Scratch me cosine, best best Internet friend

I like to imagine that one day, one of you blog friendishes will come to visit me, and we'll spend the day dressing up my dogs and typing bad words on the labelmaker and Swiffering the floors and watching old Degrassi DVDs. And when it's late at night, and we're relaxing after our busy day of fun, me in Nana's recliner and you in your fold-out camping chair with beer holder, after all the marshmallows and Aleve have been eaten, and the Ghost Whisperers have all been watched, I will pull the back of my shirt up over my head and drape my torso over your lap and make you scratch my back. I won't scratch yours, though, because I wouldn't want to impose upon your personal space. Also, icky. No offense. Your back is awesome, I just don't want any of it under my nails.

And you'll feel super-close to me at that moment because clearly this is what real friendship is all about. Naked backs in your face. And you'll notice, as you scratch, that I'm not wearing my sports bra anymore, but then you will realize that while you weren't paying attention, I fashioned it into a Maya Angelou headwrap. And we will laugh and laugh, but then we have to stop because it's distracting you from the scratching. You aren't a great multitasker.

You're kind of all over the place with your scratching. It's alright though, because I'm an unconditional friend. The back scratching is confusing for you, because I say "Go left!" and my left is your down on account of how I'm laying across your lap, and it's a huge inconvenience. So I teach you about Back Quadrants, and the problem is solved.

Now I say "Quadrant 3!" and pow, you're right there. Eventually, we abbreviate it to "Q3!" and then simply to the digits themselves. It's like our first inside joke. This is already a wonderful friendship.

And then I say, "Shh! Focus!" because I don't want to hurt your feelings but it's like you're not even trying anymore. And you say, "Becky, these quadrants are too large and unspecific an area for me to properly attend to your needs." And I was thinking EXACTLY the same thing, and that's how I know we're BFF's.

So I explain Back Subquadrants. Each of the four quadrants divided into four subquadrants, numbered with two digits, the first denoting the quadrant, and the second the subquadrant.

And you love this new system, I know you do, because it's so efficient. We run through a preliminary round, where I call out, "Q2, Sub4!!" and we see how fast you can find the area. You really shine at subquadrants. This new challenge is just what you needed. I tell you that you're earning a ton of gummy worms with all this back scratching, but I really don't need to tell you that because I'm using my dog training clicker. "Twenty more clicks and it's pancakes for breakfast!" I cheer. I couldn't be more supportive.

"Hey," I whisper. You stop scratching and listen.

"Yes?" you reply.

"Did I say to stop scratching?" I say. "No, I don't think I did. I just said 'Hey' because I'm going to explain my system for a moving itch, but I think we can transition seamlessly into this new system without losing any scratch time, don't you?"

You agree.

*click*

"Ok. Now, you're familiar with the xy axis, I presume?"

You take a minute to examine the Back Graph I've had printed on a laminated wallet-sized travel card for you.

"Um...where are my car keys?" you ask. LOL. Random.

"I hid them," I explain. "Because you've had a beer, and friends don't let friends drive drunk."

"I feel shleepy," you complain.

"It's the horse tranquilizer kicking in," I explain.

"The what?" you ask.

"The jetlag," I repeat myself, because you don't always listen very carefully.

You look so tired. I feel bad for you. But nobody'll get any pancakes for breakfast at this rate.

"Ready? Here we go. The formula for the Line of Itch is y= -2x + 2. GO!"

And then I realize that you're REALLY out of it! "Oh my God! Look at your eyes! You are such a horse tranqui jetlag lightweight!! What a pussy! Haha! Oh, don't feel bad. This is what's called 'Giving You the Business.' It's what friends do. Hello?"

You are one tired sonofagun! LOL!

Ok. I feel like maybe this is cheating, and how will you ever learn if I keep helping you out, but regardless, I reach over to the end table and grab a pink highlighter, and bend my arm behind me to trace over the Line of Itch for you on my back.

"Okay, just follow the line. Did you hear me? Hello??" I say, as I knock on your skull. "Anyone home?? HAHA!! Anyone in there??"

Alright, I realize this is the very definition of enabling behavior, but I go ahead and duct tape a fork to your hand, and reach behind me to hold your elbow while I move your forkhand up and down the Line of Itch. Sometimes I love too much.

You're vomiting now, which means the hors jetlag will be out of your system pretty soon. That's good. This fork business is kind of a drag.

Sometimes, new best friend, back itch follows a wave-like path. This is fun for you, because it breaks up the monotony of the back-forth scratch motion. You'll enjoy the way your wrist moves as you draw wavey sine, cosine, and tangent lines across my back. Careful, though, not to confuse "tangent" with "cotangent". That makes me so mad. Very angry feelings. My best best best best friend forever from the Internet.

Scratch me cosine. I love you.

Alright. Another day maybe. You're beat.

I hoist you over my shoulders, and carry you to bed. My new friend. I'm so glad to have a friend. I mean, a new friend to add to all my other large number of friends. I'll never let you go. Unless you want to go, and then we'll see.

On the agenda for tomorrow: Backleship.

