One Month = What the Fuck

I know I do not blog enough, and that you all are just pining away and waiting for me to update this damn thing with another fecal story, but I have been busy.

With what - you ask?

Well, for one thing, I have decided that I do not like my job. I know, you're probably thinking "Becca, NO ONE likes their job." and rest assured THAT IS NOT TRUE.

I used to like my job. Whenever something would go wrong, or there would be a crisis, I wouldn't mind staying late, working a little more, even if I wasn't going to be paid for it. I would plaster a smile on my face and think to myself that it will build job experience, and OH won't that be good, I will learn something! Yay! I will be building character.

Fuck character. I have enough character.

I think only people who have been (unexpectantly) served with divorce papers know how I feel right now. You know there is nothing you can do about it, but you keep going and keep trying because, well, what else is there? You can't just give up...can you?

But you know it's over. Deep inside of you, no matter how many times you turn over in the bed, flip the pillow, it just won't go away. And it's growing.

I am looking for another job right now. I have a very good lead that would allow me to work my own hours, give me a car allowance, and have no direct supervision.

FUCK YES. Where do I sign?

In other news: did you know you can watch Arrested Devlopment on MSN? Seriously.

Now, excuse me while I go walk across the ocean.

So this is love!

Eric: YOU get the pudding warmed up, I'LL get the water balloons, and BY GOD we'll make this the best Saturday Night EVER.

Blog blog blog blog.

Why hello there! I had totally neglected this thing for other projects. Sorry about that.

Namely: I now tutor for money. GOOD MONEY. For real, way to use that ole brain of yours Becca! I would highly recommend tutoring for money.

Also, I have been watching peices of Arrested Development on YouTube. Yeah, that was so important I didn't have time to post.

So sorry people. But not to worry, I will be continuing to post in here regularly from now on.

Or not. I gots to keep you people on your toes!

http://www.passiveaggressivenotes.com/

GO THERE! GO THERE NOW!

This comic brought to you by Penelope!

Oh what the Crap is This SHIT

So, I have decided to try drawing pictures and then scanning them in. My primary reason for this is becasue I usually draw with my mouse, and I use my right hand for that...except I am left handed. Now, I have uploaded many, many comics thus far, which has resulted in some interesting finds:
1. I have always only written with my left hand, and used my right hand for everything else (eating, cutting with scissors, clubbing baby seals to death, etc) today, I wrote for the first time with my right hand. Only not purposely. I had been writing quite a bit (500 lines of "I will refrain from screaming CUNT at my boss") and my left hand started to ache, so I switched over to the right hand and kept writing. Only later did I realize what I had done.

2. Does this make me bi-sexual? I certainly hope not, my wardrobe is lacking in the flannel-shirts-with-the-sleeves-cut-off department. KIDDING. Those are lesbians!

3. I am humbly sorry to all the lesbians and bi-sexuals I have offended. (I know I know - 500 lines of "I will not offend lesbians and bi-sexuals" - I'll get right on it.)

Anyway, without further ado, here's my crappy offensive comic:

Best Insult of All Time

"I'm sorry, do you own a vagina?"

Guy (puzzled) "No..."

"Well you DRIVE LIKE YOU DO!"

Sorry No Posts

Granddad died. Boo.

Lesbians Still Fancinate Me

I haven't updated because I am lazy. Yes, I am lazy. Seriously. Fucking. Lazy.

Oh wait, no I haven't been! I've been working on another website, and trying to figure out how to get my new company up and running. (PS I need to get to know someone who knows how to use flash REALLY BADLY, so if that's you, and you want some freelance work, please, feel free to leave me a comment!)

In other news, my old Buick has died. I would have put a case of buckshot into it to kill it long before today, but my brother stopped me, saying "Don't Becca, sign the title over to me, and I will give you this scrumptious pie." And really, you can purchase pretty much anything I own by offering me pie. (especially lady pie. Oh yeah) <--That was for my little sister and my lesbian readership.

My favorite is French Silk. Does anyone need a couch? Because I am in the mood for some pie, and Eric hates out couch...

Duck Duck Duck Duck TUTTA!

I have a little thing for ducks. I have a huge collection.

Eric gets a little freaked out about it. While he is showering, he go for some soap, and he’ll suddenly notice about 15 little pairs of eyes staring at him. Watching him shower. Sizing him up.

