Aunt Becky: “Oooooh, I should make KEY LIME BARS tonight. It’s only 8:30 and House, MD is delayed and OOOOOO TASTY.”
Aunt Becky (wanders to the pantry): “OH I HAVE RICE TOO.”
Aunt Becky: “Who the fuck eats rice around here?”
Aunt Becky (pours Key Lime crust into pan and throws it into the preheated oven for 8 minutes): “I should take some Vitamin V to properly enjoy The House Experience.”
Aunt Becky: “I’m not sure how I like the new storyline. I think there should be more singing cats.”
Aunt Becky: “OOOO The TWITTER. I SHOULD TWEET SOMETHING PITHY ABOUT CELERY.”
Aunt Becky: “I am the celery pundit!”
Aunt Becky: “That’s PROBABLY the crowning achievement of my life. How pathetic.”
Aunt Becky: “I’m going to doodle ‘Aunt Becky Rules’ on the fridge. Certainly they ALL need a reminder. Perhaps THEN I can get my fake monkey butler Mr. Pinchey!”
Aunt Becky: “Celery is fucking bullshit.”
Aunt Becky (wanders outside to check on roses): “Full moon. Explains a lot. I should give the full moon a FULL MOON.”
(gives full moon a full moon)
Aunt Becky: “I hope my neighbors saw that.”
Aunt Becky (wanders back inside): “Wonder if House, MD is on. We’re not getting back together until he gets a haircut. Prison mullet looks like, well, Prison Mullet. Why can’t he be all Michael Scoffield hot?”
Aunt Becky (spies pan sitting back atop stove, timer blaring): “OOOO. SHIT. DID I ACCIDENTALLY NOT THROW THE PAN IN THE OVEN? I’M SUCH A FUCKING DUMBASS, SWEET BABY JESUS.”
Aunt Becky (reaches to grab pan): “I can totally pretend I MEANT to leave that out….OH BLOODY FUCKING HELL HOT FUCK GODDAMMIT.”
—————
Moral of the story: when in doubt, use a test subject to handle all potentially hot items. Alternately, an oven mitt. But mostly a test subject.
There’s no end to the way to the way people who write blogs, use The Facebook, Tumblr, and use The Twitter can judge themselves. Number of comments, number of blog hits, amount of “friends” on The Facebook, number of Tumblr followers, number of The Twitter followers. It never fucking ends.
Because, at the end of the day, Pranksters, we ALL know someone artificially better than ourselves.
The question, though, is DO WE GIVE A FUCK?
(let’s hear it for a resounding NO)
(see also: why let The Man keep us down?)
I was recently introduced to a new concept in Feel Bad About Yourself on the Internet:
Klout is supposed to be a measure of your Twitter influence and blah-blah-blah, squirt, squirt. I stopped listening when I saw the shiny numbers.
Here, Pranksters, let me give you a tutorial about what Klout says about me.
OOOOH! Snazzy!
There a big fat number next to my Twitter avatar and some other buttons, who-dillys and whatchamacallits right there! I’m just SURE this is going to be a GREAT representation of how I, Your Aunt Becky, behaves on The Internet. I am SURE I’m about to learn something!
So, what’s this about “topics?” Let’s see what topics I choose to impart my most important innermost thoughts and feelers about. After all, this is what I’m influential about!
You had me, Klout, until you told me I was influential about “tacos.” Because while I do routinely say, “I’d like to kick Martha Stewart in the taco,” I don’t think we have an understanding as to precisely what type of taco I’m referring to. Perhaps you’ll do better next time, Klout.
P.S. Why can’t I be influential about encased meats? #justsayin
If there’s a single more useless vegetable in the planet than celery, I do know know what it is. Tacos, I can sorta understand, Klout, but CELERY? I hate celery with the fiery passions of a thousand burning suns, more vigorously than I hate John C. Mayer, and I’d be willing to bet that I’ve never, ever said anything about celery in my life.
BECAUSE CELERY DOESN’T MERIT CONVERSATIONS.
In fact, Pranksters, this may be the longest I’ve spoken about celery in my life.
Celery = bullshit. Let’s move on.
Lastly, let’s see my Klout style. Certainly this will give some insight into the crap I spew out in 140 characters or less…right? The celery thing has to be some sort of fucked-up glitch on Klout’s end. It simply must be.
