Go Ask Aunt Becky

go ask aunt becky

You know it’s going to be a good week, Pranksters, when I have to put a disclaimer up. That said, it’s AUTISM DAY AGAIN!! The only thing I have to say is TRUST ME when I say that I’m not talking about a single one of you. You know that I value every one of your comments and frame them on my walls because they are always well thought-out and respectful. Also: hilarious.

So, before you’re all, ZOMG DOES SHE MEAN ME? Of course I don’t. I have never once been unhappy with a single comment you guys have left on the site ever. Honestly. I always WELCOME your stories and advice because that’s how I roll (this will make more sense once you read the post). If I’m talking about it, I want to hear what you know. Always. Including today.

Dear Aunt Becky,

Am I the only one who is sick of having the same pap thrown at me when the topic of my autistic child is being discussed? Well-intentioned friends and internet moles especially love the ‘Trip to France’ or whatever destination vacation a “normal” child is supposed to take us. I love my child, and I don’t feel like I missed out on a trip to Paris or Sweden or wherever. It’s been a real trip, but all children take us on a trip that sure as shit isn’t where we thought we’d go.

When I was a kid I’d ask my parents where they were going (without their 7 kids) and they’d respond, “Crazy.” I totally get it now that I’m a parent.

I don’t think a special diet will cure my child. In fact, I’m not looking for a cure. I don’t consider my son to be diseased. He has autism. He’s unique. I adore him. He’s funny, serious, frustrating, loving, rewarding, and much more. I don’t think anything I did while pregnant or when he was a baby caused this. Asperger’s runs in both my family and my husband’s family. Heck, if they’d been diagnosing it when we were kids, both my husband and I would qualify, as would my sister, my mother, etc.

Is it ok if I just bear the dirty looks when my son acts a little differently and don’t explain, “oh, he’s autistic?” I’m not excusing his behavior; just explaining, but I get tired of the rest of the conversation about dyes, carbs, hfcs, vaccinations, mercury, etc.

Thanks Aunt Becky!
Mama Lizard

So there was this one time I was out to dinner with my friends – friends I saw maybe once or twice a year – and I happened to make mention that I thought I might be lactose intolerant (spoiler alert! I’M NOT).

Well, there was a girl who was at the table behind us who overheard this conversation and decided to join in. She was lactose intolerant, you see, and milk gave her the squirts, and also she had a cat and a book and liked the color red and she spent the entire hour that we’d planned for dinner telling us about her lactose allergy.

I waited for her to shut up so that maybe I could sneak in that appropriate, “gee, thanks for the info, please shut your whore mouth and let me visit with my friends who I never see, and not you and PS you smell like mothballs,” but I couldn’t. Maybe I should have interrupted her rousing discussion of her fucking colon to tell her to take her squirty pooper somewhere else, but I was afraid she’d shiv me with her butter knife. She had shifty eyes.

I got this a lot before I learned a valuable lesson: shut your OWN whore mouth.

(Also: thar be crazies afoot!)

Alas, I digress.

When you have a common complaint like autism or migraines or a squirty pooper, the general knuckle-dragging, Mole Rat population tends to know a bit about it. Or at least, the sensationalized news bites that we’re bombarded with every freaking second.

So when you say something like, “My kid has autism,” sometimes people misinterpret that as, “Please, tell me all about the latest bullshit you heard from some non-medical Internet email forward!” Or, perhaps, “Please repeat what you saw when Jenny Fucking McCarthy went on Oprah and spewed her crap pseudoscience all over the place! I’d love to hear that soundbite!”

I like to imagine that people mean well, I really do, but that’s because it’s been a long time since my kid got diagnosed with autism and I’ve learned to tune out the bullshit. My son is not his diagnosis. People, in the heart of hearts, are good. Sometimes, they just don’t understand that you don’t want to hear it because you’re in the checkout at Target and your son is bathing the floor with his tongue and REALLY? A new diet? You don’t say?! That’s fucking great. Do I look like I give a shit at this moment in time?

