Are You Just Trying To Be Stupid?

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Rod and I were talking about willful ignorance tonight.  You know, when people try to be stupid for the sake of being stupid.   Like when a girl pretends to be drunk and stupid at a bar, but she only took one sip of a beer.  It drives me batty.

drunk 300x300 Are You Just Trying To Be Stupid?As a strong women, I really despise women who try to hide how smart they are.  ”Oh I don’t know how to use a screwdriver.”  Listen here beyotch, you stick it in a hole and turn.  It isn’t rocket science.  If you can’t figure it out, you shouldn’t be allowed to reproduce.

Just like Rod’s ex-wife who can’t figure out how computers work – or how to send an e-mail – or how to read a bank statement – or how to pay bills – or how to wipe her own butt without asking for his help.  How do you go 50 years through life not knowing how to do anything?

computer illiterate Are You Just Trying To Be Stupid?While I am a fiercely strong and smart woman, I must admit that I’m happy to be waited on hand and foot.  Jason was laughing at me the other day because I was complaining about having to fast forward the DVR;  I’m used to having others do that for me.  No one would mistake this for thinking I’m not smart enough or strong enough to do it on my own.  On the contrary, I’m smart enough to get people to want to do it for me without any manipulation or coercion.

I’ve written on here before how I get a kick out of those that underestimate me.  I don’t play stupid; I just nod and wink and say “bless your heart”, and then run over them until their head spins.  The truth is, men sleep with stupid women, but they marry the ones that are smart.  Well, either that or they tire of her quickly and move on.

Lady or Not… Here I Come! is declaring war on willful stupidity.  Though all my readers are brilliant, we shall henceforth call others out for choosing to have a head full of rocks.

x,

Becca

Lady or Not… Here I Come!

 

A Day Not About Me

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condom 240x300 A Day Not About MeYesterday I spent Father’s Day celebrating male figures.  I never had a dad growing up, so until I had kids, this day was always easy.  Then suddenly, I pop a couple of wrinkly, crying hairballs out of my body.  Now, for some absurd reason, my husband gets a special day.  I’m sure it was hard work standing there while my body was cut open and they were yankin’ those kids out.

Let me tell you, when 365 days of the year are about you and they take one day away… it sucks.  First, I had to wake up at 10:30.  That’s right folks, I had to get up out of bed to put others’ needs before my own.  He opened his gifts, and I woke Jason up because we were going to go out to lunch.

climbing turtles1 300x244 A Day Not About Me

They don’t feed me anymore so I’m finding trouble.

We hopped into the car and went to some BBQ place in the hills, where my spawn begged for money to feed some cheap-ass turtles.  Don’t get me started on those lazy mo-fos. All they do is sit around and expect us to spend my husband’s hard-earned money to feed them.  Although I have to wonder what kind of mischief they would get into if one day we just stopped.

We got home, and I took a nap from the pure exhaustion of putting others’ needs before mine.  I slept for a few hours and then got up and people wanted to eat again. I mumbled something about getting their own food, and Jason brought me a Coke Zero and some SoCo 100 proof fell into the cup.  Since SoCo isn’t like a fly you can fish out, I said “Oh Well” and continued to drink it.

Then I had to sit around bored while the men had golfetball on.  Something started them asking me if I knew the players other than Tiger Ginobili.  They wanted to test my knowledge of the history of golfetball, to which I scoffed.  I informed them that I had no idea who that was, but I was sure that he wouldn’t make me watch the Godforsaken game.

Eric A Day Not About MeThey finally gave in and let me watch the TRUEBLOOD season premiere.  The only redeeming part of the whole day was getting to lust after the guy who played Eric (I’d like to drink him in).  Then you all were demanding that I write this post as I had the lowest views in the history of my blog on Saturday (75).  So in honor of my great writing effort and the day not about me, please read and share.

x,

Becca

Lady or Not… Here I Come!

Gentleman or Not… Here I Return!

