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YouTube Tuesday

I have mentioned before that I stopped doing most of the blog awards and such, but that I do enjoy answering the questions that come along with some of them. So this is my half ass participation for Twindaddy who tagged me. I feel like cattle, but I am going to answer all of your questions with a YouTube Video to pay homage to our weekday theme, YouTube Tuesday. And because you have survived on your snowflake for so long. Have fun.

  1. Dogs shouldn’t snore.  Why the hell is my dog snoring? Would you rather this?
  2. Describe the most embarrassing moment you ever endured. Usually involves autocorrect.
  3. My butt’s numb from sitting here for so long.  Wait, that’s not a question.  You have a wedgie.  Do you take care of immediately or wait until no one will notice you taking care of it? Here is an option. Or ditch the undies all together.
  4. A coworker has some nasty body odor.  How do you address the situation? Hire Terry Crews. There is no other option.
  5. You just farted.  You are relieved that it wasn’t loud but it quickly becomes apparent that it was SBD.  Do you blame the dog? Ummm.
  6. You don’t have a dog.  Who do you blame now? Obviously.
  7. Who’s the most hilarious blogger you follow besides me? If you didn’t see this coming, you are dense. 
  8. Some dude’s fly is down.  Do you do the considerate thing and tell him or are you too embarrassed to say anything because you’d have to admit you were looking at his junk? Don’t be afraid to basket shop.
  9. What is the funniest movie EVAR?? The character named Becca is not me. Don’t freak out.
  10. I got so drunk this one time that I actually…. Well if you must know. Just kidding! I haven’t thrown up since I was five. True story.
  11. If you could be any species in that galaxy far away, which would it be (yes, I’m referring to Star Wars)? I challenge you with some classic extraterrestrialism

There. I made a post. I am off to pat myself on the back and feel accomplished.

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Something Is Amiss

This past weekend was the Superbowl, but instead I went bear hunting. You read that correctly. I don’t have pictures to prove it, and I wasn’t actually hunting. You game wardens out there can calm down. So while you were watching Beyonce knock out the power with her bootyliciousness and extensions, I was searching for Winnie The Pooh. How do you feel about that?

woods and tractors

Bear watching and tractors. Fuck yeah. Take that Superbowl.

I can’t get into detail about what happened to me out in those woods, but not because I did anything illegal. The real reason I can not properly tell you about my excursion is because there is something amiss with my blog. While attempting to wow you with a post about my Bear Grylls (no name-pun intended) antics, my blog started acting… funny. And not the normal kind of  hilarious funny.

For example:

When I attempted to click the “New Post” tab, a java script error popped up on my screen that said, “Oh, finally attempting a post? Haha, nope,” and my whole browser shut down on its own. I wasn’t even touching the mouse.

On my second attempt, as I tried to navigate back to the WordPress homepage, I kept getting redirected to the Creative Writing for Dummies Cheat SheetI knew there was something funky in the water at this point.

As a true test, I decided I would try to answer some comments that were being neglected. When I guided my cursor over the reply box, the faded default message, “Enter your comment here…” no longer existed. In its place was, “Peanut butter jelly time baby cakes…”. When I tried to erase it and type my own message, everything came out in Webdings font. This is when I opened the Jim Beam and closed the lap top.

I’m befuddled as to what has been happening to my blog. It took seventeen battles with my dashboard just to bang out this cry for help post for today. Have any of you been experiencing shenanigans on your blogs? Is WordPress just playing an early April fools joke on me, or is there something bigger at work here? Any insight is appreci B============D—–

What the fu ( . )( . )   ( . )( . )   ( . )( . )

HELP!

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Lyrical Interpretations and Junk

Some musicians just have it, you know. That spark that let’s them enter a part of our brains in which they can do no wrong. It doesn’t happen often, but when it happens to me it is sort of otherworldly. The rhythm of the songs don’t get old, even the most asinine lyrics make sense, and I begin to think every album was written specifically for me.

