John C. Mayer Is Totally Stalking Me

Dear “John C. Mayer,”

I know we’ve had a tumultuous relationship – we’re like when a tornado meets a volcano or um, cheese meeting macaroni, or something poetic, John C. Mayer. Whatever, John C. Mayer – I’m not the singer – YOU are.

For years, John C. Mayer, I despised you. Not because I knew you, John C. Mayer, or even because you, John C. Mayer had done anything personally to me.

Except that you, John C. Mayer did. You wrote that stupid “You’re Body Is A Wonderland” song. I mean, John C. Mayer, how many times do I have to hear my girlfriends ovulate all over the place when that stupid song comes on? How many torturous nights, John. C. Mayer do I have to hear my sappy girlfriends be all, “I *love this song – John C. Mayer wrote this about ME and now I want to have his sensitive babies,” before I snap, John C. Mayer?

Answer, John C. Mayer: about two hundred times.

And frankly, how dare you, John C. Mayer, sir, have the audacity to be both funny AND play the guitar like that? It’s unfair, John C. Mayer, because despite how much, I wanted to hate you, John C. Mayer, I simply cannot. Your humor, John C. Mayer is not a fluke, and you, John C. Mayer, are someone with whom I’d like to be friends.

You may recall, John C. Mayer, when the Internet Pulled A “John C. Mayer” and beat Google’s search algorithm to be among the very top of the search terms for “John C. Mayer.” It was originally an accident, John C. Mayer, but it turned into a prank so large that “Pulling A John C. Mayer” made it into Urban Dictionary. That may be, John C. Mayer, the very pinnacle of my existence.

john c mayerA photo taken during the John C Mayer Prank, complete with my fake cat, Mr. Sprinkles.

Today, John C. Mayer, I checked to see where I ranked on Google. It’s been over two years (I think) since I Pulled a John C. Mayer on the Internet – certainly my page rank must’ve gone down. After all, John C. Mayer, I do not write a blog about John C. Mayer – instead, I prefer to write narcissistically about, well, me. That is what blogging is all about, right John C. Mayer?

(answer: yes)

And yet. And how. And this:

Screen shot from today. I beat out John C. Mayer’s blog AND Wikipedia. John C. Mayer totally loves me.

Anyway, I’m sure that your publicist, John C. Mayer would like me to die in a fiery blaze started possibly by a “malfunctioning kitchen appliance,” because WHOOPS! Behold the Power of the Pranksters, John C. Mayer!

But I’m a little afraid, now, John C. Mayer, that while your publicist may want to murder me with a pitchfork, that you, John C. Mayer may be in love with me. Now, I know what you’re thinking: who isn’t in love with John C. Mayer and his luscious mane of hairs? The answer would be me, John C. Mayer. I am not in love with you. While I do respect your kickin’ guitar riffs and may (or may not)(I’ll never tell) own several of your songs, I am not, John C. Mayer, in love with you.

But you, however, are stalking me John C. Mayer. Why would I say such a thing, John C. Mayer?

Because I got this in the mail. No return address. Just this. Now when I saw that I’d gotten mail, John C. Mayer, I got all happy in the pants because who doesn’t love PRESENTS? (answer people who hate the color blue, baskets of kittens, and/or lemon meringue pie).

John C. Mayer

Yes, that’s right. I got an unmarked life-sized poster of you, John C. Mayer. And I cannot think of a soul who would send this picture of you, John C. Mayer, rocking out besides, well, YOU.

Which means that you’re clearly stalking me, John C. Mayer.

And while that’s well and good – who can resist a chick who gardens in a cocktail dress and chainsaw? – I must inform you that sending me a life-sized poster of you, John C. Mayer is not the quickest way to my bubble gum lips.

Besides, John C. Mayer, I’m engaged. To a Twitter Dog, Dublin Cook.

DON’T JUDGE OUR LOVE, JOHN C. MAYER.

Warmest Regards,

Aunt Becky

P.S. You might want to try sending diamonds next time, John C. Mayer. Works better on loosening up the vaginal bits than a life-sized poster of you, John C. Mayer.

————

P.P.S. The original John C. Mayer Prank was done by accident – I’d written him this letter, which boosted me up to Google’s like 4th search term for “John C. Mayer.” Drunk on my new-found knowledge, I then taught the Internet how to prank Google so that we can get our blogs to be the top search term for a particular celebrity. Whacha think? Should we do it again, Pranksters?

The answer, John C. Mayer Pranksters, is YES. Things have been too damn serious for too damn long – it’s time to do some prankage, Pranksters. YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO.