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I am back! Maybe for the long haul, maybe just for one week. Since I actually live with Becca and her hypothetical family now, it’ll be much easier for her to crack the whip on me… But I want to give you loyal readers another edition of Gentleman or Not. This post isn’t about Father’s Day, but it is about what most men, including fathers, often do. I hope all of you who are dads, or are married to a dad, or who have a dad, give him (or yourselves) thanks today.

rubbernecking 300x241 Gentleman or Not... Here I Return!You know how you are flying down the highway and suddenly traffic comes to a grinding halt, although you can’t see any reason why? Then you spot it: an accident up ahead… on the other side of the highway. There’s no physical obstruction on your side of the highway, but everyone has to slow down to a standstill just to look. You tell yourself you are better than the rest of these looky-loos, who are now going to double your commute time for no good reason. The closer you get, the  more you tell yourself, I’m not going to look. Closer still, and you begin to say out loud to yourself, “don’t look, don’t look.” Then, of course, you look.

boob stare Gentleman or Not... Here I Return!This kind of “train-wreck” staring is equal-opportunity for both genders, but there’s a similar phenomenon unique to gentlemen: the boob stare. We just can’t help ourselves. Boys and girls alike are born programmed to see them as homing beacons. One day girls start to grow their own, whereas boys subvert their oral fixation into a visual one (the shift is not always complete, though).

One day, boy meets girl. Boy eventually stops staring at girl’s chest long enough to look her in the eyes instead. They fall in love and then boy is committed… to not stare at another girl’s chest ever again. This, of course, is simply impossible. Boy tries to develop a pair of coping mechanisms: 1) tell yourself, “don’t look, don’t look” and 2) when you do look anyway, play it off.

carebearstare 4710 300x172 Gentleman or Not... Here I Return!

These are Care Bears staring…

Even when boys grow to adulthood, and even if they don’t commit then, they still have to practice these two strategies; otherwise, they’re never going to find any woman to commit to. Sooner or later a man has to learn that staring that hard only works for Care Bears.

There are other rules to be understood here: The impossibility of not looking increases in direct proportion to the outside temperature and the quantity of alcohol consumed. Staring at the library may be avoidable; staring when you’re in a Las Vegas hotel pool in mid-summer and on your third margarita is so unavoidable it’s practically a reflex, like scratching your head when you hear someone has lice.

avengers backpose 300x157 Gentleman or Not... Here I Return!Boob staring is such a common phenomenon that it has been exploited in all media with a significant male readership (and, likely, mostly male writers). How often is a female character’s suit so skintight that it shows nipplage, yet we never seen so much as outlines of, well, packages, even on men wearing tights?    Why is it that women always seem to be cast in come-hither poses, but not men?

butt staring 300x300 Gentleman or Not... Here I Return!

Stop lusting after my elbow!

Boobs are the primary visual magnet, but it’s not the only part of female anatomy that men will stare at, as Sir Mix-a-Lot once told us so eloquently. Also, women stare too, they’re just much more subtle about it; plus, as Rod pointed out so well two weeks ago, women get away with so much more. But, gentlemen, do try to not stare. Women don’t want to be mentally undressed, but they don’t want to go unnoticed either. Accept that you can’t win and just enjoy the game.

By Jason aka Squirrelly Writer banner manly 300x105 Gentleman or Not... Here I Return!

WTF Friday #42 Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything

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Real Products:

death coaster WTF Friday #42 Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything

The picture is the only caption needed

gold plated bbq WTF Friday #42 Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and EverythingEver want to grill, but just couldn’t because your grill wasn’t made of gold?  BeefEater Barbecues 24k gold is the answer for you.  For the measly cost of $165,000, you too can have your meat fired to perfection. (source)

 

 

pickle pop logoLARGE 300x162 WTF Friday #42 Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and EverythingLike pickles?  How about the juice?  Why not indulge in Pickle Pops.  The world’s leader in frozen pickle juice.  Nothing tickles pickles more than pops.

 

 

In the News:

boner time 300x276 WTF Friday #42 Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and EverythingEver wake up feeling stiff?  Ever have a hard time going to the bathroom?  Was John’s son named Woody?  Daniel Metzgar answered “yes” to all of these questions.  He had a bone to pick with his doctor.  He filed a malpractice suit after his enhancement went north and he had an eight month erection.   Read more here…

makeover 300x200 WTF Friday #42 Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything

So sexy it makes you want to hump a doll

 

If you thought Princess Merida from the movie Brave getting a makeover was bad, you should hear about Legos.  A study in New Zealand showed that Legos are getting angrier.  I know they are just trying to teach our boys to frown.  Read more here…

Video of the Week:

Start about a minute into it; it’s very funny.

x,
Becca
Lady or Not… Here I Come!

