Why I’m Like This Part Five-Niner

I started out a post this morning about how I missed having BFF’s and I got about halfway through and realized how WHINY it sounded. So I scrapped it. Sometimes, I think, things are better left unsaid. Or, at least, they’re better left unblogged, until such point that I can not sound like a sniveling whiny assbag.

Which will occur at a quarter past never o’clock.

Instead, I thought that I would share with you, Pranksters, a second glorious snapshot into the formative years of Your Aunt Becky. Back in the day before I was Aunt Becky.

And mostly, I should add, it should give you a good inkling as to why I am the way I am. Or, at the very least, it should give you a nice chuckle.

For those of you who don’t know, my parents were hippies. Nerdly hippies, but hippies nonetheless. My older brother and I weren’t allowed to have guns of any sort and I wasn’t allowed to play with Barbies (there was something about “skewed body image in there). I imagine that he wasn’t allowed to play with Barbies either, but I never asked and I sorely doubt he’d have wanted to anyway.

Well, I loved princesses and makeup and dresses and diamonds and pink and sparkles.

My brother, well. Yeah.

So this is what happens when you ban things like that:

Hippies are kinda bullshit

(I’m pretty sure they made me take off the tiara for the picture)

Kids in Barfights

And then there was the time I was in a bar fight.

Or actually, I just insisted on dressing up my cat in baby clothes. That’s what you get when you dress up things with claws in baby clothes. (Hey, I never claimed to be smart.)

But let’s just go ahead and say it was “a bar brawl.” It sounds better that way.

I Was A Catholic School Girl

So, this one time I was a Catholic School Girl. No really, I was.

And I have the ten-yard “fuck you stare to prove it.”

Look, I still have it:

Nursing School Portrait Death Stare

That Hairy-Eyeball Death Stare has prevented SCADS of unwanted advice from well-meaning strangers over the years. Seriously, Pranksters (especially those of you with new babies) I suggest you develop one.

Cat-Sweaters-are-Bullshit

I’m pretty sure this is the second-best-picture on the planet.

See, I don’t know if I told you this story ever (I probably did because it’s awesome) but one time, when I was like twenty-three, my mother gifted my sister-in-law MATCHING sweatshirts that had cartoon cats on them. Cartoon cats lounging on stacks of books. It said, “Cats. Books. Life is good” or something like that.

Now, my sister-in-law and I aren’t like old cat people who wear cat sweatshirts. She buys $900 underwear and shops at Anthropologie and other boutique-y stores. Got love for cats, but neither of us wear shirts with, uh, cats on them. Or any such cartoon animals. So we got them and were like.

….

….

uh.

huh?

It was bizarre.

I hadn’t realized UNTIL TODAY that the Cats, Books, Life Is Good shirt wasn’t the FIRST time I’d been horrified by a Cuddly Animal Sweatshirt. Oh no. I must have been five in that picture. The look on my face says it all.

When I was born, my dad, brother and grandfather got into photography. And when I say to you, Pranksters, that someone in my family “got into something,” you might think, “oh, they probably bought a Polaroid camera and took some snapshots,” but you would be WRONG. There would be whole alters erected to your WRONGNESS.

Because the Sherricks, they do not get INTO things in a small way (see also: my orchids)(see also: http://mommywantsvodka.com). No, they get OBSESSED with them. Hobbies? We don’t need no stinkin’ HOBBIES.

I grew up with an actual working college-appropriate darkroom in my basement. We have every kind of camera lens, camera, tripod, camera bag, photo paper, film type, chemical, ad infinitum, ad nauseum.

I’ve had a camera shoved into my face since the moment I emerged from the womb with “a face only a mother could love” my entire life documented endlessly for posterity. I cannot tell you how many pictures I’ve had taken. I could give Britney Spears a run for her money.

Which is why I look incredibly sullen in many of them.

Like, for example, this:

Bag o Jellybeans Halloween Costume

Because that? A BAG of JELLYBEANS HALLOWEEN COSTUME? That’s freaking awesome.

But the best picture I came across today was this.

Golf Time, Assholes

Who the hell are those people (I can hear you through the computer, Pranksters)?

Aunt Becky Family Portrait

And THAT, Pranksters, is why I’m like this. Part eleventy-five.