(Instructions for Pulling a John C. Mayer are here)

So it’s your turn. Link up, Pranksters, and help each other by leaving comments wherein you use THEIR celebrities name a lot in the comments, use Stumble Upon, Facebook, retweet them, you know – let’s get Google good! Let’s get PRANKING!Comments should look like this to get more traction with Google:

“Aunt Becky I can’t believe you’re pulling a John C. Mayer again. John C. Mayer will rue the day that John C. Mayer wrote “Your Body is a Wonderland.”

Pulling A The David Cook For Charity

When I was in NYC, I was invited to the Bloganthropy Dinner which was thrown for bloggers who use their blogs to make the world a better place. Clearly, they mixed me up with another Aunt Becky. Perhaps Uncle Jesse’s wife from Full House? Not certain. While I was there, I was entered into a raffle, and while they were announcing the winners, I prayed like hell that I wouldn’t win anything, because I need stuff like I need to lose more brain cells.

I totally won.

I won a prize generously donated by Cold Stone Creamery. Pranksters, I won free ice cream for an entire year. A YEAR of ICE CREAM. See, Cold Stone loves charity. I love charity, too (shut your face, Pranksters) and they’re a huge supporter of the Make A Wish Foundation.

CHARITY, FUCK YEAH.

September is Make A Wish Month, Pranksters, and if you go into Cold Stone September 30th between 5-8 PM, you get a free 3oz of Kate’s Creation. Kate’s Wish was to create the World’s Largest Ice Cream Social. Cold Stone? Made that happen. Turns out Cold Stone has been supporting Make A Wish foundation for years.

Ice Cream + Charity = WIN.

I’m highly uncomfortable accepting such a prize. SO, Pranksters, I’m giving it away. For charity. Originally, I was going to have you pull a John C. Mayer** for charity, but when I think “charity” I don’t think “John C. Mayer.” And I am remiss to give John C. Mayer any more publicity, especially since I have effectively won at Internetting. LOOK:

I Win At Internetting!

Last night, I asked The Twitter which celebrity we should choose as our charity mascot and the only person who got multiple votes was The David Cook. That’s handy, because, Pranksters, did you know that The David Cook was my best friend as a child?

Okay, so some of you may say that The David Cook is a common name, and perhaps this The David Cook who won American Idol Season 7 is not the SAME David Cook who was my playmate in the sandbox. Perhaps this “The David Cook” isn’t the same The David Cook whose father was my dentist. Perhaps “The David Cook” is such a common name that I had a hard time deciding how to name “The David Cook” for this prank as famous people named The David Cook are about a dime a dozen.

And you would be right.

Well, since The David Cook WAS my friend as a child, I have now decided that all people named “David Cook” are my BFF for life, which is highly unfortunate for everyone else besides my former BFF David Cook, named “David Cook,” (which, a handy Google search tells me, is a lot). Besides, The David Cook has a Twitter dog. And his Twitter dog and I are getting married.

According to The David Cook’s Wikipedia page, The David Cook does a lot of charity work, plus, since we’re fake BFF and all, I’m naming this prank after him.

For The Pulling a The David Cook for Charity Prank (I wonder if Urban Dictionary will allow us to enter this one, too):

We each choose our own charity to Pull a The David Cook on. We’re choosing a charity this time, not a celebrity.

Write a blog post about your charity.

Stuff it with the words, links and SEO phrases like we did for the original John C. Mayer post and aim to get our blogs on page 1 of Google for that charity.

If you don’t have a blog, you can write a public note on Facebook with the same rules.

I’m going to link back to the John C. Mayer post for more instructions for how to trick the Google algorithm. Let me know if you have any questions.

Link your blog post back here in the comment section and I will add it to the big mother-trucking post (that post hasn’t been written since I am still frantically looking for a charity of my own).

Stumble, Digg, tweet your posts. Because, obviously.

One entry per person, but you can Pull a The David Cook for charity as often as you’d like.

You have until noon CST on October 10 to get your posts up and entered into the Big Mother Trucking Post (will go up tomorrow).

Winner will be chosen via random number generator on October 11.

The aim is to bring some awareness to these charities, their mission, and hopefully in the process, make some connections. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard through you guys about some rad charity or resource out there I didn’t know existed.

Let’s use social media for powers of wicked awesome. Plus, the potential to win FREE ICE CREAM.

Let’s get our prank on, Pranksters.

Okay, and since I am not only annoying but stupid, too, I forgot to mention that if these charities are a good fit for Band Back Together will be added to the resource pages for the site. That’s a huge win for both the charities and for Band Back Together.

P.S. I need a charity to get behind for tomorrow’s post. HALP. ME.

Charity, Fuck Yeah.