It’s Not Worth It

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Some of you may be aware that I’m a pigpen.  I am a lowly, sloth-like woman with a great heart and greater boobs.  The problem is, everybody expects people to be tidy.  Personally, I think organization is a bitch.

drawers Its Not Worth It

I have too much imagination to have drawers that look like this

Sometimes, when I sneeze really hard, I accidently clean out a junk drawer.  A few times I was held at gunpoint, and after sorting through what I did and didn’t need, guess what?  Magically, the items that I just arranged will have moved exactly back to the original mess.  It’s like some sorta sick, perverse demon comes in and shoves things in places they don’t belong.

Don’t let me get started on the futility of making beds or sweeping floors.  My philosophy is clean when you have to and outwait everyone else until they can’t stand it anymore.  I have to write a blog after all, so I don’t have time for such menial work.

laundry man Its Not Worth ItThough, to be fair, I don’t know how anyone actually keeps it up.  I’ve tried in the past, but it didn’t work out.  I gave up pretty quickly, and had children so they could be my unpaid staff.  They kinda stink at it, because they came from my womb covered in dirty clothes and un-washed dishes.

So what am I to do?  Have Jason move in with us to help me around the house, that’s what.  Then, while he was packing, he called me and asked if it was okay to bring garbage bags (may I point out the “s” means more than one bag) full of laundry to do here.  He also asked if I would make him my homemade fried chicken.  I reminded him that I’m in fact younger than him, which makes it impossible for me to be his mom.  Since he arrived, he did do dishes once and cleaned up a lot of dog dung, but other than that… my house started to catch fire.  I guess it will stay like this.

x,

Becca

Lady or Not… Here I Come!

Becca-ism #999

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Ever been too tired to write, but then you decide you want to think some thoughtful thoughts; something to knock people’s socks off?  The problem is you have no thoughtful thoughts because you’re all thought out. Yeah me either, so I was really surprised when I said this to Rod when he asked me what I was going to post about.

jack Handy Becca ism #999

x,

Becca

Lady or Not… Here I Come

When Sports Talk Turns Dirty

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I was sitting in my living room, innocently minding other people’s business, when I heard Jason and my Hubby talking about one of those sports that has a ball.  I pretty much tuned them out for most of the conversation as I attempted to write.  But when I heard something like:

Jason: He was bad, but a woman shouted out, “That’s okay, you’re still hot,”

I paused.  But then I continued to tune them out because they were making me very sleepy.  Then came:

Jason: He is sooo big.

Hubby: Ohhhh yeahhhh!

too big When Sports Talk Turns Dirty

This guy is too big too

What the heck?  I went to guzzle my wine glass as I heard something about someone liking to hold two balls in their hands at once.

fuzzy balls tennis funny shirt rd1354cd255754921847314238385d66e f03mf 216 When Sports Talk Turns Dirty

I hope these were the two they were talking about.

I’m not sure, but I think sports is just a big ole orgy waiting for men to talk about.  Anyway, I’m pretty sure I fell asleep, because everyone knows that sports talk in front of me is strictly prohibited.  When I started coughing and insults were smuggled in at the same time, Hubby asked me what I wanted to talk about.

Now that is about the stupidest question in the history of talking.  “Me, of course,” I replied.  There you have it folks.  The only sport that counts: talking about Becca.

x,

Becca

Lady or Not… Here I Come!

Love is a Drug

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Once again, Becca asked me to write a Sunday post for her.  After checking to make sure my brandy bottle was at least half full, I reluctantly agreed.  One of the most brutal parts about writing a post for Becca is coming up with an idea.  After several games of Candy Crush, I hit upon the solution: she likes science, and she likes romance, so why not write about the scientific basis for love?

First off, be careful entering search terms like “scientific love”, or “laboratory love”.  You’d be very surprised what can be done with a test tube, or worse yet, a graduated cylinder.  After several startling diversions, though, I came across this page.  To me, the article basically says that we’re little more than biological robots; brains immersed in a hormonal cocktail, shaken, not stirred.