For example, I give you Alanis Morissette. First of all, her name is fucking Alanis. That is the kind of name that makes the Sarahs, Lindseys, and Beccas  of the world feel like lemmings. Then there is her voice. Hurry, think of someone else who sounds like her (okay, besides that Meridith Brooks girl). You can’t.

alanis morissette meme

Keanu, you think of everything.

So you get it, I like Alanis.

I like her regardless of her blatant misuse of the word ironic. I like her regardless off the fact that she either has something very secret and important in one of her pockets at all times, or she’s trying to be discrete about getting off in public. I even like her regardless of the fact that she sings about cross-eyed bears. Those are  the lyrics, right? Right?!

That being said, this post isn’t actually about Alanis but rather inspired by her. It may sound jabby but remember, I already said that I liked her, so it is okay.

You all know her little song about “irony” (also known as things that are unfortunate). With all due respect, I can think of a few things that are worse than a free ride when you’ve already paid. If the ride is free you probably don’t want it anyway. Bam!

Here are five things worse than the original “Ironic” lyrics, because I am clever like that:

1. Ten thousand knives when all you need is a spoon. Think about it. It is way more painful to eat soup with a knife than to cut your PB&J with a spoon.

2. Your wedding day… in general. Zing!

3. A traffic jam when you’re already late to your last-chance court date. You’re going to jail, and it looks like someone else is going to have their hand in your pocket. No, probably just completely in your pants without your discretion.

4. Just a “no smoking” sign.  Obviously I haven’t quit yet.

5. Meeting the man of my dreams and then meeting all five  of his wives.  Say what you want, I just wasn’t brought up that way.

BONUS VLOG: About junk. The kind in your drawers. Not drawers as in underwear. Pervert.

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Why Business? (Bonus Vlog Inside)

A few ideas in question form were provided to me in the comments of last Friday’s post in attempt to give me blog fuel. A few of them got my engine revving.

Aneroidocean asked a particularly meaty question: Why did you decide to be a business student? What’s your ultimate goal? If you want to go normal “career” type thing and not start your own business eventually tell us that. If the career type job is just in order to get your loans paid off and then start your own business, tell us about that.

Well, I decided to enter the world of exciting business in mid 2007. I took the leap from Performing Arts to Marketing. I basically played pin the tail on the major. The only hole I had in my blindfold was the knowledge that my father had a business degree, and he seemed to have done just swell in his life.

Throughout college, I always had an idea fermenting in the back of my mind about opening my own business. As a teenager, and up until the day I quit dancing, I was sure and determined that I was going to open my own dance studio to teach, choreograph, and mold young dancers. I also wanted a big space in which to do cartwheels, but that’s beside the point. And cartwheels are gymnastics anyway, not dance. So, with my supreme logic, I concluded that I could converge the two schools of thought (performing arts and business) to open that studio.

Then reality decided to tap me on the left shoulder while standing on my right side so I wouldn’t see where it was coming from.

I went through the motions and graduated. I gave up on dance, because there wasn’t time for it all. I became complacent. My aspirations for opening my own studio had turned into aspirations for an easy job with sufficient pay. I somehow became content with the idea of being a suit. Or should I say a woman’s pantsuit. I also imagined I would find ample use for one of these in the near future (thanks for the idea Rich):

boob apron

Now you can buy TWO items instead of just buying a higher cut shirt in the first place!

So there I was, all ready to do the normal job thing. I applied for Marketing jobs here and there and nothing was snagging. So, I went with the first job that gave me an interview even though it had nothing to do with Marketing. It didn’t matter. Firstly, I was still experiencing the no-more-school-for-me-ever-in-life-yay euphoria. Secondly, like I said, the vision of my own business let alone a dance studio was long gone from my head. Give me some pencil skirts and some data entry, and I was all good.

Until I wasn’t. Somewhere after that, I snapped out of it and into a drastically different mindset. I want to see my own ideas brought to fruition. I want to build something that is all mine. Sort of like this blog, but on a much bigger scale. Feel me?