…..
…..
…..
…..
……
So you’re saying I’m a pundit about celery, Klout? A CELERY PUNDIT? I MAKE THE MOTHERFUCKING NEWS ABOUT CELERY?
Ouch.
Just.
OUCH.
Dear Aunt Becky,
Judge Judy has a saying: “How can you tell when a teenager is lying? His or her mouth is moving.”
Judge Judy is a pillar of our society. Do we teenagers owe it to her to lie when we otherwise wouldn’t, just to avoid the rude act of contradicting ones elders?
Alexis
Dear Alexis,
Would you really take advice from someone who looks as though she’s been mummified?
Thought not.
Love,
AB
Hello my dear!
I was reading your post today, and you mentioned you have PTSD, and it just made me think, “if this bitch can do it, and deal with kids, and be amazing, WTF is my problem?”
So I just want to know, how the hell do you do it!? The anxiety/panic attacks are fucking killing me! I’ve been dealing with this for years, and it still has a nasty grip on my everyday life.
And another question… I have just moved to a place to get a fresh start, and I have an awesome support group here, but no one knows about the PTSD, or the crippling panic attacks I get, so how do I explain it to them with out coming off crazy? Because I feel crazy when I talk about it!
Thank you so much for your awesomeness! You amaze me, and I am so happy that I have found you and your blogs! Love to you!
Millie
Dear Millie,
I’ve managed my PTSD with a combination of therapy, better living through chemistry and more therapy. Oh, and writing. OH, and my roses. There are days when it still gets it’s wily grips on me and I fear I’ll never again be normal.
Those days, I remember that “normal” is bullshit and I’m perfect just the way I am. I gently suggest you try some therapy and medication to stave off the worst of the panic and anxiety. And when all else fails, try something soothing. Like gardening. It helps your mind be free to work through all of the panic while doing something with your hands. Very therapeutic.
Or, if you’d like, you (that means ALL of you, Pranksters) are invited personally to share your experience on Band Back Together. Writing has saved my life more than once.
As for telling people about your PTSD, there’s no need to do so. I mean, right away. Of course you need a support system, but not everyone will be able to understand how you feel. Perhaps your therapist can give you some support groups in the area so you can find some people who fully understand you.
I wish you the very best.
Hi Aunt Becky!
Disciplining other people’s children: lots of different opinions, OK. What about “mannering” other people’s children? Is it horrible to prompt little Billy-not-my-kid to say “thank you”/blow his nose/ask politely, or will Billy’s Mom have a conniption, like I’m judging her parenting?
A totally different, but related (I swear!) question; My sister-in-law (about my age) has Down Syndrome, and thus is at about the intellectual level of a child (give or take, in various categories). She has horrible manners, due in *part* to her disability (stubbornness, unwillingness to compromise), but mainly thanks to inadequate parenting (I love my MIL dearly, but I can see it even in my husband).
So is it weird to correct my SIL’s manners (not in public or anything)? Prompt her to say “thank you” when I hand her $20 for lunch, or someone goes out of their way to help her? Pranksters, if you were my MIL, would you be hurt, thinking I was critiquing her parenting skillz?
Raising youngsters of my own, and being used to constantly prompting manners, it’s getting harder and harder to not prompt my SIL (and other children we’re around). Hell, my toddler is more polite than she is!
What do you and your Merry Band think, My Dear Aunt Becky? Offensive? Or might I actually do some good? As of yet I’ve kept my mouth shut, but it’s getting harder and harder.
Ta!
Mrs. Manners
Dear Mrs. Manners,
As someone who routinely swears in front of her children (WON’T SOMEBODY THINK OF THE CHILDREN?) it may surprise you to learn that I’m surprisingly anal about manners. As in, I’d be shocked and horrified that someone corrected my children before I, in fact, could. However, on the off-chance I was too distractible by the SkyMall kitties and didn’t prompt a “THANK YOU” out of my crotch parasites, I’d be amenable to someone reminding them.
However, if it was simply someone correcting them without first giving me the opportunity to do so, I’d be a little annoyed. Not terribly annoyed, mind you, but annoyed nonetheless.
So what say you, Pranksters? What are your thoughts on that? And, frankly, anything else.
