Make Wine Not War

I arrived in Italy with the posture of the last quintuplet squeezed out of the vagina of a Clomid addict.  I had been stuffed into a window seat next to my husband, who smells pretty okay, for a 9 hour flight. What didn’t smell pretty okay was the leftover puke of the previous passenger.  If that wasn’t lovely enough, I also had a weird official airline metal box under the seat in front of me.

On our first short flight, I had bragged to all my friends and family about my husband being cramped in his seat, while at 5’2, I had all the leg room I wanted, both sitting properly and not.  The tall people of the world became so jealous that they called in favors with the airline to make my longer flight miserable.  It might have had something to do with me posting this picture on Facebook:

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The best part of this picture is the lady in the background. I think her daughter was lifting her butt to fart..

Fortunately, the cards had more in store for me than numb feet and nostrils full of puke.  After we landed, the trip became everything I had dreamt of, and more.  I survived on Nutella croissant breakfasts, gelato lunches, and pasta and steak dinners that put crazy monkey sex to shame.  I found out a lot about Italian culture and art:

  • Much like the honey badger, when it comes to parking or driving, they don’t care:

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    I’ll make it fit… is what she said.

  • Sylvester Stallone has a great plastic surgeon:

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    “Nothing is real if you don’t believe in who you are.” – Rocky Balboa. See! He admits it!

  • Podiatrists used extreme measures in Caesar’s time, even resorting to amputation for something as simple as a corn:

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    I’m trying to let go of my “Corningwear” pun because Rod said y’all wouldn’t get it.

There are old lady linebackers that like to visit Saint Peter’s Basilica. They’d just as soon take you out with an elbow to the rib than allow you to see anything they might be interested in seeing before you.  The best defense* is to escape to places that serve copious amounts of wine and then bring you more free glasses because they like you.

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So we may have already had an entire bottle, and free champagne before they brought us the free after dinner drink. Don’t judge us until you’ve visited the Vatican.

  • Men like to fight naked… all the time… no matter why.  I guess so that they can do this:
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    Let me show you this move I learned from a book called Fifty Shades of War.

    To be continued…



Lady or Not… Here I Come!

*Or offense, or WTFever.  I tried to look it up, but it was just a bunch of football mumbo-jumbo.

All Around Town

I’ve been a busy girl since I’ve last posted.  As I’m leaving for Rome today, I wanted to get in a quick post for you all with some photos I’ve taken around town recently.  Most of these were taken with my cell phone, so please don’t mind the photo quality.

This first one was taken a few weeks ago when I was listening to live music.  I’ve always been fascinated with tattoos but I have to wonder the motivation of some who puts the cotton logo on their neck.

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“F you polyester!”


This one was taken by a close friend.  They said I could share it if I blocked out the company name.  Nothing says professional work place than someone taking a dump on the men’s bathroom floor.

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In Austin we have a cab company that wants you to make babies in their vehicles.

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Fortune cookies know how famous I am.

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My hypothetical daughter thinks I’m gross.

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The small print says, “I know you’re going to be gross on purpose just to annoy me.”

My two rare writers/editors to Lady or Not went out for a night on the town.  I didn’t think it was funny but thought you all would like to see a photo. Jason is left, I’m center, Rod is on the right.

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Other than that, I wanted to publicly thank Timothy Price for sending me some SD cards in the mail for my trip. You’re really awesome and sweet.

Thank you to Sue for shipping me her book.  My daughter really enjoyed it as she is in theater. If you all want to read her book it is on amazon.  Click here to purchase:

Thank you all for purchasing your amazon though me.



Lady or Not… Here I Come!

SXSW CD Carnage

Yesterday I headed out to SXSW in Austin to drink listen to music.  My buddy Jason moved to Austin this past summer, and wanted to check out the festival. As I’m a glutton for punishment, I allowed him to drag me along in exchange for him having to be seen with me in my new LoN t-shirt.

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Cute huh? Sorry it’s a boob shot, but I took it to show a few friends. I realized it’s the only photo I have in it. I wanted to brag to you guys because you all are the only ones that would care.

They heard a rumor that I was gracing the event with my presence, so they reserved me a parking spot about 5 miles from the main drag.  And guess what?  I got the special celebrity price of $25 dollars for the privilege of a mud pit with only 2 inches of mud.  I’m pretty sure they would have escorted me to 6th street had they not known that I wanted to walk.