On the plus side, we have been saving water like a mother.

Anyway, I have a duck on my balcony. His name is Pete The Ever Vigilant. He likes to watch the traffic go by.

Why is my duck obsession newsworthy of my comic/blog? Well because I need to record what Eric has told me in the event that he ever goes back on what he has just promised:

When we buy a house, with a basement – he will buy me a real duck. Like, a quack quack REAL LIVE DUCK!

Excuse me while I start stashing away cash to save for a house with a basement. If the duck is a boy, he will be named Pete II – this time it’s personally Vigilant and if it’s a girl Tutta.

What?

Tutta is a perfectly respectable name for a duck. A female duck. And and and when I go visit my duck I can do the Egyptian dance and sing Tutta Tutta Tutta at the top of my lungs, for she is named after King Tut.

I will let you know when I have acquired my duck. LET THE COUNTDOWN BEGIN!

(Jameson – not one word about orange sauce. NOT. ONE. WORD.)

In other news...

Dude, smell me!

It is a rare occasion when I actually want someone to smell me because I smell so heinous.

Today was the exception, however. Both Eric and I have slept total of 26 hours over the past two days and have sweated enough to warrant 3 showers while I was awake.

And the smell! It smelled like I was covered in 15 day old piss. I can only image what my house smells like to outsiders!

I imagine that my neighbors are walking down the hall, and suddenly stop, pull their shirts over their faces and exclaim, “Jesus, who is boiling a baby to death in piss!” BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT IT SMELLS LIKE.

The Great Gravy Fight of 2002

Thanksgiving is my second favorite Holiday. The fourth of July takes the cake, because you get to BBQ and get drunk and blow up some shit. THANK YOUR BENJAMIN FRANKLIN AND GEORGE WASHINGTON you have made my summer!

But Thanksgiving…oh, what a great holiday! You stuff yourself full of food and pass out early. And you get that Friday off of work (you do, I do not. Fuckers.)

Well, this is a little story about how things can go in a terribly funny route.

The first thing you need to remember is how my brother Jameson doesn’t drink Champaign every day. He’s a beer and wine guy. (Yes, I am fully aware that Champaign is just sparkling wine, but I don’t care.) So, my brother decided that even before dinner, he is going to chug some Champaign. He continues to chug Champaign throughout the dinner. Then us kids are left to clean up the house while my parents went out to visit with friends or family or someone. My brother continues to chug Champaign.

Then, he starts a mashed potato and gravy fight. Now, let me explain how this went down, because it’s not like he said, “Say gals, you know what sounds like fun? Throwing hot gravy at each other! Hooray!” It was more like he threw a fistful of gravy at me. He missed. He hit Penelope, my little sister. She. Is. Shocked. Banshee doesn’t describe the noise she makes, giving a possum a hysterectomy with a rusty spoon better describes it.

And then she grabs a fistful of mashed potatoes, and it is on.

Well, all of this excitement has gotten my (very) drunk brother all wound up. Now, I ask you, if you got (extremely) trashed and then proceeded to run around for an hour – what do you think your next move would be?

If you said throw up in the sink for 10 minutes straight, but without taking out the drain stopper – or – removing dishes, to the point that you fill the sink – then you would be correct! Because that is what he did.

I cleaned up all the gravy & potatoes off the walls/curtains/chandliers/Peneoples while Jameson just looked at what he had done.

There is a rule in our house, and that rule was when the dog vomits – whomever sees it first has to clean it up. This is also true for piss and shit. Now, if you could get away with tiptoeing around it, and making sure no one sees you see it, well then it’s like you never saw it.

We took this stance on the vomit in the sink, since no one wanted to stick their hand in to get the stopper out.

As though the dog did it.

Don’t worry, I hope to someday pay my mother back for all the times she stepped directly into the could-have-been-prevented dog piss/vomit/shit, and times she has found moldy/crusty potatoes on lampshades and wondered aloud sweet God why? – someday I will have children just like me. She seems to revel in this reward. She tells me this daily.

Hmm…

Why no honey, I did not dink all the Redbull, why do you ask?

Pubes? On the Inside?