Oh my GOD you are SO gonna LOVE Backleship!!

Steamy's Basic Beauty Tips for Beauty and Attractiveness, Part Doo

Due to the success of my last installment of Steamy's Basic Beauty Tips for Beauty and Attractiveness, which I just found in my archives and was like, who the fuck wrote this? was hailed as the preeminent guide to modern beauty by People in my head Magazine, I've decided to write a follow-up.

Guests often ask me, Becky, how do you keep your home looking so tasteful and inviting?

Well, friends, let me tell you...it's a labor of love, homemaking. It's a skill honed from years of research and practice, but I'll tell you, the reward of the surprised looks on my guests' faces makes it all worthwhile.

From my home to yours, it's my honor to present to you...

STEAMY'S BASIC HOSTESSING TIPS

FOR EXTREME HOME ATTRACTIVENESS

Tip 1: Make your "house" into a "home".

Your home has a history. It's more than just a house. Every good home has an element of nostalgia, whether it be grandpa's old rocking chair, or patchy threadbare heirloom quilt. Don't be afraid to boast the story behind these objects, it will make your guests feel welcome, like part of the family. For instance, recently, one particular guest asked me, "What are these stains all over your walls?"

Of course, I leapt at the opportunity to regale my guest with my home's history.

"Well, you see, before she died, that's where my dog would rub her itchy sides and butt against the walls before laying down for a nap. You can see where her favorite sleeping spots were, because of the dark oily stains!" I boasted. "More champagne?"

My guest was impressed, it was obvious. "This one looks different," she remarked.

"Oh!" I replied eagerly. Another golden opportunity. "That's because it is! THAT stain was from the time I tripped and threw a mug of coffee at the wall! That happened the VERY SAME DAY that Obama was inaugurated. So, pretty historical." I replied, trying not to sound too smug. "Would you like me to take a photo of you next to it?"

Tip 2: Dealing with pests

I'm pretty live-and-let-live when it comes to pest control, except when it comes to something that may jeopardize the safety of my guests. Safety first, which is why, when I had company for Christmas, I felt it necessary to provide a glass terrarium for the wasp that had entered my living room.

I placed the glass next to my Magical Holiday Snowscape 2009.

...which worked out pretty well because I told people the wasp was playing the role of Baby Jesus in my nativity scene, and that the glass was the manger, and yes the manger is upside down and Jesus is trapped but when you think about it, aren't we all trapped in this crazy metaphorical upside-down glass manger called life? *sigh* I know I sure am.

When I decided I was going to write about my home beauty tips and went downstairs to take a photo of my Holiday Snowscape/Wasp in a Manger yesterday, I noticed that the wasp had died, which was surprising because, I mean, there was at least two months worth of air in that glass. I don't really know who to call to dispose of such a thing, so I put the glass back over it and decided to just not be so controlley about it. Sometimes you just have to let the little things go.

Tip 3: Creating beautiful spaces

Guests will use the items you display as jumping off points for conversation, as well as a way to learn more about you. What do you want to express about yourself by the items on your shelves? Are you educated? eccentric? artistic? worldly?

I've created beautiful spaces in my own home that express my inner self. For example, in this image, notice how I have arranged the objects on my shelf in a way that tells my guests, "Here, look, I have stuff, and here's some of it on this shelf."

It's a pity, my thighmasters appear to be irreparably tangled.

I hope I won't have to throw them away.

It's important to show your guests that you're organized, so that they may find everything that they're looking for. I find that a label-maker comes in handy for this purpose. Labels show your guests that you run a tight ship, and it shows!

Oh, label-maker!

I swear, I would lose my own head if it weren't for you!

Tip 4: How to make your dinner guests feel welcome

A fancy dinner is all well and good sometimes, but remember, your guests want to feel at home. I prepare a meal for my guests that's typical of what I usually feed myself. And you know what? I think they appreciate it. I really do.

"We don't *usually* have marshmallows, but it's a special occasion,"

I whisper, with a wink.

Then I pull up a folding camping chair for my guest (with built in beer holder in the armrest!) and position it between the two recliners I took from Nana's house, which she doesn't need because she's too old to come downstairs ever again (SCORE!! THANKS NANA!!) and we eat and watch Ghost Whisperer 7th Heaven The [smart person] Show on [news network].

The adventure of a lifetime, now with more lethargy

A man who drives a truck and fixes things arrives this morning to tinker with something. I don't remember what. A tank or a meter, or some other type of most boring word on the planet. 

"You know where to go," I say with a wave toward the basement, where I've never been because nothing good has ever happened in a basement. Plus it's where all the boring things that I don't understand are stored.

Half an hour later he approaches me with some smug asshole blinky-light device. The Alex Trebek of poison gas detectors.

Man: Do you ever feel headachey when you wake up? Like a hangover?

Me: I knew it. This is my intervention, isn't it. Is Jeff here? Did I get Jeff?

Man: Do you feel sleepy alot?

Me: This is weird. It's like you know me.

Man: You know you have carbon monoxide coming through your vents at 25 parts per million?

Me: That's awesome! That's like, barely any parts!