We started our hike to the venues when Jason was approached by a handsome homeless man, resembling William H. Macy from the show Shameless, asking for money to buy a beer.  When Jason told him he couldn’t help, the man continued to talk.  Because Jason is a giant and I am fun-sized, the man jumped when I spoke to him.  I leaned over and said, “Actually, he needs you to buy him a beer.  He’s unemployed.”  The man just shook his head and muttered something about how lucky Jason was to be out with my breasts, and possibly my face.

stabbing 300x225 SXSW CD Carnage After such flattery, I suggested we get drinks dinner at my favorite restaurant. You have to understand that this place has a chicken almondine that gives me a lady boner.  The problem is that every time I go there, someone wants to share with me.  I know I am 5’2″.  I know I care about fitness… but back off my meat or I’ll cut you.  I left all the veggies because I can’t eat that much, and just scarfed down the meat and potatoes.

As we were leaving, I noticed the crowds gathering around me.  I was flattered by the attention, but there were cheap drinks bands I wanted to find.  Once we managed to get onto the main drag, I started to feel bad for the abandoned CD’s littering my path.  Their only dream in life was to be inserted into a player.  I captured this photo of their carnage:

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Let us not forget the sadness of the lost beer I captured

I couldn’t understand the purpose of all this carnage until I heard someone yell my name.  It could have been that “Becca” was written on the back of my t-shirt, but I decided that wasn’t it.  I realized that everyone had decided to line my path.  Rather than the customary rose petals, they opted for CDs as it was a music festival.  I was practically royalty at SXSW.

motorboat1 256x300 SXSW CD Carnage After hearing a few good bands and several that looked pretty, I decided my ass had been grabbed enough by women and a few men. Plus the accidental motorboating of my boobs was making Jason jealous.  He didn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t motorboat his. (Any volunteers?)  We were also both feeling uncomfortable as we were inappropriately dressed by actually wearing… clothes.  I guess when they read the signs that said “Live music- no cover” they misunderstood.

My adoring crowds had grown so dense that it was difficult to walk in the street without stranger’s pubic hairs brushing my arm.  As I’m a bit of a diva and prefer to be touched only by pubic hairs that have been washed by blessed water under a full moon, I suggested we leave.  Jason agreed because he does what I tell him to, and we hightailed it back to the car.  Again, only because I really wanted to walk.



Lady or Not… Here I Come!

If your pubes haven’t been blessed under a full moon, and you need a little help removing them, this kit works great.  I purchased it the other day and I know for sure it’s great on eyebrows.  Thanks for supporting by making purchases though my Amazon store even if you buy a different product. icon smile SXSW CD Carnage

Literary Dysmorphia

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I made this awesome image myself because every time I Google a Yahoo image, all I get is porn. What does “grammar” have to do with porn?

If you know me at all, you know that a 1st grader could easily beat me in a spelling bee.  This is pretty awesome for little shin-biters around the world, but a bit disconcerting for me. So generally, I tell them they are spelling the word wrong because I’m a grown-up and I’m smarter than them.  They listen… thus the problem with spelling and grammar in today’s world.

fewer 300x300 Literary DysmorphiaYesterday was National Grammar Day: a day where those who feel inferior to the rest of the world can thumb their noses at those they deem simple-minded.  While I don’t equate myself with these people, I did recently exclaim in the grocery store, “Look!  They used the correct word ‘fewer’ rather than ‘less’ on their sign!” Then I only heard crickets chirping from all the other shoppers who had no idea what I was talking about. Fortunately, my friend Jason was there to be excited with me, or I might have had to remind these strangers who I am and then they would have been embarrassed.

This had me thinking.  Am I a grammar geek?  I don’t bother to spell-check emails or edit them before I hit send.  I often have to think if I should use the word “lay” or “lie”, and I might as well forget trying to use the word “moot” properly.  Then again, you should see the people rushing to loosen my corsets and give me mouth-to-mouth when I hit publish by accident before editing a post.*

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I didn’t think I was a grammar geek… until recently.  I told my friend Rod that I’m pretty sure I have what I like to call Literary Dysmorphia.   Here I was,  trucking along as a narcissistic blogger who loosely called herself a writer because… well, why the heck not?  My amazing ability to fool people into believing I knew what I was doing led to much better writers than myself asking me to edit their works.  This was great, because I had no friggin’ clue what I was doing.  But being super awesome, I faked my way through it.  Recently, I’ve been asked by a few people if I can hook them up in the editing world.  But the most flattering of all was being found by the CEO of a huge editing company, and then being offered compensation to write something for them.  It wasn’t much, but it was ego-stroking to say the least.

Literary Dysmorphia is defined by me as seeing your writing through warped goggles. Some writers are on their high horses thinking that they are better than everyone else, and can’t understand how others get published.  Some of us are practically perfect, but are scared to death to actually write a book.  Therefore, we cover ourselves in bacon grease and let dogs bite us so we don’t have to face that demon.

I’m a day late and a dollar short, but happy grammar day, y’all.

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Lady or Not… Here I Come!

*I totally noticed that this sentence was a run-on, but I make my own grammar rules, so shut it.

Bite Me!