**A brief history of the Pulling a John C. Mayer Prank. It began when I wrote a blog letter to John C. Mayer wherein I begrudgingly told him that after I’d spent many years waging war against him, I hated to admit that I found him witty, clever, and hilarious. I used his name about a gazillion times, for comedic value only, and realized in doing so, I’d inadvertently beaten out his website and Wikipedia page on Google.

THEN, we turned it into an Internet Prank. I taught everyone how to use SEO to beat Google’s algorithm and we targeted celebs to Pull a John C. Mayer on. It was amazingly full of the hilarious.

A Little Less Conversation, A Little More Action

Normally the things that Your Aunt Becky rages against are things like “tofu bacon” (I mean, really vegetarians? Bacon is meaty and delicious. Just…give up the ghost and call it something else. I love tofu. Tofu is not bacon. It will never be bacon) and “thousand island dressing” (because if you had ever been a waitress and had to clean up hot thousand island dressing, which, I should tell you right now, MELTS, into oil and bits of…gross green things *gags* you would call it bullshit, too).

Occasionally, I’ll wage war against a random celebrity, like John C. Mayer, (who, I should tell you, I’ve been at war with since 2003, and this cease-fire I’ve called has left a big gaping John C. Mayer-like hole where John C. Mayer used to be) but really, I can’t get worked up about a whole lot. You have to be smart to get mad about stuff, and Pranksters, we know my IQ rivals boxes of rocks.

This weekend I went on a tear.

I was 29 shades of Furious George because I had been putting together a reference sheet about encephaloceles for Band Back Together and realized, once again, there’s fuck-nothing out there about them.

Now, for those of you not glued to my archives, my daughter Amelia was born with a previously undiagnosed encephalocele in January of 2009. An encephalocele is a nasty little neural tube defect (like spina bifida), only with encephaloceles, the skull, rather than the spinal cord, is the improperly formed bony structure, and in Amelia’s case, part of her brain developed outside of her head.

It’s about has hilarious as it sounds.

Obviously, she’s fine. She kicked that encephaloceles ass.

When I talk about the statistics we beat, it’s staggering to me. I can’t even wrap my mind around the infinitesimally minute minority we fall into without crying.

But what’s bothered me this whole time, besides the lingering PTSD and the unanswered questions about it all, is this: there’s nothing out there for other parents who sit on the computer, perhaps even prenatally diagnosed with some sort of encephalocele or neural tube defect, scared and alone.

I do mean nothing.

Oh sure, you can find some articles about encephaloceles from Children’s Hospitals. Some eMedicine artcicles about encephaloceles. Terrifying images of dead babies. Babies with horrible encephaloceles. The worst case scenario of what your baby could look like with an encephalocele is right there.

If you broaden your search to “neural tube defects,” you find more information. A number of spina bifida support groups. The Spina Bifida Association is an awesome resource and support group for parents of kids with spina bifida. Then again, spina bifida, a sister neural tube defect to encephalocele is one of the most common birth defects. Spina bifida affects 1/1,500 babies every year.

When I first started researching (I’m a researcher at the core of it all) encephaloceles after Amelia had her neurosurgery to correct her encephalocele, I had lumped all neural tube defects together. I had been wrong. I had thought that encephaloceles were much more common than they are.

Spina bifida affects 1 in every 1,500 babies a year.

Encephaloceles occur in 375 babies a year in the United States.

Not 1 in every 375 babies. Just 375 babies. That’s hardly any babies at all.

That’s why there are no support groups for parents of babies with encephaloceles. There’s no one running a website devoted to these particular neural tube defects (that I could find). There are no places to go when you’re scared and terrified and alone and shit, encephalocele is a fucking scary ass diagnosis. Look at the statistics. They’re grim.

Then, look at my daughter:

She’s not particularly grim. Unless, of course, you take away her cuppity-cake. Then she’ll cut a bitch.

Through some magic key, eventually if you search through enough pages about encephaloceles, you’ll find my blog. I know this, because I’ve met a couple of families who, when they’ve been diagnosed prenatally with an encephalocele, they’ve come by and talked to me.

It’s how I met my now-niece, Lily Grace (named in part, I should say, after my Amelia Grace), who is also kicking ass and taking names.

The gut-punch came this weekend, when I saw that in the searches for my new blog, the only thing besides some combination of “Band Back Together,” that people had searched for was “encephalocele – parenting.”

Okay, so that’s when my cold, black heart broke and I got good and motherfucking mad. I knew that someone was searching on the other side of a computer for something that does not yet exist. Some comfort. Some place that does not show you the horrors of a diagnosis that is not always horrible.