I love blogs, but I don’t trust that what I’m reading is always backed by a science I believe in. Illnesses (autism, migraines pooper issues), those tend to be emotional issues for a lot of people. And when emotions get involved, things can get ugly, fast. Hence, the Internet Mole People. I can cite a thousand examples of When Emotions Go Bad on The Internet, but I’ll save that topic for another time, or, I suppose, allow you to fill in in the comments.

If you’ve noticed, I also don’t tend to discuss medical issues on Mah Blog for the very reason you discussed unless I’m ready to, well, discuss it. I don’t do it in real life, either; well, not any more. The image of her creepy colon spewing everywhere was enough to make me shut the hell up.

I figure that people can point and laugh and judge me as a lousy, unfit parent or otherwise loser at life all that they want. So long as I don’t have to hear about mercury in shellfish or how a gluten-free diet will cure all of my woes. It’s not because I don’t believe them, it’s just because I don’t always care.

You and I can stand in the We Are Shitty Parents People Lose At Life Corner together. I’ll bring you a Shut Your Whore Mouth shirt to wear. Hell, I’ll bring enough for ALL of us. WHO’S WITH ME?

————-

So, Pranksters, what say you on the topic?

Go Ask Aunt Becky

Aunt Becky Mommy Needs Vodka Dear Aunt Becky:

I asked a simple yet detailed question on an interweb “Moms-Helping-Moms” website and got a shitload of rude, demeaning answers.  I never meant to make myself come across as a terrible horrible person.  I even re-read my question but I guess I really am a huge bitch.  Whatever shall I do?

Sincerely,

Wicked Witch of Wisconsin

Well, Prankster, you’re clearly a miserable excuse for a human being who should not be allowed to live, breathe or walk among normal humans.

OR, wait, that had too many words spelled (mostly) properly. Let me retry that.

“U SUK WHOR.”

Was that better? That was my attempt at emulating an Internet Mole Person, or what I like to call “trolls.”

Internet Trolls, for those not versed in Internet Jargon, are people (I think they’re people, but a DNA test may be required) who post rude, mean, or otherwise inflammatory responses to a post on a site with the express purpose of evoking an emotional response.

There are a couple of different kinds of Internet Trolls (Pranksters, I’m sure I’m missing a few, so fill in, please):

Off-Topic Trolls (Internet Mole People) These people always make me wonder if they’re actually PEOPLE and not robots.

Your simple post on cats evokes this response, “WELL, I THINK iPOD’S ARE THE SPAWN OF SATAN’S PUCKERED POO HOLE YOU FILTHY, SOULLESS ASSWAD.”

Religious Trolls (Internet Mole People) These trolls use Bible Verses and religious scripture to justify being mean to others for no real reason.

Your same post on cats evokes: “Well, in (Bible Verse) something was said and THERE SHOULD BE NO CATS! YOU WILL BURN IN HELL!!! I will pray for your immortal soul, but it’s dammed already, so just get ready for hell.”

Let-Me-Hijack-Your-Post-To-Tell-My-Horrible-Story Internet Troll. These Internet Mole People almost always leave you wondering why they left you the comment at all, except that you’re now probably feeling guilty.

Cat post evokes this: “When I was a kid, we had a cat and that cat was named Sam and Sam was a mean cat and he gave my brother named Sam rabies and then we had to take them both out back and shoot them and then at the funeral, Sam The Cat’s Ghost came to haunt us and we were scared because it was a funeral and the whole town was there and there was a GHOST of a DEAD CAT who had KILLED MY BROTHER and oh my God the whole town came out and then my mom started breastfeeding a llama and I don’t know where the llama came from and then we went to the carnival and I thought I was getting rabies but really it was gangrene so I had to chop off my leg with a rusty ax and that is why you should shoot your cat.

The Pointless, yet Mean Internet Troll. These Internet Mole People usually speak in text-speak and only insult you. They’re usually found in forums and news sites with a misspelled very cutesy name.

Your cat story, responses vary, “U R a whore,” “U Suk,” “U R Dumb,” and occasionally the “Die Bitch.”