This week has been quite the adventure.  I have tons of photos to show you of poker nights in the neighborhood, parties, birthdays, date nights, nights on the town… but who cares about all that?  Seriously, everyone posts about how great life is; I want to post about how my life sucks.

I live in an 18-square-mile golf course neighborhood.  Basically, that means you pay a monthly fee to watch others hit golfballs into your windows. Fortunately for me, I couldn’t afford a house that faces the green, therefore I was forced to stare at the naked backyards of my neighbors.  This wasn’t a problem for me, because I happen to own some binoculars, and often I get bored playing Candy Crush for a living.  Being too poor for the nicer houses has its entertainment perks.  But, as I’m talking about how my life sucks… my neighbors are super boring and the ones who aren’t close their blinds.

The other perk of the neighborhood is a Facebook page, where you get to verbally ejaculate all your complaints about living in the hood. You know, posts like: “The Pooch Parlor (a doggy wash and groom room) didn’t have the good smelling shampoo”, “Did you notice that my neighbor’s house has grass .000002 mm over neighborhood regulation?” ,”I’m selling cigarettes for a school fundraiser.  Would anyone like to buy any?”… that sort of thing.

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I’m a sweet dog and I have an orange bow-tie. Who doesn’t trust a boy in a bow-tie? Not creepy at all.

This week I woke up to a Facebook alert posted by one of my “neighbors” two miles away and one town over.  He had found a wandering dog along one of the trails.  The man had left the dog in the Pooch Parlor if anyone knew whose it was.  He was worried that with the temperature hovering around 32, it was too cold for the dog.

Later, when I got to the gym, the dog was still there.  The poor, pitiful creature was crying at the door.  I had a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach which I was pretty sure was the result of last night’s dinner.  But then I remembered my dinner had been Southern Comfort, so that couldn’t be it.  Jason was there, and he told me the feeling I was experiencing was… ohh, what did he call it… ummm… sympathy. I checked to see if Muttley the mongrel had a tag with his owner’s number on it (I wasn’t planning on spending any reward money, I swear).  He didn’t, and it was freezing in there, so I let the HOA know and took him home with me. At this point, Jason’s sole mission was to jump into the line of fire dog bites. He failed… seriously.  No I mean there is failing… and there is what Jason did.

IMG 20140211 131155%257E2 Bite Me!This dog was so sweet.  He went potty outside. He snuggled up to me.  He seemed to feel at home.  So much at home that he decided to make my leg his snack.  I found out later that the dog belonged to the lovely gentleman that yelled out, “Yay, titties!” at the New Year’s Eve party I attended.  Intimidated by the owner’s sophistication, I didn’t tell him about the bite. Unbeknownst to me, the dog is a known vampire.  He lures in practically perfect bloggers, and then sucks the blood right out of their throbbing (recently worked out) calves.

After I cried in my Cocoa Puffs, the dog made his way home and all was well… or so I thought.  Nope.  Jason had to travel to his “brother’s wedding”  AKA: Becca please watch my dog for me while I get to frolic in the ocean and use my brother as an excuse.  I told him I wouldn’t, but then realized I needed to look helpful so I could continue to boss him around. Reluctantly, I took on his mangy mutt for the weekend.*

When Jason returned from his brother’s wedding, he was disappointed to find out his dog had become a Beccaholic. She completely ignored him, and glued herself to my thigh. As I am never happy with my thigh appearing larger than it already is, I dared to stand up and sit somewhere else.  This pissed her off because, like vampire dogs are known to do, she had marked me as hers.  The idea that I would get up without her permission made her so livid she decided to mark me permanently. Ohhh the bite earlier was nothing compared to what she did.  I’m pretty sure she’d been seducing me for weeks, waiting to get her fangs in this practically perfect blood.

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“I would never eat your yummy blood Becca. Now lets cuddle.”


After being bitten twice in one week, I think the vampires might leave me alone for a bit.  I wish there was a doggy jail for doggy outlaws.  But, alas, there is not. This sucks, as there are vampire dogs out to get me. I need someone like, Frontier Justice: Bass Reeves, Deputy U.S. Marshal, to help me out of my troubles. But since I don’t have someone like that, here is the next book I’m pimping for one of’s supporters, who also is a loyal reader.

Charles Ray has several books published, but he asked me to share his fictionalized story based on the life of Bass Reeves, who was the first African American U.S. Deputy Marshal west of the Mississippi. If you’d like to purchase it click on buy now:

You can also purchase his book or any Amazon products though my Amazon store by clicking here.  Remember that anything you buy through my links helps support  You guys have been amazingly supportive.  I want to thank each and every one of you while I drink lots of wine and cry though my twice dog bitten tears. Next week, maybe only one dog will bite me.



Lady or Not… Here I Come!

*Okay… so maybe I was the one that picked her out and convinced him he needed to adopt her… but that doesn’t mean I like her in any way. icon wink Bite Me!