I should warn you that I’m a hopeless romantic, and that after reading this article, I’m a pissed off hopeless romantic.  I know what it is to be in and out of love.  I’ve had my heart trampled.  I’ve cried like a baby, sure that I would never be whole again because I’d lost the love of my life.  And I’m 101% sure that the cause of all this bliss and anguish wasn’t simply a series of chemical reactions.

the nutty professor 243x300 Love is a Drug

This’ll get me in the gene pool for sure!

The people who write this kind of article need to check the ventilation system in their lab.  Better yet, they need to get the hell out of the lab and meet some real people.  If they honestly believe that the sole function of love is to keep “the human species alive and reproducing”, Valentine’s Day must really suck for them.  I know for a fact they aren’t getting any Valenmance© cards.  I envision some gnome-like guy hunkered over his bench, thinking his lab coat is a superman cape, wondering if he shouldn’t ask his assistant, Rosie Palm, for some help.

I don’t have a problem with the research that breaks down the stages of a relationship into lust, then attraction, then attachment; after all, that’s a pretty good description of the sexual act.  I don’t have a problem with the authors comparing love to cocaine use or obsessive-compulsive disorder; that seems fair.  What wilts my roses is the suggestion that it’s all hormones, and we’re basically along for the ride on the rollercoaster of love.  Where’s the mystery?  Where’s the thrill of pursuit?  Where’s the art of seduction?

oxytocin tattoo 300x224 Love is a Drug

The oxytocin molecule. This girl is hot to trot.

And oxytocin!  Okay, so it’s released during orgasm, and it enhances pleasure.  That sounds like a good thing to me.  But the suggestion that it’s responsible for bonding strikes me as absurd.  I feel connected to my partner because we just had sex, not because the “love hormone” is telling me to.  Unless she’s a professional, I wouldn’t be there with her in the first place if I wasn’t already connected.  By their logic, I could have saved over $100,000 by simply having more sex with my ex-wife.  Yeah, right.

Prairie Vole Images Love is a Drug

I’m . . . too sexy for my fur.

I also resent being compared to prairie voles.  I don’t care how horny the little bastards may be.

And the final insult.  How to fall in love:

  • Find a complete stranger.
  • Reveal to each other intimate details about your lives for half an hour.
  • Then, stare deeply into each others eyes without talking for four minutes.

Well, who’d have thought it could be so easy?  I guess you geniuses just put eHarmony.com and Match.com right out of business.  It all comes down to a formula, no art to it at all.  And that’s what bothers me the most.  The chemical approach to romance takes all the fun and mystery out of love.  I want my affection to be a free-will offering, a gift, not the inescapable result of a series of chemical reactions.  But hey, that’s probably just my geekaphine deficiency talking.

From behind the scenes . . .

Rodney A. Worthington

(Rodysseus of The Rodyssey)

Lessons from this Week: Panic and Havoc

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It was a beautiful Friday.  The sun was shining, but not too intensely.  The birds were chirping and the baby birds outside the garage had hatched. Then slowly the cloud cover started to roll in and I knew Jason’s arrival was imminent. What I wasn’t prepared for was all hell to break loose.

whoopsie Lessons from this Week: Panic and Havoc

Where I go, trouble follows.

Jason’s stuff arrived promptly at 2:30 and had allowed a little space for him to drive it here.  I wish I had taken a picture of his 6 foot 2 inches stuffed like a sardine into a groove his stuff had cut out. He swears that he threw a whole bunch of stuff away… but I don’t believe him .

He sat and talked to my hypothetical children and I for a while and then decided to unpack as he had a buttload of electronics to unload. We all offered help (well I offered up my hypotheticals and I watched) while he stood and stared at his mess for a while trying to figure out what to start with.

I got tired of watching him look at his car so I went to grab something to carry into the house.  His stuff was packed so tight that loosening one thing started a waterfall of junk falling out of his passenger car door.  I had a choice: catch the plastic bag with beer bottle in it or save his new laptop.  The beer bottle hit my foot and then shattered.  ”That made it all the way here and then you broke it?” I rolled my eyes and muttered something about just watching. And hopped back as my right foot was now throbbing.

