After we’d taken the kids out – against my better judgement – for buffalo wings, I was ready for Mommy’s Time Where She Tongues A Bottle of Xanax.
So I took a bath.
No, Pranksters, I am not 91 years old. I just happen to like baths. Especially because I can hide in them without having errant crotch parasites popping in and out demanding things.
So there I was, happily scrub-a-dubbing my hairs, getting ready to hack the hairs off my legs, when it happened.
Sniff-sniff, went my nose.
Rub-rub, went my hand, figuring I’d somehow gotten shampoo UP my nostril. (it wouldn’t be the first time)
Bad move, Aunt Becky. Bad, BAD move.
The next thing I knew, a faucet had been switched on and my nose began to pour blood, all over me, my vagina and everything.
I’ve gotten bloody noses since I was a toddler (don’t do cocaine, kids!) so I know the types of bloody noses I get.
1) Mildly irritating, yet goes away in approximately three minutes
B) Should probably require a blood transfusion.
This was the latter of the two.
And I knew that I was stuck – rooted in place. If I dared make a move, I was going to spew blood all over the bathroom, my clean clothes, EVERYTHING. It would be a massacre.
So I sat there, trying to figure out what I could do. I had at my disposal 1 old washcloth and 1 plastic cup (from the kids washing their hairs).
First, I tried to staunch the flow with the washcloth. No way in HELL I wanted to sit in Shark Week water. Within 30 seconds, the cloth was soaked and I was freaking out.
Could I call someone? I was in the bathroom at the very back of the house and the likelihood of someone hearing me was about as great as the likelihood that I will, one day, win a Grammy for my mash-up of “Whoomp, There It Is” and “It’s My Party.” Besides, I knew that hollering would only increase the blood flowing freely from my nose.
I began thrashing around, upset at the unfairness of it all, perhaps pulling a WHY ME, GOD, WHY MEEEEEEE? as I splished and splashed, all histrionic-style. I gave up pretty quickly, because there was no one around to notice my plight.
I was already drenched in my own blood, trying to drain the bathwater as quickly as I could. Frantically, I looked around, spying the cup. Fuck, I thought. FUCK. That’s what I got to work with.
So I put the cup under my nose, tilted my head forward, and tried to breathe through my mouth. I could ride this out. I could do this. I was the brave fucking toaster without the toast or the er.
I don’t know how long I sat there, my blood pooling in the sad cup, but it had to have been awhile. Soon, my bathwater drained and there I sat, shivering, and wet, covered in blood, while my nose continued to do it’s best faucet impression.
Eventually, my nose decided that HEY! Clotting is REALLY cool! and I was able to rinse the blood off myself and exit the shower, a little light-headed, but fine.
I considered donating the blood to some wanna-be vampire (Breaking
Cherries Dawn opened this weekend, right?), but decided that I didn’t know enough wanna-be vampires.
Which is sad, really. I could’ve gotten some pretty good cash for it.
Hi Aunt Becky!
Is there a way to subscribe to your blog via email? I didn’t see it, but thought I’d ask on the off chance I missed it.
Thank you for pointing that issue out. Like my blogroll, which has gone missing, I think the email subscription is now back in black. Er…no. But it’s back. Go to the bottom of my sidebar and you’ll see it.
Dear Aunt Becky,
Lately my best friend has been analyzing my relationship with my boyfriend and has deemed him unworthy of my time. I strongly disagree with her as I know for a fact that her idea of a relationship is vastly different than mine and that I am QUITE happy in my relationship.
See, I believe a relationship is a two-way street, we both give and we both take. My boyfriend is wonderful and always gives more than takes.
Her view of a relationship is that the female (aka herself) is the end all be all and if it isn’t her way, then it’s the highway. Her current boyfriend has bought her a car, paid for her school’s tuition, let her room in his house for 8 months without doing anything for the household and currently buys her and her family food. I cannot think of one thing that she has given him besides her time.
Because my boyfriend does not do all of this for me (heaven forbid that he works and makes money that he saves so that we can own a house one day!) she believes I am unhappy.
She’s so convinced that I need a new bf who will do this for me that a few weeks ago she told me about a guy who wants to take me out for coffee and she told me I should do it – while I’m still with my bf!
Now, I know our ideas of relationships are different, and I know she is looking out for the best of me but how do I tell her that I value our friendship but I want her to back the fuck off of me so that I can be happy with my bf?
I would tell your best friend exactly what you think, since she seems to have no trouble telling you what she thinks. There are no two relationships that are exactly the same – nor should they be. That’d be like expecting that every brunette is brilliant or every blond is ditzy.
If you’re not unhappy in your relationship – which it sounds like you’re not – tell her so and if she insists that you are, ask her politely to drop the matter. There’s no reason to debate this. You’re not unhappy. Period. Back off. Period.
