I am most proud of, even if it the worst I had to write.

Where The Sidewalk Ends a road begins. Sometimes, objects in rearview mirror are closer than they appear.

Sometimes I Am Just Annoying.

When He’s My Father Makes Everyone Feel Awkward. My family, always big on traditions, makes a yearly pilgrimage to Chinatown after the auto show. The year I was mistaken for my father’s girlfriend was…well, how would you feel?

Aunt Becky Finds Her Missing Piece. Sometimes, what we do with our lives is laid out before us. Sometimes what we do doesn’t define us. Sometimes it does. I became a nurse to support my son and I, but it was never going to be what I did. I was lucky enough to stumble into exactly what I should do.

So I Guess That’s Why They Call It The Flu. During the great HAM-demic of Aught-Niner, I got HAM-thrax. Shockingly, I did not die.

In Which I Make The World My Bitch. One of the things I promised myself when I got married was that I’d never let myself get so wrapped up in being reliant on someone else, that I’d forget to learn new things. So, Internet, it’s time to make the world my bitch. With some help, yo.

I’d Have Been Less Surprised If It Were A Midget Britney Spears Impersonator. Probably one of the weirder interactions I’ve ever had with someone who I’ve bought a house from. Being accused of stealing her money a solid two years after she moved out…just…wow. And the comments are even better.

What Do You Call A Fish With No Eyes? A stream-of-consciousness rambling from my neurologist’s office. For the answer to my VERY high class joke, you’ll have to read the post.

Why you never, ever want to be friends with me. Outside of the computer, of course. The true story of the butt sex check. As told from both sides.

Comments = full of the awesome. Like gravy. I can haz an RSS RSS feed .

2 Responses to Top Shelf

  • Emily says:

    AUNT BECKY…
    I came across your site by somehow finding out that your name on twitter is mommywantsvodka. That is freaking AWESOME and I’m pissed that I didn’t think of that!! Your blog is hysterical and I am now hooked on it. I want to be a prankster and I want to dare us to do stupid shit. And take pictures of it and laugh all the way. Keep up the writing. My blog just lists shit on it that my kids say and do, because otherwise, I might not remember their childhood.
    Thanks for blogging. it ROCKS.
    Emily

  • CFCMatl says:

    Aunty Becky,

    I found your site yesterday from a link on The Bloggess’ site. I’ve now officially spent 7 hours (over two days – I stopped to drink beer, nap and pee) reading everything you’ve written for the past several years. I feel like a stalker. I feel like I know you. How is this possible?

    I guess I just thought I’d introduce myself since I feel like I totally know you and your kids and the Daver. I have no kids but I do often talk like a sailor who’s just found out he’s got the clap. I also battle the depression demons periodically (and every year immediately following visiting my family). Prozac is my personal god. I have no kids but I routinely curse the fact that my lazy fucking dogs refuse to clean the house or make me a decent drink even though I supply their kibble habit. I’ve also apparently not learned that comparing child rearing to having dogs is offensive…

    I’m babbling. I think I just want to say thank you. My best friend in a world (another woman who swears like a sailor and loves a martini) has a fabulous 6 year old who, when he was 2, was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Mr. Peepers (not his real name) had to have brain surgery and tons of chemo but is now a school supply loving drama queen (but he gets that from his mother) who keeps getting clean MRI’s (although his parents will have to suffer through “we’ll just have to wait and see” for, well, forever).

    I adore my friend. I hope I was able to provide her with some kind of support when Mr. Peepers got sick. However, I don’t think I came even close to understanding what she went through with Mr. Peepers until I read your posts about Amelia and the NICU and surgeons. Not that I could ever really understand but – I guess I feel closer to her in a weird way. So thank you for writing about that part of your life. I cried a ton and then cried some more. And then I read way too many of your other posts.

    I need to go get a life now. Or at least get back to telling my dog he’s a little asshole and other stuff.

    Thank you, again. You are a wonderful writer. If you’re ever in Atlanta, I’ll buy you a drink and make you tell me funny stories. How could you turn down that offer?

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