I stood out of the way for a bit and directed traffic.  I went inside and started the grill for steaks and kebab. I put the water on for couscous and went out to check on the progress and promptly got a sliver of the shattered beer bottle into my big toe. I hopped into the living room and the kids went to go get the first aid kit.

I was doctoring up my foot when my little man said he smelled smoke.  I informed him that it was just the grill. He went to the window and said, “Mommy, ummm there is smoke coming from the grill.”

“Yeah, grills do that.”

“No. I mean this is different.”

I went to the window to see look and sure enough, the entire grill was on fire.  There was fire shooting out from underneath next to the propane.  I ran to the front and asked Jason to come because there was a fire.  He said he was coming.  The children started to panic and I realized I didn’t have a fire extinguisher in this house. I had one in the old house.

The sloth, aka Jason, walked in and I noticed that one of those clicker lighters was on fire underneath the grill.  I ran into the kitchen and grabbed a kabob skewer and stuck it through the handle and moved it to the concrete.  Jason realized he should be helping and grabbed his cup, preparing to toss the water in it onto the blazing lighter.

“No! You can’t put water on a chemical fire!” I ran to the kitchen and grabbed the canister of flour and poured it over the lighter.  It went out and I felt better. “I’m calling daddy,” my daughter said. I let her while I breathed, then started dinner on the stove top.

IMAG0730 Lessons from this Week: Panic and Havoc

Looks a lot worse in person.

Jason said that he was sorry for not realizing it was a big deal because I was “too calm.”  Then my husband arrived and asked about the fire. I showed him the back of the house and how the walls were close to catching fire.  They were black and very hot.  Jason wanted to look at the damage and I had him touch the wall.  He did and I went back in to attend to dinner.

I walk in and see smoke billowing off the stove top.  ”What the heck!” I pull the hot pan off the stove and my husband and Jason watch me take care of the problem.  ”I swear this house is determined to catch fire today!”

Jason goes to do more unpacking while my husband packed for his business trip. I walked into my room with tears in my eyes and begged him to come help me.  ”You were so calm that I didn’t know you needed help.”

Everything stayed calm for the rest of the night, though I did wake up covered in some rash.

I learned two lessons yesterday:

1. Panic when there is a fire so people will help.

2. Where Jason goes… so does havoc (Though none of it was his fault).

Sorry I forgot to be funny.

award Lessons from this Week: Panic and Havoc

x,

Becca

Lady or Not… Here I Come!

WTF Friday #41

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Real Products:

craft paper WTF Friday #41For you crafty folks, I found this dye paper.  For the wonderful price of $19.99, you can turn your paper cutouts into t-shirt transfers.  This is an actual add for the product.  Apparently, it’s magic.  Look!  It turns blue hearts into green monsters.

sleep WTF Friday #41

 

 

Who doesn’t love children?  I do, but sometimes I drink after a long evening with a toddler.  There is nothing like reading Goodnight Moon for the 100th time to your 3-year-old only to hear, “Again Daddy!”  For the great price of $9.46, you can read Go the F**k to Sleep to your cute little one.

merkin WTF Friday #41

Click here to see the photo, Becca censored.

Did you know you can buy a wig for your lady bits?  You can.  I’m not quite sure why anyone feels the need to buy these things, but good for you if you do.  Now you can buy a “Kitty Carpet” Murkin on eBay for $19.95.  Wait… doesn’t eBay sell used products?

In the News:

AmericanIdol WTF Friday #41Ever drink too much and then stab someone over a T.V. show?  A couple in York, Pennsylvania were having a happy fun time until they started arguing over who should win American Idol.  Then they proceeded to stab each other. Read more here…

 

police WTF Friday #41

Would this be called the Woof Pack?

What do you get when you mix Bad Boys and the question Who Let the Dogs Out? Barking Mad Police.  In New Haven, Connecticut cops cornered two wanted men in a building.  The men in blue were channeling their inner Becca, and used the most hilariooky tactic possible: tell the criminals they were sending in police attack dogs when there weren’t any.  The police force started barking outside, and the suspects surrendered rather than face the dogs that really weren’t there.  Read more here…

Video of the Week:

I love this video. Gladys is adorable, and I want to have a shirt printed (v-neck, woman cut, and bedazzled) with the quote, “I love Jesus but I drink a little.”

x,

Becca

Lady or Not… Here I Come!