The “This Is My CAUSE” Internet Troll (Internet Mole Person): Person who defines themselves solely by their “cause,” and spends countless hours blathering on and on about it to anyone on The Twitter, The Facebook and blogs. They have a Google search set and hours each day to devote to blogs and they do that to leave comments about their “cause.” Which no one cares that much about. Or is a one-sided thing and almost always involves emotional manipulation and impassioned catch-phrases to get the very annoying point across.

Like this: Your cat post, “This Is My Cause!!!!” Internet Troll: “Well, you should know that new babies should never, ever be around cats because the cats smother them while they sleep. The cats try and SUCK THE MILK from the babies because cats like to SMOTHER BABIES and if you DON’T GET RID OF YOUR CAT, you’re basically saying that your BABY IS WORTHLESS and you should be sent to BABY JAIL if you do that you soulless ASSHOLE.

(never mind that you are a single 56 year old man without kids, because “This Is My CAUSE!!!!” Trolls don’t know anything about you or your life. Just their very, very irritating causes.)

The “WON’T SOMEONE THINK OF THE CHILDREN” Pseudo-Concern Trolls. These people are precisely as you’d imagine. They take any instance in which there might be an issue of perceived impropriety and exploit it.

Your cat post: “WON’T SOMEONE THINK OF THE CHILDREN?!?”

The Emotionally-Charged Troll. These Internet Mole People pop up, usually in the form of some other type of troll, to make you feel bad by playing on your emotions.

Same cat post, “well, I HOPE you got that cat from a shelter because these (grim shelter statistics) cats die every year while breeders force cats to pop out kittens by the barrel and if you didn’t, you’re supporting that and really, you should make sure to always get an older cat because they are hardest to adopt.”

The Not A Troll, Trolls: Not everyone expressing a dissenting opinion on your website is an Internet Mole Person.

———–

That’s Your Aunt Becky’s guide to Internet Mole People, (I prefer that term because they’re people that pop up randomly to say stuff that makes you feel badly before retreating back to the holes to which they crawled out from), and I’m sure I’m missing some. So, Pranksters, FILL IT IN.

And as for YOU and your EVIL POST, you wicked bitch, the moderators at that site should have been watching to see that you didn’t get creamed. I don’t understand the logic behind allowing someone to submit or answer a question (or post), only to allow them to get their ass handed to them by Internet Mole People. As site admins, they should get YOUR back or, if they hate your question, NOT ACCEPT IT (my queue is backed up, which is why I haven’t gotten to YOUR question, Pranksters).

I know that’s what happens at a lot of those sites and it makes me sad. I cannot imagine submitting a serious question only to have 98 moms jump down my throat, telling me “U R doing it wrong ASSHOLE.” Because most days, I’m all too sure I’m doing it wrong. I don’t need Internet Mole People telling me so. There is a difference between answering a question and being deliberately cruel.

You’re not a terrible, horrible person. Not by a long shot.

Especially since I know that the next time you see another person getting their ass handed to them by a Mole Person, you’ll jump in to show them some kindness.

Internet Mole People can SUCK IT.

————–

Pranksters? What am I missing here?

Go Ask Aunt Becky

Dear Aunt Becky,

After reading your blog for a while, I know you’re familiar with The Crazy.  Since I don’t know a lot of people personally who really get it, I’d love your advice on recovery.  Long story short, I have a great life – wonderful husband, three amazing daughters, the opportunity to stay home full time, etc.

BUT.

The past two years have been bullshit.  I developed anxiety/panic disorder while pg with baby #3, which I’m still dealing with.  I’m better than I was a few months back, thanks to therapy and meds, but life events have not helped at all (the biggest one being the death of my 6 yr old niece, who was born with a terminal illness.)  I have to fight with phobias and hypochondria on a daily basis.  Of course, I feel guilty to complain since I know there are others who have been dealt worse cards – but this is MY Hell, so it sucks shit through a straw to ME.  I still don’t feel like “the real me”, and I’m not sure I ever will.

I’m sick of it.  I want my life back.  So I ask you, as someone who has been through a similar process: What advice would you give someone who is hoping to get themselves back is the New Year?