After I paced around the house, furious and upset, because Pranksters, that is motherfucking BULLSHIT, I realized that it was time. I’ve been slowly reaching out to people and asking them to contribute stories about neural tube defects to Band Back Together, because that’s a place to start.

I’m gathering research and I bought a domain. I have two partners. Lily Grace’s Mom, Nikki, and Katie. We all think it’s bullshit, too. It’s time to take action.

So, Pranksters, if you know anyone who has a story about Neural Tube Defects, please let us know. OR, you know, if you have some other full of the awesome ideas -like a dance party- let us know.

Or, you can just tell me something you think is bullshit. Because there are so many things that are bullshit out there. Like turkey bacon. And clowns. Clowns are totally bullshit.

(tomorrow, it’s Prank time. We’re gonna pull a John C. Mayer for charity)

If It Hadn’t Been A Full Moon, I Would Have Sued This Week For Sucking So Badly

368: times people have searched for “John C. Mayer” and found my blog.

3: page number on Google for my blog when you search for “john c mayer.”

4: page number on Google for Urban Dictionary entry “Pulling a John C. Mayer” when you search for “john c. mayer.”

0: Times I made it to #1 for Google Search “John C. Mayer.”

Too Many To Count: Times I was pleased by my Pranksters ability to get to #1 by pulling a John C. Mayer.

1: Conference I was supposed to fly to Assville, North Carolina for (Type A Mom) this week.

0: Conferences I am actually attending this week.

45: times I’d planned to gorge on Chick-Fil-A while in the South as we Northerners do not have this tasty and delicious treat.

Too Many To Count: Calories I am saving by not eating Chick Fil A.

1: Dates I settled upon for Vegas to make up for my decided lack of travel this week.

11: weekend of December that I am inviting you, my Pranksters, to Vegas to celebrate my fake birthday.

0: Times I have been to Vegas

Infinity: Times I will beg you to come with me to Vegas so that I may get suitably wasted in front of an entire cadre of people who can then document my dumbass-ness on The Internet.

43: Times I will sing ‘Vivaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa Viagra‘ while in Vegas with you until you tell me to shut my whore mouth.

172: Posts published so far on Band Back Together. In a week and a half. (there are many in the editing queue)

55: Posts published so far on Mushroom Printing. In two months. (there are many in the editing queue)

1,105: Posts published on Mommy Wants Vodka….in 6 years.

1: times this week Amelia has taken off her diaper and finger-painted her entire body with poo.

1: new word she learned from the experience: “EWWWWWWW.”

98: times I’ve wondered if my 9-year old is a teenager already.

98: times my 9-year old has stomped around the house when I’ve dared to ask such things as, “have you had a bath yet?”

0: naps Alex has had this week.

5: naps Alex had last week at this time.

87.3: extra pots of coffee I have had since Alex has stopped napping.

98,766: times I have considered changing my name and moving to another state.

1: times I’ve been called a prude. Ever.

6,483,986: times I’ve laughed about being called a prude.

1: times I’ve been told I should “kill myself.”

4,827,474: times I’ve laughed about that, too.

1: post I will write tomorrow about driving traffic to your site to save my fingers from typing it in an email ever again. Won’t SOMEONE think of my poor, poor fingers!?!

Too Many To Count: times I will feel douchy blogging about blogging.

0: times I have said, “when life gives you lemons, make lemonade!!”

0: times I have wanted to crochet a platitude on a pillow.

0: times I have wanted to crochet, period.

0: times I have found a platitude helpful.

81, 768,330, 912, 875, 031: times I have wanted to punch someone who uses platitudes squarely in the taco.

1: Full Moon last night. PHEW.

1: ridiculously huge gift card that I’d won that I’m going to give away next week in some sort of John C. Mayer style prank.

—————-

How’s your week, Pranksters?

The End of a John C. Mayer Era

John C. Mayer, you are providing the Internet with more happiness than I’d ever thought possible from someone who emotes to his guitar and writes songs about wonderlands and bodies and previously made Aunt Becky want to vomit. I hope that you know, John C. Mayer, that in the minds of 95% of people I know, John C. Mayer, you and I will be forever linked. That, John C. Mayer, is your legacy. Apparently, it is mine, too.

I only wish, John C. Mayer, that I had chosen a better, more douchy target to use for Pulling a John C. Mayer, like Dave Matthews, whom I still hate with the fire of a thousand flaming STD’s. Because the more I think about you, John C. Mayer, the more I really do like you.

So, Pranksters, we’re still going strong with the John C. Mayering of the Internet. How could we not? (I’m still adding posts to the original John C. Mayer call for posts page, so please, leave comments, links and track-backs if you have not).

