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.

Awesomely Bad High School Diary, Vol 4: Seriously you guys. Why won't he come in my hand?

This is it. I'm done. I hate high school Me so hard I'm rooting against myself now.

I know there are a few of you out there who enjoy these diary things, so I'm posting this because I'm tired and it's late and I haven't filled my quota of embarrassment this week.

In volumes, 1, 2, and 3, I frenched boys and got felt up and was very prolific about all of it.

Now in volume 4, I meet a dreamy boy named Chris, who is the epitome of chivalry. I'm a lucky, lucky girl.

Diary in black, my commentary in red.

***

May 3: Chris finally called and we talked for an hour. He said he used to write, and I thought he meant short stories but he meant graffiti. Specializing in stop signs and bus stops. *dreamy sigh* He thinks I'm pure because I don't smoke or drink. He said he "sort of" got back together with his ex-girlfriend, but they're going out without a real commitment, so he could see other people if he wanted. Was not yet fluent in "playa" at that point.

He says he likes the petite type. I don't think I'm petite. What does that mean? It means punch him in the nuts.

May 10: I went to the party tonight and saw Chris but he didn't say hi. I don't think he saw me. Maybe the giant bong was obscuring his vision.

May 12: We went out last night and Chris was there. He's really rad but in an average way. We talk on the phone now. He's kind of an asshole on the phone but I like it. Of course you do. I asked him to prom and he said yes but I don't think he likes me.

May 25: It was really nice staying up all night with Chris. He slept with his head on my shoulder while we watched Thundercats and stuff. He makes fun of my pudgy tummy and chin.

He fucked his last girlfriend everywhere, like against a sink and on her mom's desk and her car. The sink part bothers me. He said sex with me would be better than with her, but I have to decide if I should wait for love. Ah, that's sweet. Also, I have to consider what would change. Everything would change. Smart girl. It might get boring, like there's no mystery, nothing left to do. True. I could get hurt. So wise. But I might have lots of orgasms. *cricket*

May 30: I kind of love him, in an introductory way.

June 3: We slept in the same bed this weekend and I let him put his hands down in my area, and he would have got his face down there if I hadn't stopped him. That's disgusting. Yes, petewy. That's for crazy people. Blech.

June 10: I think I failed at his handjob because he didn't come/cum on my hand or anything. They are supposed to come/cum on your hand. I'm so naive, I don't even know how to spell it! I want to do lots of things with him, like 1) sleep over (just snuggling) 2) I want to help him shave and 3) I want him to tell me why he won't come/cum on my hand. Hint: Think more "churning butter" and less "Nintendo joystick."

He says he's never been in love before. I'm going to be so nice he'll fall in love with me. He says things sometimes like he's kidding, like "more cushion for the pushin" and that I smell bad. I blame that stupid rock crystal deodorant. Shut up. It's resolved now.

June 22: I really like Chris except for when he's an idiot. He's really good at seeing what people are really like. So am I. Like, I can see that he's an asshole. We both want to have sex but he's starting to do things like burp and blow it in my face. And when I don't want his hands down there he just won't accept it. I like him though.

June 30: Fuck! I am never going to get his come on my hand!! I want come on my hand like some women want an engagement ring.

July 11: He said tonight that he doesn't want a commitment, but that he won't scam with anyone else. "It's better to have an understanding than a contract," he said. What does that mean? If he doesn't want a commitment, why did he steal that Naked Gun 2 1/2 poster from the bus stop for me? He's such an asshole.

Ode to Men (Ode? Really?)

They were made without hearts

so they can't love anyone but themselves.

They were born without guilt

so they can crush hearts and not think twice.

They have no desire for love

so they need nothing but security (Yes, that's it. Security. That's what 16 year old boys want. Perceptive!)

They can give everything that is false (all the false in the world. That's how much false.)

but they never get caught in their deceptions. ("Cheaters" hadn't aired yet.)

They are a species other than ours (I was bad at Science)

one made with evil and hatred (Hold up. Did I just invent Orcs?)

and we are the ones destroyed. (Somebody has her period!)

Le Fin.

Deep bow.

I'm too sexy for my penis

Me: When you gave birth to me, was it difficult?

Mom: Oh no. It was pretty easy. No drugs or anything.

Me: Did you cut the cord? Or did dad do it?