So, to fully answer the latter part of Aneroidocean’s question, yes, I do hope to eventually have my own business. It may not be filled with ballet bars and stage moms, but it will be something of pride. Luckily for me, my college was paid for via scholarships and TOPS, so I don’t have to lug around the weight of student loan debt. I have nothing stopping me from choosing exactly what I want to do, and I am no longer scared of the waters. I’m next in line for the diver’s block.

Investors interested in funding my success can send money to 555 Thisisnotascam Ln. NY, NY 55555.

And now… a V-V-V-VLOG. Maddie Cochere asked what I keep in my closet last week. Let’s just say I found a few interesting things.

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Life Glitch

Inexplicable things happen every day. Glitches in the matrix. Coincidences. Alien invasions. Call it what you will.

I recently experienced this very phenomenon. I have no certain explanation for the events that I am about to describe to you. Welcome to the twilight zone. The good one that doesn’t involve shimmery vegan vampires.

keanu with banana

Keanu with a banana phone. You can’t explain that.

It was Sunday, and rather than leaving myself winded from completing  tasks on my lengthy to-do list, I fucked off instead. Football was on. I don’t usually watch it unless the Saints are playing, but it was the perfect distraction on which to blame my lack of productivity. Plus, a friend of mine actually wanted to hang out. I thought I would give that a shot. Apparently, it is a popular thing to do among the internetless.

After a burger and a bloody mary, we were already in tears over attempting to sext a random number, which is actually quite a challenge. You can’t just start blurting out sexyness all over the place. You have to be mindful that four-year-olds have cell phones these days, and that some people simply do not appreciate a good sext. On top of that, you have to know how to properly woo your unsuspecting sextual partner. Don’t worry, chance sexting is not to be confused with full on text rape. But that’s enough of that.

Once I had been repeatedly shot down by what was probably a seventy year old woman, I slinked off home to face my to-do list, which now had an addendum that read: change telephone number.  Unfortunately for my to-do list, I caught wind of more friends (insanity!) at a different venue while driving to my apartment and veered off course yet again. This kind of shit just doesn’t happen every day. I had to take advantage.

Many waffle fries and not an ounce of shame later, I finally forced myself home. I walked into my room to spot my bare mattress and proceeded to throw a slight tantrum at the sight of it. I remember grabbing the sheet and pillow cases out of the dryer. I remember stuffing each pillow into its correct sham. I remember beating them smooth. I remember that the comforter was draped securely over the foot of my bed. I even remember laughing at Jack’s lack of disturbance by all of the dismantled bedding.

Then, nothing. No consciousness. No memory.

At some point, in what I assume was the early morning, I awoke. My clothes were on and I was laying backwards in my bed. My head was perfectly placed in the center of my pillow pile at the foot of the bed. I was half way underneath the sheet which never made it to its correctly tucked position. Jack was there,  oblivious as he slept. Groggy, I stood up feeling no sense of time. Where is my phone? Why are all of the lights on?

Then nothing again.

The next time I awoke, I was right side up in my bed with my cell phone neatly plugged into its charger on the dresser next to me but with no alarm set.

Luckily, I woke up naturally in time to dress for work, but the question still remains. What happened to me? I was not intoxicated, nor was I overly exhausted. I am also quite certain that I am not narcoleptic. Did I sleep walk? Did aliens abduct me for a while? Was I roofied by my friends? Where was Keanu? You tell me.

Thanks to everyone who contributed comments on the post in which I greedily begged for post ideas. Y’all are some deep thinking fools. Morpheus would be proud.  

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10 Personal Post Secrets Revealed

I am borrowing an idea today. You may be familiar with the concept behind Post Secret. I discovered this trend via theBerry, and I can’t seem to get enough of the compilation post of anonymous secrets they publish on Fridays. I’ve been thinking of my own secret behaviors, and since I am being fearless these days, I will spill a few here today. But don’t go telling everyone on the internet or anything. I trust you.

post secret

And being me.