—————-

I’ve gotten a couple of nervous comments about the new site, Band Back Together, and I wanted to make sure that you knew, Pranksters, that you are personally invited by me, Your Aunt Becky, to write there. A lot of the submissions that we’ve received thus far have been of stories that are very tragic and heartbreaking and I’m proud to have them over there as I think that the site is going to do so much good.

But.

I want you to know that even if your problems, your stories, don’t feel like they stack-up, and you don’t feel like they are as important as the ones you have read, you are wrong. I cannot begin to tell you how wrong you are.

Because you never know who is on the other end of that Google box, searching desperately for someone to connect with, someone who may have exactly the same problem that you face, and whether or not it’s “stacking up” against someone else, that’s not going to matter at all to the person on the other end.

And frankly, it doesn’t matter to anyone else either. This isn’t a Pain Olympics. There’s no judgment of who is more worthy of our sympathy and support. There’s no prize for Saddest Story.

We want your stories. We want you.

We’re none of us alone, remember. That includes you, not just the person who is deeper in the shit than you may be. Please, stop worrying about whether or not you deserve to be on the site because if you feel like you want to be there, you already belong there.

There’s light in every word, every single word you write, and somewhere, someone is reading what you say. You never know who is connecting with you and who you are helping when you open that blank document and start typing out your story. If one person – one single person – reads one post on the entire site and decides to get help, feels less alone, or makes a positive step, you know what?

We’ve done something good.

And there’s no way of measuring which post that is. It may be the one floating around your head. The one you’re afraid to write because you don’t think it’s enough. It is enough, Prankster.

So GO. And Write Hard, my Pranksters. Believe me, we want your stories. All of them. Old stuff, new stuff, any stuff you want to give us. We want you.

And while you’re there, please, pass on the word about the site.

———————–

Friday, I sold my car.

Not my Honda Odyssey or my CR-V, but my Acura.

I’d been meaning to sell it for years. It’s been sitting in the garage, unused, since Alex was born. It was impractical for driving my two crotch parasites around. Shoving three of them in there was laughable.

But this was more than a car for me.

I am a wanderer. This car was my lifeline.

Nights when I couldn’t sleep, it was me and my red car, nothing but endless black sky above and the road slipping by under my wheels, the hum of the engine keeping me company as I shifted seamlessly from second to third, third to fourth and finally fourth to fifth gear. The car and I were one.

The discs in my CD changer would flip quietly to the next as they each finished their set and we’d drive on into the night, wandering. Just me on my red horse. The nights were silent then, peaceful, the green glow of the dashboard my only company as the wheels turned on and on, the road whispering, beckoning, just a little further, kid, what’s down here, let’s take this right, you haven’t been here before.

I had a baby. Another. Yet another. The nights were complicated, full of colicky babies and ghosts. My car cried from the garage, come on kid, let’s go out, let’s take the night back, reclaim it for our own, let’s wander, just you and me, for old time’s sake. I’m gassed up and ready for you, kid, and you need me. I know it.

And I did. I still do.

That life, I miss that life more than anything. The wanderer is in my bones. Staying home, being Mommy, that’s something I do, but it’s not what my soul cries for at night, when the hours yawn on, the numbers on the clock seem to stand still and the road beckons me like a siren.

The van is a van. The CR-V is a truck. They won’t know me. They can’t wander. They don’t hug the road like a tight red dress, screaming with pleasure as I power-shift from second to fourth. They’ll never beg me hey kid, take the long way or go down that road down that way just to see what’s down there.

Eventually, I’ll get another car and I’ll start wandering again. I can’t deny myself forever; it’s in my blood.

The red car went to someone who will love it and for that I am happy. But my heart, my heart is sad.

It still longs to wander.

————

I finally got the links to my Ford Story: What Women Want interview, and it’s up over here, at We Know Awesome, if you want to take a listen. If I sound douchy, blame John C. Mayer and the tornado.

Go Ask John C. Mayer

Pranksters, we’re still pulling a John C. Mayer on the Internet and it’s beyond successful. Google John C. Mayer and look at the first couple of pages. Since we got the term “Pulling a John C. Mayer” in Urban Dictionary, the whole Pulling A John C. Mayer prank is spreading like crazy. So keep on pranking, Pranksters. We’re going to keep on keeping on. HILARIOUS.

@mommywantsvodka on Twitter if you are Pulling a John C. Mayer (also: whomever is running #Pulling A John C Mayer on Twitter is hilarious) so that I can add you to THAT list, and I’ll add more of your blogs to the list of people who have been John C Mayer-d.  Clicking those links are good for SEO. Also: if you have a Digg account (I’m Mommywantsvodka), try and go through and Digg all of the posts that have been submitted.

Okay, ONTO Go Ask John C. Mayer!