Thanks for listening,
Mermama3

Oh Prankster, I so get it and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I wish like hell shit wasn’t so fucking hard sometimes. I’ll spare you the platitudes because they’re bullshit and if you wanted one, you could get it crocheted on a pillow or something. Sometimes, life is just fucking tough. And then, when you think it can’t get worse? It totally does.

It’s an asshole like that.

Luckily, eventually it stops and you learn to roll with the ups and downs because, well, we’re adaptable.

But you, you sound like you’re on your way to where you need to be. You’ve realized that there’s a problem which, as we all know, is the first step. It SOUNDS trite, but it’s not. Pinning down what it is that’s wrong is hard – harder than people give proper credit. So props to you for that.

Acknowledging that I was sick to fucking death of pretending I was someone that I wasn’t was huge for me. Mentally ditching all of the excess baggage, all of the old ties I didn’t need to people who didn’t deserve my love or loyalty, examining my relationships to see them as they really are, those were all things I had to do to figure out who the fuck Aunt Becky really is and what she stood for.

It sucked.

A lot.

But it was also kinda empowering. Because knowing I was able to fix this, that I could actually control my own happiness and fix my own emotions; that’s a big revelation. I was in charge of my happiness. I was. Me. Your Aunt Becky. In charge of her happiness.

I started with small things.

An orchid plant or three. Some time in my garden alone with my headphones. My phoenix tattoo (that was like 64 kajillion sessions). Creating Mushroom Printing. Then Band Back Together. Getting my hair cut. Walking around Target alone for half an hour. Taking a long drive.

Small things. Small things that made me happy.

I’ve done a lot of crying, too. I can’t believe my eyeballs haven’t exploded, actually. Somehow, I’m still here. More or less intact. You’ll make it, too. I promise. I’m so sure that I made you something. Something to help you along the way. No one should have to walk through The Shit alone when there’s so much good in the world. I know that because I see it all the time here with my Pranksters and over at Band Back Together.

I made you a present. It’s over on Band Back Together.

Go on, go see it. All of you. It’s for everyone – bloggers or not – to join.

You will find yourself again. It may take a lot longer than you’d like and it may suck a lot harder than you think is fair, but you’re in there. I know it.

Sending you a big ass hug without a platitude. Because platitudes are bullshit.

——————-

So, Pranksters, do you have any advice to offer? I know that she and I are not the only two people in the universe who have been in this situation before. How have you found yourself after you’ve been lost for some time?

Also: JOIN THE WORLD TOUR, YO.

Go Ask Aunt Becky

Dear Pranksters,

I find it odd to admit to you that I have friends, especially friendships that have lasted for more than a couple of months, but alas, it is true. Two years ago, I met Mrs. Soup. I only know it’s been two years because we have daughters the same age. Avi Soup is Amelia’s age. They’re also twins.

I can only tell them apart because her kid has more teeth than mine.

Kathy is also my age (30)(okay, she’s like 28 or some shit, I don’t know, WHATEVER, but she’s not like 90).

This is Kathy:

Now you know she’s not like 90 or something because LOOKIT HER and the FAT BABY who is not mine but looks a hell of a lot like it.

Also in that picture is her husband, Ryan.

Ryan is 27.

Ryan had a stroke on November 30. I know. I KNOW.

In the middle of the night, she woke up and he was in the throes of a stroke. No prior warning, no other health issues, no nothing. Just…BAM.

Everyone’s worst fucking nightmare.

I saw it happen on Twitter and promptly freaked the shit out because HI, THAT’S MY FRIEND AND THAT’S HER HUSBAND AND I KNOW WHAT GOES ON WITH THEM BECAUSE I TALK ON IM TO HER CONSTANTLY. But, of course, it wasn’t about me.

Ryan, her husband, is okay. He’s out of the ICU (last I heard, which was a couple of days ago) and moved to a rehab facility to help with his recovery. Kathy is back at work part-time and has moved back in with her parents to make ends meet.

Her blog has more information on it.