You don’t have to be a bitch about it, just tell her the truth.
Good luck, Prankster.
Dear Aunt Becky,
Let me start by saying that I love my husband.
We’ve been married for almost 15 years and have 4 kids. He is my best friend. Truly. But. There’s always a but, right? I have had this on and off contact (via mail or email only – no phone, no face to face ever) with my high school boyfriend for oh, the last 20 years. This isn’t a “reconnected on facebook now want to dump my husband” thing. This is an, “I have loved this guy for over half of my life, what do I do now” thing.
I have always been a very private person. I have always kept a lot to myself. My husband was aware of the deep connection I had with my HS BF, even knew that we kept in touch for several years into our marriage. He was not threatened by this, as the HS BF lives about 2000 miles away. There have been times when we wouldn’t be in touch for a couple of years, but then, with a random email or a text – we pick right back up where we left off. I have never physically been unfaithful to my husband.
This feels unfaithful though, and I am horrified. I feel like within the past year, the (virtual) relationship with the HS BF has taken a turn, and we’ve become much closer.
He wants to see me.
Can you be in love with two people? I know you are going to say I am a terrible wife, mother, friend. I know you are going to say that there is a reason we broke up in the first place, I KNOW all of that in my heart. But I cannot seem to let this guy go! What is wrong with me?? I KNOW that seeing him can only hurt someone that I honest to God love deeply, my best friend, my husband. And my kids. I’m so lost. I feel so selfish. I think about my HS BF constantly. We chat (virtually) every day. It’s like I have compartmentalized these two relationships, and I am afraid to make any decisions. I do not want to lose my HS BF. Please, please just be mean to me and tell me I’m scum. I’m so ashamed. But I can’t walk away from either of them.
I don’t know what to do…
I don’t think you’re scum. I don’t even think you’re mean – I think you’re confused. And understandably so.
However, you need to take stock of your virtual relationship with your high school boyfriend and decide what it is, really, that you’re getting out of it. Is it an escape? A friendship? Someone who makes you feel special?
Once you do some deep soul-searching, I think you need to come clean to each of them. Yeah, I know, it sounds scary as fuck, but you don’t have much of a choice. Let me tell you that living a life of duplicity isn’t exactly easy or fun. So stop doing it.
Take some time off to just think. Don’t contact your high school boyfriend, take a weekend away to a nice hotel WITHOUT HIM IN IT and just THINK. What is it that you want? What will make you happy? What do you need?
Once you can answer these questions, I think you’ll be able to see what it is you must do next.
There I was, sitting in my homeroom, trying to see how quickly I could write “Becky Rules” on my desk without being caught, when the teacher said, “Now kids, it’s time for us to meet our new teacher. It’s Officer Malone!”
We were enchanted. A real cop. In OUR presence! Not arresting us or even asking who had spray painted “STC Suckz!” on the playground (it was Jimmy).
“Welcome to DARE!”
(cool, I thought, DARE sounds awfully kicky! Like a superhero or something)
“Do you know what DARE stands for?” he continued.
(no, no I didn’t.)
“Drug Abuse Resistance Education!”
(well, I thought. That sounds RIDICULOUS. That barely even makes sense)
I opened my mouth to tell him so when I realized he could probably arrest me for insubordination. I shut my mouth and tried not to roll my eyes.
“From now on, we’ll have this box,” he gestured to a box in front of him. “To allow you to anonymously report any suspicious activity you’ve seen.”
(Wait a minute, I thought. Now we’re narcs?*)
We went on to learn about drugs. I was, for the first time in years, fascinated. You mean these drugs CAN MAKE ME SEE SHIT THAT’S NOT THERE? COLOR ME IN!
Week after blissful week, we learned about drugs and their effects. For the first time ever, I took judicious notes.
I can successfully attribute DARE to what I like to call “The Lost Girl Years.” Because who DOESN’T want to see shit that’s not there? Or feel blissfully happy? Or SEE SHIT THAT’S NOT THERE? Jesus wept.
I learned later that they disbanded DARE because a) it didn’t work and 2) it made a fuckton of kids (including Your Aunt Becky) WANT to do drugs.
This is why I was surprised when my son brought home paperwork from The New DARE which is called something like, “We’re Not DARE,” or “DARE V2.o,” or “We’re SO Not DARE, Please Don’t Cut Our Funding.”
I wonder how long The New Dare will be a part of the curriculum before it’s proved to cause a new generation of kids to snort toilet bowl cleaner or linked to zoophilia or something.
And I can only hope that my kid doesn’t try to turn me in for gratuitous overuse of the word “fuck.” Because I would be SO busted. Because really, who wants their kid to become a narc?
Answer: NOT ME.
*My parents were hippies. I knew what a narc was before I could shit in the toilet.