1. I listen to the music in my car at sound volumes reminiscent of the decibels that melted George McFly’s mind. When I pull up to a red light, any red light, I immediately turn it down to a respectable level. I wouldn’t want strangers I will never see again judging my taste in music. I also don’t want children to hear me spitting Eminem like a champ.

2. When I catch an auto corrected text message that turns out to be LOL material, I will send it anyway. Then I send a corrected text after. I feel obligated to do this but also oh so guilty.

3. Sometimes, I forget to stretch before I work out. This one absolutely can not leave this blog. It is too intimate, but it does feel nice to finally get it off of my chest.

4. I once stole a single Lemon Head candy from the grocery store. I’ve been on the run ever since.

5. When I clip Jack’s claws, I pretend I am doing a dire medical procedure. In that moment, I am Chief of Surgery. Sometimes I even put on scrubs.

doctor mask

Yes, it is on upside down. I call it the Becca Method.

6. My real name is not actually Becca. It’s Rebecca.

Should I stop this before I reach a point of no return?

7. My hair color is a lie. There, have we said it enough? Is everyone aware? Good. We wont bring it up again.

8. I try to kill bugs with hairspray. While pretending I am a giant.

9. My pillows on my bed are human. I cuddle with them. Sometimes, I even cuddle with two of them at the same time. The shame is unbearable.

10. My secrets are ridiculous, which really is no secret at all.

I feel naked now. So do me a solid by getting naked with me. Tell me, what is your post secret?

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I’ve Been Hooked From The Start

Hello Flysters and happy Monday! Many of you may know today’s guest post author. He was mistaken as a stripper at the LaLaBec NYE Party. He is a legitimate author. He has seen many a hooker in his lifetime, but only from afar. He can handle any kind of baggage you throw at him, even emotional baggage. This guy has been one of the most devoted Flysters from the beginning. This guy faces his setbacks and never gives up on his dreams, so naturally we get along. He is my cheerleader, my supporter, clapper to my jokes, and most of all, my friend.

Please give a warm welcome to The Hook, because he is bragging on me, and that is much better than me bragging on me.

the bellman chronicles

An actual book? What is this sorcery?

Also, here is an obligatory book plug: It’s true, I own my very own autographed copy of The Bellman Chronicles. It is sitting on my bed side table. Well, it isn’t really autographed, but maybe one day it will be. I haven’t been able to finish his book yet due to this thing called blogging that has taken over my life, but I can guarantee you that I will be taking it with me on my next vacation. Because it is fun to read about hotel visitors while being a hotel visitor, right?

Enter The Hook stage left…

Why I Love Becca: A Top Eleven List.

Because any schmuck can write a Top Ten list..

DISCLAIMER: And this is solely in the unlikely event my wife reads this, by “love”, I mean the respect that exists between two bloggers, not the hot, sweaty passion that exists between two bodies locked in the throes of passion.

Moving on…

1. She has a big heart. Seriously, she can’t wear a bathing suit.

2. Her talent knows no limits. She is adept in philanthropy. She can pirouette with the best of them. Heck, for all I know, she has the proportionate speed and agility of a spider…

3. Positive is her middle name. Okay, I cannot confirm this, – it could be Gladys for all I know -  but I don’t believe I’ve ever read a negative post on her blog. Ever. No one can say that about me, I’ll tell you.

4. She bought my book. Yes, she was the one. I don’t know if she liked it, but she spent her hard-earned cash on it, so she’s aces in my book. So to speak.

5. Blogging, vlogging, you name it, she can do it. Before you cry foul, this is entirely separate from #2. I’m talking about social media skills here, people. Becca isn’t a one -trick pony. This filly has mad skills!

6. She is an extraordinarily cute mammal. Once again, I’m speaking platonically here. There is simply no denying her beauty.