Occasionally, instead of talking about my ass, I can use my blog to do things like ask for prayers. Because Kathy? Kathy is the kind of person who has prayed for me. Without asking, she’ll pray for me and it always makes me feel fucking better. Because that’s the kind of fucking friend Kathy is. Also: she doesn’t say the f-word much, which makes me laugh, because occasionally I can coax it out of her, which makes it better. And I love her for it.

It’s my turn.

Pranksters, can you pray for my friend Kathy and her husband and her Mimi-lookalike-daughter-Avi? I know that she’d love it if you did. Just send her some love and some prayers and some light. Please?

I’ll bribe you with a Mimi video or something if you do.

Okay, so this is Kathy and her blog and you should visit her and least send her some love. RT her blog, FB it, Stumble it, whatever it is you kids do these days. I don’t know of anyone who could use some prayers and love more than her. She’s a beautiful person and her soul is golden and if you tell her I said that I’ll punch you in the taco.

(one of my friends has an etsy shop and all of her proceeds are going to benefit Kathy and Ryan Campbell. That’s fucking* awesome)

Love you madly,

Aunt Motherfucking Becky

*I threw in all the f-bombs for you, Kathy. xo

Go Ask Aunt Becky

Dear Aunt Becky,

I gave birth to the most wonderful baby boy – my first kid – several weeks ago and am in absolutely in love. However, I was I labor with him for 36 long and insanely painful hours that finally ended in a c-section, after which he was taken to the NICU for so something which has now been thankfully resolved. During my stay in the hospital, he was fed formula and I was so drugged up on painkillers that I was unable to start breastfeeding right away. He never really got the hang of breastfeeding and I decided to pump and supplement with formula, because really, kid’s gotta eat and hi, screaming baby biting at your nipple? Not pleasant. Of course, in the interim, my dad got sick, and I’ve been taking care of his business as well as working at my own job. , I started losing all hours of sleep and I haven’t pumped for a while now.

My son is now eating nothing but formula and I’m getting nothing but criticism for abandoning all efforts to breastfeed. I would love to…but I’m gonna have to split myself in two or five. I feel terrible, nevertheless. I want to provide my own milk for him and give him the immunity and benefits of breastmilk and all that good stuff. What say you? Am I a bad mom? I feel like I suck for just throwing the formula his way.

No. You’re not a bad mom AT ALL. HEAR ME? YOU ARE NOT A BAD MOM AT ALL. Don’t you DARE let a single person let you feel like shit about it because until they’ve walked a mile with your tits, they don’t have the space to judge you. And if they do? SEND THEM TO ME.

Sometimes? BREASTFEEDING DOESN’T WORK OUT AND THAT IS OKAY. You’re not feeding your kid apple juice or vodka or Diet Coke so you’re fine. Please, give yourself a break on this one. You’re one person and dealing with feeding issues on top of the stress of life PLUS a new baby? So. Not. Worth. It.

Want to step into the Way Back Machine With Aunt Becky?

I had every intention of breastfeeding my first son, Ben. Bought all the gear including the ugly ass nursing covers they made and when he was born? He was having NONE of it. I had no C-section, no sick mom or dad. I tried to feed him and he refused to latch on every time I tried. I do mean every time.

I tried SNS, the nipple shields, skin to skin, lactation specialists, I was bullied, I was shamed, I pumped and eventually? I said FUCK THIS and gave the kid formula. Because mealtime would end with us both in tears. Not. Worth. It. Ben was a colicky horrible baby and I didn’t need the extra stress.

I went on to nurse Alex and Amelia who had no problems (turns out that Ben had sensory issues) after feeling like a failure for five long years. I was ashamed of my inability to nurse my kid, which was “supposed to be” so easy. Well, it wasn’t.

What I’m saying here is this: you matter too, sweetie. Your son will love you every bit as much if you give him formula because he’s a baby. They’re love buckets. That’s what they do. And people are going to judge you for the breastfeeding thing because people are fucking assholes. They’ll judge ALL of your parenting choices, but the breastfeeding one is particularly annoying.