Mom: Um...I think the doctor did it.

Me: When the doctor told you I had both a penis and a vagina, was it hard to choose which gender to assign to me?

Mom: Becky.

Me: What was the weather like that day? Do you remember?

Mom: Becky.

Me: Hmm?

Mom: You are not a hermaphrodite.

Me: But if I was, I bet you wouldn't even tell me.

Mom: I think you'd be able to figure it out yourself. Anyway, by this point, you'd need hormone supplements.

Me: Oh really? Is that what the pamphlets said?

Mom: Becky, you've never had a penis.

Me: You tend to gloss over the difficult issues, mom. If I was born a hermaphrodite, I think you might have gone into a deep denial about it. I think that's what's happening here.

Mom: I might gloss over things here and there, true. It would be hard to gloss over giving birth to a baby girl with a penis, though. I bet I would remember that pretty well.

Me: Would you though? Would you? *squinty eyes* Would you?

....

Me: Think about it.

...

Me: Would you?

...

Me: *suspicious eyes*

Mom: *chews sandwich*

Me: *raises eyebrows*

Mom: *sips tea*

Me: You are one tough nut to crack, you know that?

Mom: Is this about your shoulders again? Broad shoulders are very attractive, you know. Why do you think women wear shoulder pads in their jackets?

Me: They don't.

Mom: Oh. *absentmindedly touches her shoulder*

Me: You need me to cut those out later?

Mom: If you have time, yeah.

Me: I'm just grumpy I think. I don't feel very girly sometimes.

Mom: I think what's happening right now is that you're wearing your uncomfortable bra again.

Me: I am. This bra makes me so angry! I want to break out of it like The Hulk. *sticks fists under shirt into bra cups and pushes outwards* Arrrghhhh!!!

Mom: See? You're just having a bad bra day. You are the girliest girl I ever did see. There is nothing manly about you.

Me: Other than my broad shoulders and my penis stump.

Mom: Actually, I think they construct a clitoris out of the penis.

Me: Oh, good God. No. Ok, there are, like, 5 things on my plate I can't eat now. Baby corn, button mushrooms, asparagus, cherry tomatoes, this gherkin pickle needs to go away...

Mom: Why? What's wrong?

Me: Don't say clitoris ever again. Nobody should ever have to hear their mom say "clitoris". Or at least say it with the emphasis on the second syllable. Your way sounds so...Julie Andrews.

Mom: When have you ever heard Julie Andrews say the word clitoris?

Me: I'm pretty sure she says it that way. Like, Juuuussssst aaaaa spoonful of sugar helps the CLItoris, go down....

Mom: But then there's: Nobody solves a problem like cliTORiiiiis.....So, who's to say?

Me: The nuns sing that one, not Julie Andrews. My argument stands.

Mom: Wow. You should have been a lawyer, really.

Me: Did you save my extra penis skin? You should tell me. I might need a graft one day.

Mom: I think I pressed it into your "Baby's First Memories" book.

Me: ....

...

*shudder*

...

Me: Bravo.

Mom: Thank you.

Stone Cold Killa (of loved ones)

Me: I think I have Restless Leg Syndrome.

Jack: You definitely have that.

Me: Wow. Harsh.

Jack: I was just agreeing.

Me: You're supposed to disagree.

Jack: I thought I was only supposed to disagree when girls call themselves fat.

Me: No, you're supposed to disagree with all the negative stuff, but agree with the negative stuff we say about other people. Also, agree with the positive stuff about others, but go out of your mind bonkers agreeing about the positive stuff we say about about ourselves.

Jack: Ok, you don't have Restless Leg Syndrome.

Me: Oh my god, shut up. You don't even know. My legs are so restless it's crazy.

Jack: You know what's a good show? Dog the Bount...

Me: GLEE!! I KNOW RIGHT?? *Sigh* What I wouldn't do for one afternoon playdate with Kurt, everyone's favorite gay teen. I want to put velcro on the palms of his hands and fasten him around my neck and wear him around town like one of those stuffed monkeys. Or maybe I could get a Kurt-sized baby bjorn. I want to buy him a sandwich and a blended coffee drink, then maybe I'd take him to visit Nana's Nigerian Nurse and we'd have a Single Ladies dance party.

Me: *dreamland*

Me: Wait. What was I talking about before?

Jack: Basketball.