So, I am driving home from work today, and I am jamming out to my factory installed AM/FM radio (because by GOD I am cool - too cool for a new car stereo, with one of those...what's that new fangled thing called? A CD player? BAH! Who needs that!) and I happen to notice something stuck to my driver's side window.

Now, I drive an absolutely ADORABLE little red sports car. It has a few problems, such as I have accidentally torn off the center armrest's lid, the driver's side window doesn't stay up unless you duct tape it, you know, minor problems...

This is a (very blurry) picture of my window with all the tape on it.

So I have taped this window up, and moved on with my life. Rain occationally gets in, but oh well. The little red sports car gets me from point A to point B, and I look slightly cool while doing it.

So I am stuck in traffic, and I notice that stuck in the tape, less than 1 foot from my face, is pubic hair. And it's not like it's stuck in the tape on the outside of the car, it's on the INSIDE. Which means that someone had to rub their junk all over my window inside my car.

The thought of someone rubbing their junk on the outside of my car is disturbing enough, but inside? That's just disturbed.

In other news, I took the strip of tape the pubes were stuck to and put it in an Easter card and sent it to my mother. After all, why should I be the only one with a stranger's pubes less than a foot from my face?

Damn, that just ain't right...
At least stop clenching...

Deep Fried Chicken Fat and Whole Foods Salsa

So, do I explain my hiatus this post? Or do I just keep posting away...eating deep fried chicken skin/fat and salsa with pineapples and mangos. Well, judging from the title, I think you know what I have chosen.

This is going to be a regular blog entry. Meaning, there shall be no mention of feces. Well, at least I will try to break my record of going 30 seconds without mentioning feces.

So, I have been reading a lot of Dooce lately. (How long was that? Was that 31 seconds? 3 SECONDS?! Are you sure? Okay...) Now, you're probably saying to yourself, "Why Becca?" well, if you're not then you should be.

Well because I stopped over at Matthew Baldwin's Blog, and saw her in his links section. And I followed it. And folly ensued.

I, like Dooce, used soap on my face for YEARS. Harsh shit, that Dial. So, she wrote a post about Cetaphil Cleanser (I still cannot pronounce that word. I am like Ling-Ling from Drawn Together trying to pronounce Prell. It just ain't gonna happen, and that fills me with shame) and I FULLY FUCKING ENDORSE THIS CLEANSER. Holy crap. I look 17 again. And you know what that means, right? Time to go out, get drunk, get on a random L train in Chicago, take it to the end of the line, and call my brother screaming that he needs to come pick me up right this fucking instant! Ahhh the teenage years! I wonder why Jameson doesn't look back on them fondly...

In other news, I am trying to format Penelope's comics to fit on this page. I am also thinking of changing a few things around...who knows! You will all be surprised I guess.

In home news: Yesterday, Eric and I bought a PS2 Slim, and God of War 2. I have not seen my husband since.

In family news: I have decided to start leaving strange messages on my mother's answering machine. She checks her messages ONCE A MONTH, so right around the beginning of April, look for a VERY confused Bannocburne mubling to herself, wringing her hands, and pacing up and down the block.

My first message is as follows:

In a strange, strained Southern Accent "WHY YOU NO CALL YOUR BLACK GRANDMA?!"
*click*

Now, before you go and call me a racist, I had to put black in there. If I didn't, and just said WHY YOU NO CALL YOUR GRANDMA my mother would call her grandmother and thoroughly confuse her as well! So you see, to confuse my mother, I had to add in black just so my great-grandmother doesn't get all confused, start mubling to herself, wringing her hands, and pace around in her Arkansas nursing home.

I like my great-grandmother. She checks her messages.

But obviously I don't like her that much - we stuck her in a nurshing home in ARKANSAS for Ozzy's sake...

Next week's message will be as follows:
In a over-stuffy Washington Upperclass White Guy Accent "Hello Mr. Bannocburne, this is Carl Rove calling to remind you to vote Republican in the 2008 Presidential Election." Pulls phone away from face, slightly muffled "If this fucker doesn't I'll send him right to Gitmo!"
*click*

Somewhere next month my father will screaming high holy hell and telling my mother they are moving to Canada. I can't wait.

Ceta...Cetaphiiil...Cepha...AH GODDAMMIT!

Holy fuck...I just created the perfect food! BACONANAS!