My advice to you is to try and NOT MENTION IT if people ask. Make a joke about feeding him steak or something and try and deflect it. If they persist, remind them that it’s REALLY none of their business and if they still persist, ask them how much they weigh. It’s none of their fucking business. It simply isn’t. That’s between you and your son. That’s it.

You’re doing a great job. That little boy is thriving and that’s all that matters. Take care of yourself, okay?

Dear Aunt Becky,

I’d like to know how to handle my Hitler-esque husband when it comes to watching programs we DVR.

You see, we have a toddler and cannot watch the shows we like when he’s around due to either bad content or the extreme guilt that The Man puts on us for rotting his brain. So, we DVR.

After he is blissfully sleeping, we trudge to the basement to indulge and that’s when it happens. It doesn’t matter what or how many backed up episodes I have, we will watch whatever he wants.

I mean, really. What can I do? Sometimes I just want to watch a cake challenge instead of someone in a motorcycle club get brutally beaten. Am I asking for too much?

Signed,
Not Hailing to My Hitler

First off, Gentle Reader, you have a DVR? I am VERY jealous right now because, you see, Aunt Becky lives in The Dark Ages and has no DVR. She is lustful after yours.

*lust*

*lust*

*lust*

Anyway.

What I would do, my televisionally controlled friend, is to insist that a certain portion of the night be Your Part Of The Night. Because I’m sure that just as you hate the Motorcycle Gang beating each other, he hates the Ace Of Cakes or Biggest Loser Marathon (side note, be sure to eat cake while WATCHING Biggest Loser because it burns more calories if YOU are on a diet, FYI).

But he needs to compromise. I personally would rather gouge out my eyeballs with a spork than have to watch Star Trek and I’m pretty sure The Daver would rather eat his own vomit than be forced to watch reruns of Sex In The City, so we simply go our separate ways when we want to watch these things.

Otherwise, the heavy dramatic “I HATE that you’re making me watch this” sighing would never end. Ah, TRUE LOVE.

So a friend of mine at school and I are both graduating around the same time with similar degrees and we’re looking for jobs. She applied at a company for position X. Two weeks later a new position Y opened up and I applied. I let her know that I applied to the company for position Y and NOT position X. Although she claims that everything is a-ok, it is clearly not. She’s acting different and generally being very cool towards me. I feel that I didn’t do anything wrong, because I didn’t apply for the same job and I told her that I did it (didn’t try to hide it from her). I know I can’t change her reaction, but here is my question for you Aunt Becky.

How can I stop dwelling on the fact that she’s mad at me (but unwilling to admit it)? Any advice on how to let it go? She is (was?) a good friend, and I miss chatting with her. Help.

It looks like your friend is pulling a “Melissa.”

Let me explain the term. Melissa was a friend of mine from nursing school and one day she mentioned that there was these positions opening up at a hospital. Eagerly, I asked her for the HR information, figuring that, like I would, why not pass along the info to a friend? I knew she was going for it, but there were a couple positions because the hospital is a pretty big place.

She never did.

When I asked her about it (because I am oblivious) she ignored me. Obviously, she had no obligation to help me, but I couldn’t fathom why she wouldn’t help a friend.

Same way I can’t imagine why your friend could possibly be upset with you, except that she’s insecure about herself and afraid that you’re going to eclipse her and somehow take her position. It’s really stupid, but I’d be willing to guess that your friend is threatened and/or jealous of you.

I’m sorry, but this is clearly because you are full of The Awesome.

Good luck. I hope that you get the job.

——————–

As always, my Gentle Readers, please feel free to fill in where I left off, although I must insist that you do not berate my first guest for her choice to formula feed. Like I said in my response, you may take it up with ME, but not her. I’ve had years to make my peace with my decisions. She needs some good lovin’.

If you’d like to see some places I’ve been:

I’m over here at Skirt! with an column about finding yourself.

I’m here at Sodahead talking about Preppers, who are people preparing for The Worst, and here where I’ve posed a question about online support groups and whether they have an obligation to help.