Go Ask John C Mayer
Go Ask John C. Mayer

Hi Aunt Becky- John C. Mayer,

Thank you so much for posting my question to you regarding how the hell you managed with a little one in the hospital, etc. I am overwhelmed with the outpouring of support, thoughts and prayers from you and your Pranksters. I really want everyone to know (and you, of course!) that I am truly, TRULY thankful for all of their love and support. I just can’t figure out how the hell to say it! So, “thank you!” to you and to them. You have all touched our hearts.

Also the blog is at:  prayersforjillian.blogspot.com

I did a happy dance when I got this email. Thank you Prankster for coming back! My Pranksters really are the best people on the Internet, aren’t they? Without them, I wouldn’t have made it through Amelia’s first weeks. That’s not a question. We’ll be praying for you, love, and your sweet baby Jillian.

We’d love to have you over at Band Back Together, too, if you’d like to share more over there. I think you’d really find a good home there.

Much love,

AB

Dear John C. Mayer,

I am a writer and a photographer. My first DSLR was stolen (maybe by John C. Mayer) around Christmas and my boyfriend bought me a new camera to replace it. I thought he understood that the photographs I take are not just pictures to me, they are things I create, that are part of me. They are my passion.

So, this past weekend, I took some photographs (not pictures, not snapshots, photographs) of his daughter’s birthday celebration. I have also taken photographs of his son at motor cross races this summer.

Monday morning I discover that the photographs I had taken of his children were now posted on his FB page – without giving any credit to me for them. Without asking me if he could use them. Without telling me he was using them. And without apology.

Now, I don’t care that he put them on his FB page. They are photographs of his children. I am not saying he needed my permission to use them. I would have had no problem with any of this at all if he had just given me a heads-up about it first.  My photographs; my camera.

He figures he bought the camera so he has unlimited access to the camera and everything on it without having to ask at all.  It’s his, he owns it since he paid for it. His exact text message?  “I don’t believe this shit. Fuck you. I don’t have to ask. Those were of me and my kids and again I paid for the damn thing.  Come get the rest of your shit.”

When I told him my photographs are like my writing to me, I create both, he told me “That’s just ridiculous.” I feel as if he’s calling me, my photography, and my writing all ridiculous and stupid. Now, I have no desire to ever pick up that camera ever again because he was so flip about it.

Then my blog, which I’ve had since before I met him, got brought up into it as well. He’s never said anything about it, but now apparently his “friends” are all offended at what I write about him on my blog.  So now, he’s taking that away from me as well.

My passions, my safe places, my creative outlets have been tarnished and violated and destroyed in my eyes.  I have no where to go.

Am I wrong here?  Did I overreact?  Help.

Oh Prankster, it’s hard when you feel like your safe haven is violated, which is how I feel whenever I get a internet mole person (until John C. Mayer and I tell them to shut their whore mouth), and that feeling isn’t fun.

Let me guess, your boyfriend is not a creative-type, is he? Because creative people, like John C. Mayer, might understand where you are coming from. But since he’s not creative like John C. Mayer, you’re probably not going to make him understand where you’re coming from. The best you may get is that he’ll never take your photos without asking again because that means something to you.

And if you never want to use the camera again, well, that’s your call.

It’s hard, Prankster, to get over that violation of your creative space feeling whenever it happens, but you have a few options:

a) get a new blog to write on. Sure, it’s annoying to change URL’s and be all stealthy, but you know, if knowing people who are upset with what you write are reading you prevents you from writing, that’s that.

2) Go password protected. Pass out the password to your readers and John C. Mayer ahead of time and there you have your space! Peachy!

5-9er) Pull An Aunt Becky (John C. Mayer) and realize that haters be hatin’ and sooner or later, you have to come to terms with the fact that people who actually know you (versus anonymous internet mole people) and dislike you will read your blog and think mean things about you while they read it. They make even *gasp* MOCK you while they read it, but never, ever John C. Mayer, because he is a gentleman. You get used to it, I promise.

c) Let them win and stop all creative endeavors forever and ever.

John C. Mayer and I wish you luck, Prankster.

Dear Aunt Becky, John C. Mayer,

Six years ago I went through a Very Bad breakup with my high school sweetheart during our first semester of college. His parents decided that we weren’t going to be together anymore and yanked him out of the college we were both attending to send him to a different one.  We tried to stay in touch for a while, but it just went downhill from there.  It was truly one of the darkest periods of my life (my whole identity had become wrapped up in him and us).  Shortly after breaking up with him, I met my (now) husband.  We’ve been married for two and a half years, more or less happily (thanks, recession!).

