Just Like Phoebe Buffay

Every day I feel a little more like Phoebe Buffay.

But not the Phoebe Buffay toward the end of Friends. Not the one who got a little too snipey. I mean the Phoebe that was street-smart but still sweet, a hippie who still liked nice things, the girl who would always tell you the truth even if it hurt. First she baked Rachel cookies and then told her that Paulo hit on her. She only ate meat when she was pregnant. She liked furnishings from Pottery Barn but hated to admit it.

Every day I feel a little more like Andy Rooney.

Not because I really agreed with his old-man curmudgeony opinions, but more because he had the nerve to say so. He was always whining in that upstate New York accent along the lines of "you know what I don't understand.......?" I find myself saying that more and more lately and not having an answer. And also? I want to let my eyebrows just go crazy wild shithouse like his. That took some nerve too.

Every day I feel a little more like Max.

I mean, all he really wanted to do was wear his wolf suit and tear some shit up and who doesn't want to do that every now and then? So he sailed away on what he thought was gonna be an awesome vacay, had a little fun with the local dudes, got hungry, missed his mom and came running back home. I'd probably be happy just to tear shit up, eat some food and then fall asleep on my bed with someone tucking me in. So I guess the sailing away part is not really necessary for me.

Every day I feel a little more like Barry.

Because I see myself caring less and less about being nice or wearing clean clothes. I really do just wanna wear the same vintage t-shirts and corduroys every day and sit around a dingy store making fun of other people. All the while having so much trivial, footnoted musical knowledge that all my cohorts both envy and despise me.

Every day I feel a little more like a discontent British oldster.

You know that kind of lady I mean. Maggie Smith always plays them in films. Always. Every one. The kind of woman who really has no gripes but always finds something to gripe about because life has just become oh so tedious. I wouldn't wear fur though. I'd be known as the only old mean British lady without fur. You gotta draw the line somewhere.

Yep. Every day it's getting a little harder to be me. And it's not just about getting older, although I will admit, that is part of it. It's becoming more and more about a world that makes less and less sense if it ever did for anyone, that is. Le sigh. I need a nap now.

(This post was partly inspired by this post which has been reposted here and at Skirt! repeatedly. What can I say.....I repeat myself. And I get bored. Put your complaints in the box.)

Reclaiming Your Childhood: Priceless

This story might take a minute to tell. Bear with me. When my sister and I were little girls, my mother took us to a large baptist church in town. Even as a child, I never remember feeling welcome there. But I do remember the lovely older couple that kept my Sunday School class. They gave us saltines and kool-aid, and I remember thinking they would be nice grandparents to have. At Christmastime, the Sunday School class was set to have a random gift exchange. Every child was supposed to bring a gift that could be exchanged with any other child.....no specific gift designations. I received the gift of an Avon 7 bead necklace which was very popular at the time. I loved it so much and was thrilled to have it! I was somewhere between 5 and 7 at the time. (Back in the 1970's and 80's, Avon was a cosmetic company that was also known for it's inexpensive jewelry. I couldn't find a price on what this necklace would have cost back then, but apparently there is ...

My Week with Rumor

My dog Rumor was an experiment. A trial offer. And all parties knew that going in. Except for maybe Rumor. Rumor was an outdoor country dog. His given name was Ruger (named after a firearm if you don't know, I didn't) which made sense for a dog raised in hunting country. He was a stray that came to live with a loving family at about the age of 1. He lived outdoors, slept in a garage crate at night, frolicked with an older dog pack and had a lovely life. We think he was about 4 years old. He had been neutered, had vet care and was by no means a "rescue". His dad offered Ruger to me on a give-it-a-try basis. He knew I wanted a dog. He told me Ruger would be sweet to me and also be my protector. He was right on both counts. He told me if it didn't work out, I could bring Ruger back to him and his wife. I could tell they were a little sad when they dropped him off. It made me glad to see that Ruger came from such ...

NYE for $200, Alex

Can we all just agree that New Year's Eve is the worst of the string of winter holidays? I would even go so far as saying it's THE WORST of all the holidays. I loved when Stanford Blatch defined a party as feeling very "forced festive". To me, most NYE parties feel that way. The idea that this is a big year-end blow-out and we'd all damn well better make it awesome! The reason I hate NYE is because it combines two of things I most hate about celebrations: cold weather and crowds. Plus it's during a time of year when everyone has already spent all their money. AND you usually have to the leave the house. ADDITIONALLY, you have to stay up late. It's a big F.U. from me on all this. I would dare say that some of my happiest New Year's memories have been spent at home in my pajamas with either my child, an S.O. or happily alone. I remember one unforgettable year of moving into a 3rd floor apartment on NYE. I rememb...

Becky's Greatest Hits Vol. II

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