Me: You know who has Restless Leg Syndrome? Kathy.

Jack: Oh, she definitely has Restless Leg Syndrome, big time.

Me: ...

Jack: She doesn't have Restless Leg Syndrome at all. Her legs are so at peace, it's crazy.

Me: Kathy's my friend. She falls under the "Me" umbrella. She is a part of me. Refute anything negative about Kathy.

Jack: I love Kathy. Kathy's the prettiest of all your friends.

Me: ...

Jack: All your friends are the prettiest, I can't choose one.

Me: Exactly.

Jack: Kathy has the best cans though.

Me: God, I know. They're fantastic.

Jack: Why are you always worried about stuff like Restless Leg Syndrome? Why don't you worry about heart disease? That's what dad died of, it's more likely you have heart disease than Restless Leg Syndrome.

Me: I thought dad died of pneumonia.

Jack: The pneumonia was like the straw that broke the camel's back. The camel's back being dad's heart in this analogy. The straw being fluid in his lungs.

Me: How'd he get fluid in his lungs anyhow? I thought all his liquids were thickened with that thickening powder.

Jack: Yeah, I don't know. He was non-dairy, non-liquid, non-....

Me: No, he wasn't non-dairy. As long as the dairy wasn't milk, that was the rule. No *liquid* dairy. He could have thick dairy, like whipped cream.

Jack: No, all dairy causes mucus, so he was completely non-dairy. Non-dairy, non-liquids....

Me: No, that's wrong, I KNOW he wasn't non-dairy, because I brought him a huge piece of berry cream pie, like a week before he went back in the hospital, and it was fine.

Jack: You mean, a week before he went back into the hospital with pneumonia for the last time? With fluid in his lungs? With all the coughing and stuff?

Me: Yeah. He loved that pie. It was his favorite. I remember as he was eating it he said, Kid, this is the best fucking pie I've ever had. I tell ya, these nurses never let me have shit like this. Cream, you know? Real crea....m....

Jack: Becky.

Me: (twirls hair)

Jack: Becky.

Me: I killed dad.

Jack: Yeah. You did.

Me: Oh, man. My bad.

Jack: Your bad?

Me: It was really good pie.

Jack: He was NON-DAIRY, Becky.

Me: I'm a horrible listener. I really am. I need to listen to directions better.

Jack: You are the worst listener ever.

Me: See...you're supposed to disagree when I say I'm a bad listener. Remember? Disagree with the negative, agree...with the....

Jack: (raised eyebrows)

Me: I'm sorry I killed dad.

Jack: It's ok. Maybe we need to get you a pen and notepad to write things down so you don't forget next time.

Me: That would be good. I'm more of a visual learner.

Jack: Well, now we know.

Me: One to grow on.

Lessons in Drunk: A Retrospective in Photos

I've been known to drink a little. Here and there. Now and then. Truthfully, though, I can count the number of times I was drunk in 2009 on one hand, even if you cut off my thumb and pinky. And maybe my index finger down to the knuckle. I don't know, whatever, math is hard.

At this year's New Year's Eve party, I did not get drunk.

Alright, I got a little drunk. Barely. It was a very grown-up kind of drunk though. Like, drunk enough to put a flashing neon koosh ball in each of my bra cups so that whenever I met someone new I could punch myself in each boob, like bam!bam! and then hold my hand out, "Nice to meet you!" like a fancy lady with green and orange technoboobs.

But not drunk enough to re-enact my own birth in 4-part sequence in the photo booth, by convincing my mom to stand on the bench as I emerged from under her long, flowy skirt, wide-eyed and innocent. Not this year.

This year I was drunk enough to bury a bottle of wine in a planter for later. I learned that from my dogs. It's the best trick ever.

But not drunk enough to press my index finger firmly into any of the male guests' ambiguous crotch bulges and ask, "Is that your penis, or your zipper? I think it is your penis, because it feels squishy."

Sometimes it's just a warped zipper, and when it is a warped zipper, I'm hailed as a fashion hero. Nobody wants a warped zipper. But when it's not a warped zipper, but rather a squishy penis, I'm not a hero. But that's okay, because I'd rather be a hero 50% of the time and a weirdo drunk poker of penii 50% of the time, than neither of those things 100% the time. It's like Spiderman. No...no it's like how it's better to have loved and lost than never....No, it's more like Spiderman.