I just found out that The Ex is back at the college for grad school.  I’m still local and I actually spotted him yesterday (he didn’t see me)(I’m not a stalker, he was walking away from the restaurant we were eating at)(shut up).

So basically, I’m still pretty fucked up about how the whole breakup went down.

I’m in therapy, but practically, what do I do?  I’m not sure I can take the whole “you may bump into him” every time we go into town, living not knowing how that encounter will go (my money’s on Not Well).  Should I get in touch with him just so it’s not a surprise to anyone?  I don’t know if he knows I’m still around.  How do I not make my husband crazy by being all stupid about my ex showing up?

Thanks,
Totally Not a Stalker (Promise)

Oh Prankster, I think we all have The One That Got Away, like John C. Mayer, don’t we?

I even have the outfit picked out (a vinyl catsuit!) that I’ll be wearing when I happen to run into him! I’ll be dressed as Cat Woman, which John C. Mayer likes, and he’ll be dressed like a homeless person. In all actuality, when I run into him, I’ll be wearing track pants and a ratty t-shirt and fresh from the gym so that I’ll smell like I just rolled in dog poo.

I may actually be mistaken for dog poo by other piles of dog poo.

He’ll probably be wearing an Armani tux. Like John C Mayer!

But the thing is, I’m not actually hung up on it. I’m genuinely over it and I don’t give a shit what I look like when I run into him. Unlike, of course, John C. Mayer.

It sounds like you have unresolved issues that you need to address with your past relationship and I think you need to take a hard look at what you hope to accomplish by reaching out to him. What’s the best case scenario? And the worst? I’m all for pulling out the skeletons in your closet and making them dance, but John C. Mayer and I want to make sure that you’re not setting yourself up for some major problems in your present.

Talk to your therapist and explain that you have unresolved issues. You don’t need to be skulking around and hiding from your ex, but you do need to be ready, I absolutely agree. And your husband needs to be ready, too. Your husband is your future and with the help of your therapist, and your husband, I’d bet that you can come up with a game plan.

Maybe reaching out first is a good idea, but not without those two completely aware of what’s going on. And maybe all you need to do is make a phone call to say “hey, I’m in town, don’t be surprised to see me” and nothing more than that.

I wish you luck, Prankster. It’s hard to face up to your skeletons and John C. Mayer and I commend your bravery.

——————–

As always, Pranksters, please fill in where John C. Mayer and I left off in the comments.

Why The Internet Wants Vodka And John C. Mayer

So, today I have a guest post, which is good for you, Pranksters, because you can get some time away from the constant John C. Mayer-ing (no you can’t) and work on pulling your OWN John C. Mayer Prank after you read one of the funniest guest posts I’ve had. I’m not just saying that because John C. Mayer and I found this after I was all, “dude, where was that super-funny guest post I had?” and then I found it in my folder that says “GUEST POSTS, MOTHERFUCKER” because that’s where John C. Mayer and I put guest posts.

It was too obvious.

But you need to read about the other Pranksters Pulling A John C Mayer here.

I have fallen to #4 in my John C Mayer quest to be #1 (damn you John C. Mayer’s publicist!) but am getting screenshots (email me one when you get to #1 or on Page 1 of Google) and reports that you are all victorious in your quest to be NUMBER ONE! when you Pull a John C. Mayer!

But better than that, Pranksters, look at what Prankster Kayde did.

"John C. Mayer"
Pulling A John C Mayer in Urban Dictionary. HAPPY SIGH.

I’d tried to get Urban Dictionary to add it myself, because frankly, they add fucking everything, and yet, uh, NO. Kadye PREVAILED, though, because she is full of the awesome.

You know what else is awesome? Band Back Together, the new group site. In a week, we have now 128 posts up and counting. It’s pretty amazing over there. Now, we have an Ask The Band section, too, which is a place to ask questions of the whole INTERNET and John C. Mayer. So, please, come have a look around. Stay awhile. Let me know what needs to be done over there.

I got a new button made because the other one was borky:

Band Back Together

Then, FINALLY, my Toy With Me column, about Low Libido in Men, something I KNOW John C. Mayer and his Magic Peen don’t have any issue with.

And here I will shut my whore mouth and let my darling friend (not John C. Mayer) Meredith, who’s body is a wonderland and her awesomely awesome guest post which defies gravity take over.

——————-

This isn’t Aunt Becky, yo. This is Meredith (aka Mrs. Call Me Crazy). I just wanted to introduce myself and say, “Hello, Pranksters!”

Or would it be more fun with a British accent? ‘Ello, Pranksters (like ‘ello, Gov’na).

That was bloody fun! Rightio!