Man: It's about half of what you'd find coming out of a tailpipe.

Me: Only half then? What are the side effects of that?

Man: Sleepiness and death.

Me: Huh. Well. This explains why I've gained so much weight this year.

Man: No it doesn't. It doesn't explain that at all.

Me: Or does it?

Man: No.

Me: *squinty eyes*

Man: Nope.

Me: *hopeful eyebrows*

Man: No.

Me: I've been breaking out on my forehead...

Man: No.

Me: My toes feel less bendy lately...

Man: No.

Me: Fine. Does it explain that gas smell down there?

Man: No, carbon monoxide is odorless. Wait. A gas smell?

Me: Yeah, like smoky gas. Mostly smoke, but I know there was gas too, because it made my tongue taste like perfume, so I closed the basement door and locked it. Cause petewy! I tell you what, it took about 15 York Peppermint Patties to wash that taste away!

Man: Well whatever that was seems to have resolved itself. The real problem is the lethal amounts of carbon monoxide. 

Me: Okay. Can you fix it?

Man: Well, I turned the furnace off down there for now. Your [insert nonsense stuff I don't understand] hasn't been replaced since 1986. And your [award for boringest words ever] looks like it's original to the house. You have [yawn] leaking down through your [I wonder if there are any more peppermint patties?] and causing [oh my god, my dog looks so cute right now] to rust. It's pretty serious.

Me: Okay. So, how long until I can flush the toilet?

Man: I turned off the furnace. That's all. Not the water.

Me: So, no hot showers for....

Man: Just the furnace. The hot water is fine.

Me: So the Internet...?

Man: Still works.

Me: Can I still send texts from my phone?

Man: Yes.

Me: And the milk will stay good for how long if I don't open the fridge?

Man: I don't think you understand.

Me: It's just so boring, what you're saying. It's hard to even focus. Could you just summarize it? Or write it on this post-it and I'll read it later?

Man: Listen...I. turned. off. your. furnace. so. that. the. carbon. monox....

Me: Oh my God you're killing me right now. I think I just fell asleep and had a dream in the middle of that sentence. Don't say "furnace" ever again. So boring.

Man: Don't use the heat. No more hot air. Look at me. It's simple. No. More. Hot. Air.

Me: UGGHH SO BORING MY BRAIN HURTS.

Man: Just say it.

Me: Nah. Mah. Hah. Ah. *falls asleep*

Man: You can do this. Focus.

Me: Fine. No More Hot Air. NMHA. I'll remember it that way. It's a mnemonic device. NMHA stands for: No Man Has Apples. or Nancy Makes Hot Appetizers. Or None More Heat Air.

Man: Or, No More Hot Air.

Me: Hey! That's catchy! I'll remember that!

Man: You're really lucky we caught this leak.

Me: See, this is why I don't go down in the basement. Nothing good ever came from poking around down there.

Man: Besides detecting carbon monoxide and possibly saving your life? You know, carbon monoxide sinks to the ground, where your dogs sleep. Have your dogs been listless?

Me: Um...let me think. 

Me: Maybe a little. It's hard to say, really.

Me: I suppose it's possible, now that you mention it.

Me: I cremated one last month. I wonder...

Me: *thinky face*

Me: I'm pretty sure she was dead.

Me: ...

Me: Pretty sure.

***

The best thing about living in an old house is that every day is a surprise and and adventure in survival.

Sometimes it rains pee in the hallway. The first time this happened I was like WHAT THE FUCK and I thought maybe it was the apocalypse or a house stigmata because whoever heard of such a thing, and I went upstairs to pack my suitcase because yeah, fuck that. But it turned out to be a broken pipe caused by somebody flushing a catcher's mitt wad of toilet paper down the toilet but you know what? Whatever, plumber. If my only luxury is 35 layers of tissue between my hand and my poop, then just let me be. I'll take a little pee rain now and then. That's why God invented buckets.

And sometimes my front gate opens, and sometimes it doesn't, and maybe it will be a climb over the wall and land in the hedges day, and maybe it'll be a use your key day. And maybe it'll be the kind of arid day where the gate shrinks and the little clicky metal piece doesn't even reach the other side and it becomes a swinging saloon door and I get to enter my patio like an old west cowboy. See? Every day is an adventure.

Then there are the rats. Rats like old houses. Lots of hidden holes and broken screens and old vines and stuff. Sometimes when I'm sitting outside, a rat will just walk by on a branch of a shrub next to me. Hello, Senor Raton! Make yourself at shrub!

Another fun part about living in an old house is remembering which outlets work, and which don't, and which ones make a BEZZERT noise and put on a tiny fireworks display and give you an electrical bitch slap and make you say nonsense things like Yeep!! and Shookaw!! and Whacha!! as your leg shoots out backwards in an involuntary donkey-kick when you go to plug something in. And then after a few years of this, some electrician tells you that your house is powered with cloth covered wires from the 30's and that you're lucky to be alive.

Hear that? Lucky to be alive. Like Evil Kneivel or Tom Daschle or Gary Busey. Not everyone gets pretty much constant life-affirming reminders from their house.