7. She’s willing to open her heart and share the things that keep her up at night. There are millions of bloggers out there, writing about everything from baking to sex, but not everyone is willing to travel to those places that leave us vulnerable and open to ridicule. Fortunately for her readers, Becca is fearless.

8. People like her. They really like her. She’s earned the respect and friendship of the Daily Posts’ darling,  Le Clown, and as Jack Nicholson once said, that ain’t bad. Actually her following is legion and growing by the minute.

9. If you haven’t read her work on The Indie Chicks, there’s something seriously wrong with you. And that’s all I have to say about that.

10. She’s willing to laugh at herself. Not to mention, she has a kick-ass work ethic and an inexhaustible supply of ambition. She’s going places, folks. And I knew her when.

11. She’s a credit to the Ginger race.

Editor’s note: Even if she is a huge dye jobbing phony.

And that’s why I love Becca.

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Meet “Z”

Some friends just stick. Sometimes those friends actually live outside of the computer screen. “Blasphemy!”. I can hear you thinking it already, but it is true.  This post is testament to that. When I first met Z, I was convinced that he was going to set our classroom on fire. Marketing 101. College.  His head phones and blaring Tech N9ne were essential to his wardrobe and my uneasiness. Little did I know, he wasn’t actually a murderer but one of my future best friends

25tofly friend

Some friendships are cosmic. He paid me in beer to say that. Part of the deal was also for me to give him some of my spotlight. So without further ado, meet my friend “Z”…

Well hello there! Becky (editor’s note: fuck you) has asked me to step in and fill in some space due to her recent episode of writer’s block. I offered her a couple hits of acid and the leprechauns that do my typing for me, but she refused. I’m not sure why she denied my offer though. Those four creepy little dudes have kept me employed the last three years and even earned me a 2.31 GPA throughout college. Fancy, I know.

Allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Z. Well at least that’s what she named me on here a few times anyway. I’ve been called worse. I am originally from Smackover, Arkansas. Dead serious. Google it. It sucks, I know. But before my recent relocation to the great shit hole of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, the two of us shared roughly 572,890 pitchers of beer together.

I shared with her my knowledge of billiards and was even the third wheel through the entirety of a yearish long relationship of hers. If it wasn’t for her, I would probably be sober. Yes, my life would suck if not for this lovely blonde! (editor’s note again: redhead now dumbass).

Up until recently, I didn’t even know her blog existed. For some reason I had to stalk her on Facebook just to learn this hidden writing talent of hers. But now I understand why we have always texted and only ever spoken on the phone once  in our multi-year relationship. And that was more awkward than some random non-blogger dude making an appearance on some chick’s highly popular blog.

When she first asked me to write a guest post, I will admit I giggled with a slight evilness. I thought, “How witty can I be?” and “Oh the people I can piss off with my political views!”. Then I realized she would just delete my post and ban me from the internet, which would cause a riot with the leprechauns. Not worth the risk.

So instead, I must confess to the masses how blessed each of you are to sit right where your rear is currently placed and enjoy reading the very thoughts and ideas that I have been graced with throughout my friendship with Miss Long Johns herself since some time in 2009. I check for new posts quite frequently now, due to the lack of our shared time together. It’s all I can get. She won’t come visit me anymore. Thanks to y’all.

I think I have babbled enough, and her head is probably slightly swollen after reading these kind words. It’s been a pleasure occupying roughly 3-27 minutes of your time. Who knows, maybe one day she will allow me to post something witty and political. Maybe not political but at least witty.

P.S. Her cats are evil. Between Ace, Jack, and my cat allergy, I am surprised I never woke up cross-eyed after drunkenly passing out on her couch all of those nights. Then again, it could have been those three-month old leftovers I always took off of her refrigerator’s hands. Who knows…

Stay tuned tomorrow for the recap of the LaLaBec New Year’s Eve bash. Because you know you don’t remember. Please leave a nice comment for Z while you wait. My writer’s block thanks him and you. 

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