Isn’t it fun to speak with accents when you’re drinking? Do you think that’s how Madonna started with her fake accent? As I write this, I am drinking a Bass beer, so I will be British. When I drink vodka I am the drunken Russian hooker who is looking to become the next mail order bride (for John C. Mayer). You get the picture.

Anyway, I am so flattered that Aunt Becky has asked yours truly to post something on her blog. I feel incredibly famous. Like Amy Winehouse (but with bigger tits and flatter hair and less heroin-y). I’m really from Ohio, so I am not used to this kind of attention. I feel like I have won some sort of award (like John C. Mayer). Like I should be making an acceptance speech, “I would like to thank the two people who actually read my blog for stopping by and supporting me here. Hi Mom & Dad! Hit the rock, Jesus.” There, I feel better.

Mommy Wants Vodka is the best blog name I’ve ever heard. I just love it, love it, love it. When I see it, I am so jealous that I kind of want to punch Aunt Becky in the face. Why didn’t I think of a cool name for my blog? John C. Mayer would have helped me more.

So in honor of Aunt Becky’s spectacular ability to name things, I have interviewed a whole bunch of mothers for this post.

I have asked each mother, “What has your child done that has made you want vodka?”

These were my favorite the best responses…

1. My 2-year old stuck a turd up his nose. I would not take him to the hospital with a ball of poop up his nose, so my husband and I had to pick it out. He was gagging and throwing up the whole time from the smell.

2. I walked into my bedroom to find my son rubbing my Silver Bullet on his head. It was on and vibrating. I just walked away because I didn’t want to draw attention to it. He was 10. One day he’ll figure out what that thing was, and he’ll be very grossed out.

3. My son was potty training and as he was watching his big brother pee in the potty, he put his hands in the pee stream.

4. We took the iPod away (did it have John C. Mayer on it?) from our teenage daughter. She locked herself in our bathroom and refused to come out until we gave it back to her. Teenagers are crazy. And they can hold out for hours.

5. My 6-year old told another kid at school to “go fuck yourself”.

6. My son stuck his finger in our dog’s butt. Often.

7. After buying a bouncy ball out of a vending machine, my daughter bounced it into the plate of a fellow patron at our favorite restaurant. Food went flying everywhere. The lady whose dish was ruined cussed me out and told me I was a terrible parent. I cussed her out as well, but backed down as she pushed her chair out from the table and came at me with her cane.

8. Our teenage daughter, who forgot to open the garage door, drove her car right through it. She totaled the car and caused a $10,000 homeowner’s insurance claim. (John C. Mayer)

9. My husband was following a school bus on his way to work. There was a boy on the bus who was throwing books around, punching other kids, and wouldn’t stay in his seat. At one point, the boy turned around and looked at my husband. It was our son.

10. My toddler dumped a gallon of bleach on the living room carpet. Homeowner’s insurance doesn’t cover that. (John C. Mayer would have)

11. My twin girls decided to make Daddy’s new Saab a playground. They spent the afternoon climbing up on the trunk, jumping on the roof, and sliding down the windshield. This resulted in $3,000 worth of damage.

12. My fifth grader would forge my signature perfectly. I figured this out at parent-teacher conferences when the teacher said that she thought I knew about the in-school suspension and missed homework assignments.

13. My oldest daughter taught my youngest son to wave at Truck Drivers with his middle finger from the backseat. This went on for too long before I figured it out. I am sure people thought we were whack jobs as they passed us on the highway.

14. My son dumped baby powder all over his entire bedroom. It took almost a year to stop coming across baby powder.

15. My son smeared Ben Gay all over our hallway. It smelled like a nursing home in our house for weeks.

16. Our teenager shaved off his brother’s eyebrow while he slept. My poor son was ridiculed for weeks at school as it grew back in.

17. We were asleep when our 2 year old slipped out the front door at 6:00 a.m. and began walking down the street. The neighbor saw him and brought him back home.

18. Permanent marker will not come off of your leather couch. (Like John C. Mayer)

19. My teenage daughter sent naked pictures of herself to two boys on Facebook. They went viral around her high school. I found out when the police called me.

20. My nose has been broken. Not once, not twice, but three times due to being head butted during diaper changes. Thanks, Baby!

All right, Pranksters, now it’s your turn. Tell me, why does Mommy Want Vodka at your house? (besides John C. Mayer)

Oh, and if you like me, check me out at Life’s Crazy Joke. If you didn’t like me, Aunt Becky is coming back real soon (she lives here and stuff).

Cheerio, Pranksters! *in my best British accent*

Keep on keeping on with your John C. Mayer-ing of the Internet, Pranksters. I’ll be adding links all day.

(any additions of John C. Mayer were not of the original post)