Go Ask Aunt Becky

Aunt Becky, this may sound like a frivolous question, given my many-year-happy-relationship with a NOT GAY dude. However, of the…ahem, more than 10 somewhat serious relationships I have had, over HALF have been with gay or bisexual men. Not OPENLY gay or bisexual men. The other kind – I am a many-year beard!

Not now, which is why my husband thinks I’m insane to dwell on this. And yet…I do. I check myself for residual gay-dude traits and wonder what it is.

You’re damn skippy I’d be dwelling on this, especially if my genitals resembled a vagina and not a penis and my chromosomes were, in fact, an XX and not an XY. I don’t know how you WOULDN’T develop a complex after being a beard for so many years.

But since so many of the gay men that I’ve known over the years have been some of the awesomest people I’ve ever met, I’d take that as a compliment. Rather than see it as “I turn men gay” I’d think of it as, these guys thought you were great enough to have a relationship with, and once the pressure of a relationship was there, it pushed the issue forward.

You were amazing enough to be their last relationship with someone of the opposite sex, obviously because you were just that cool.

I’ll turn this one over to my readers, because I’m interested to hear their perspective on this.

Dear Aunt Becky,

My BFF totally used to have my back. If my feelings got hurt, she would listen. If I was upset she was there to help. I could vent freely and without judgment. I was blindsided recently when all of a sudden I had someone do something rude to me, and when I went to talk to her about it, she told me that she did not want to comment on the situation since she was turning over a new leaf and trying not to “gossip”. Gossip? I was not asking her to yell the tale from the rooftops – I just wanted to be heard and sympathized with. I was not passing on info, this was something that was factual that happened to me…

What would you do, Aunt Becky, if your closest friend suddenly decided that if a problem you had involved another person, it was “gossip” and should not be discussed?

Signed,

Falling On Deaf Ears

Oh Gentle Reader, this HAS happened to me, and I remember that it made me feel like I was suddenly being a petty bitch. Really, I wasn’t, but it felt as though I was.

It sounds as though your friend has been abducted by aliens and has been replaced by a clone who walks and talks like her, but acts nothing like her, and I’m sorry for that, because, well, that’s depressing. Maybe the new alien friend will learn the customs of female friendship and realize that this is something that we do for one another. We listen and we get each others back when we need to.

Barring that, I’d suggest that you start a blog where you can freely complain about anything from Farmville on Facebook to how annoying wrapping gifts can be. Just…don’t use names or identifying characteristics. Trust me on that one. You DON’T want that coming down on you like a load of bricks.

Dear Aunt Becky,

I’ve been a mom for the last 13 years, most of it as a stay at home mom. I have 4 kids, a shitload of pets, and a hubby who can be a pain in the ass but is awesome nonetheless.

My question is about my brain. I have the attention span and brain power of a gnat now. (The “g” is silent.) Following complex thoughts, remember something other than appointments, and being able to read something longer than Chicka Chicka Boom Boom is… well… hard.

How can I wake my head back up with minimal effort? Cuz I’m lazy like that.

*scratches butt*

Wait…did you say something? I TOTALLY MISSED IT.

Hi Aunt Becky!

I am nineteen and I just miscarried my first baby. :\ The father had no idea that I was pregnant. My question is, do I tell him, even though the baby is gone? I feel like he would just be spiteful and make me even more upset than I already am… but does he have a right to know?

Thanks!

Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry that you had a miscarriage. I’ve had two and I know the hormonal ups-and-downs are terrible and that on top of everything else, I’m just so sorry. My heart hurts for you.

I don’t think that you need to tell the father that you had a miscarriage if you think that he’s just going to make you feel worse. You should find someone to give you some support, maybe a good friend, or someone close to you that you can really talk to. I know that a lot of local clinics and schools will have some sort of counselors that can arrange sessions to help you worth through some of what you’re going through because believe me, you’re not alone.

But no, I don’t think you need to tell him if you don’t want to. You should talk to someone, though.

Again, I’m really sorry. Picture Your Aunt Becky wrapping you up in a big fat hug.

—————–

As always, my Faithful Readers, please fill in where I left off, and rally around our friend who has miscarried her baby. She could use some love.