But my point is...barely drunk this year.

And the way I accomplished this was by avoiding cameras. Because you can get as drunk as you want, and if nobody has proof of it and if it never ends up on Facebook, it never happened. It's like the old proverb...If a Becky gets drunk in the forest, and nobody tags her on Facebook, did she really get drunk in the forest? No. She didn't.

But I was not always this clever. I was not always such a stealth avoider of cameras.

There was a time before Facebook, when I didn't mind having my picture taken while drinking. Because, why not? Who's gonna see them? Pssh. Certainly not 372 of my closest Internet friendishes! Because hey...what the hell's an Internet anyhow? If anything goes wrong, I'll just burn the negative! Yay!!

But it's lucky for you that I was so footloose and fancy-free with the getting my picture taken, because if not for that, there would be no...

LESSONS IN DRUNK: A PHOTOGRAPHIC JOURNEY

Tip 1) How to Pose Drunk

Smiling for the camera should feel natural. Relax your face, and offer a serene, comfortable expression, one that expresses maturity and sophistication and conveys that you're having a lovely time at this gathering, and above all, you are a lady. A lady with class. Be cool and confident. Don't overdo it.

Parties? Yeah, they're ok.

I'm more of a cuddle-up-with-a-good-book kind of girl though.

Tip 2) When to Say When

The most difficult thing about social drinking is when to know when you've had enough. Take some time to evaluate how you feel. Are you dizzy? Is your language appropriate for the crowd in attendance? When your friends come to say goodbye, are you able to restrain yourself from climbing up onto the hood of their truck to prevent them from leaving?

Oh, must you leave so soon? Pity.

It was wonderful to see you. Please come again!

Tip 3) Drinking 101

It's common for young people who are beginning to experiment with alcohol to test their limits. College is a prime example of this. For you young readers, remember, moderation is key to a healthy lifestyle. Look for the signs. Stop drinking if 1) You feel nauseous 2) You feel you are about to make a bad decision 3) You find yourself in a potentially compromising position 4) You find yourself at a bar in Cancun, a bartender named Beto is holding your head back by your ponytail and pouring something down your throat via baby bottle 5) You are thrown in the pool and your 90's rolled-up denim shorts now weigh 50 lbs, yet because you are no quitter, you simply tighten your braided leather belt to keep them from falling down, and you persevere....

Gather together, ladies.

It's time for the always classy "group portrait in the restroom".

Ready? Camera centered? Alright then. Big smiles!

...and 6) You end up with photos like this when you get back home.

How does one say "sensual boob honk" en espanol?

Tip 4) Not falling down

This one's tricky. Because sometimes your friend is way drunker than you, and that friend begins her descent and grabs a hold of your teeny tiny 90's backpack-purse straps ipod earbud cords for support and takes you down with her. That's understandable. This one is totally not my your fault. Let's move on.

Could this floor BE any more slippery?

HAHAHAHA, sigh. "Friends" is the best show ever.

Tip 5) Celebrating Important Events

It's easy to lose one's head and get carried away on important nights, such as birthdays and weddings and historical presidential elections. When this happens, and you've made some bad decisions and perhaps had too much to drink, consider the quick "power nap" strategy of recovery. The best thing about a power nap is it clears your head, sobers you up, and it can be done anywhere, even a driveway.

Warning: A well-meaning female friend will undoubtedly approach for the obligatory "comforting back rub", and in this instance a sharp, "Leem lone!! Go way!! I'm n' puke!" will allow you the peace you require to nap undisturbed.

Heavens. It appears I've lost a contact.

I swear I would lose my head if it weren't screwed on tight.

Tip 6) Your 21st birthday

Congratulations. You are a woman. Your friends will likely take you out to eat, maybe even at a restaurant with lots of tall indoor plants, if you're lucky. By this time, you have learned to drink responsibly and you are ready to reveal your maturity to the world.

By all means, have that margarita! Have a second! Remember to eat your dinner though, because food helps to...wow, you really blew through that drink. Handy tip: The face you make upon releasing the straw of your margarita after sucking the whole thing down is not a pretty one. You clearly have brain freeze, also wonk eye, also are you having a stroke? Take a moment to compose yourself.

Or not. *sigh*

These margaritas are simply divine. I do believe I'll have another.

Garcon? *snap snap*