Introducing Becky’s Professional Review

So, I hear some bloggers do reviews.

Apparently you can get paid for stuff like that.

I am now about to demonstrate why nobody will ever hire me to review their product.

Product: MotherLove More Milk Plus

Claim: “A safe and effective herbal formula designed to quickly increase breast milk for breastfeeding mothers.”

Effectiveness according to me: Hey, you know what? This stuff actually works. I took it, I did all those other handy tricks (drank tons of water, ate oatmeal, pumped more often), and in about a week I had increased from about 9-10 ounces per workday to 13-14 ounces per workday. Who knows? It’s only been a week… maybe I will increase even more. This stuff definitely does its job.

Why I bothered writing this review: After taking my dose this morning I finally figured out how to describe the taste…. Do you remember The Matrix? Do you remember the way people looked when they were mid-morph, when the agents were possessing them and their face was melting off in a kind horrified scream, features twisting in agony?

Yup. It tastes just like that. It’s such a great flavor.

I made The Bean taste a tiny drop once. He brushed his teeth for twenty minutes.

You know what? I’m feeling kind of mean right now. The Bean is lying comfortably on our sofa, curled up with a cat.

It’s time for my noon dosage of the face-melting, highly-effective Motherlove More Milk Plus.

I’m going to go take my medicine.

And then I’m going to save just a teensy bit of it between my lips… and go kiss The Bean.

Stay tuned. I’ll let you know what his reaction is.

*****

Update: His face lit up as I went down to give him a loving kiss….. and then once he tasted it he buried his face in the couch pillow and moaned. “You’re sick… SICK. Why would you do that? Nasty! You’re SICK!”

And then as I stood in front of him, cackling:

“Move. I can’t see the tv.”

I think he’ll survive.

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He’s MINE, girls… BACK OFF!

It’s the middle of the week, and both the Bean and I have just arrived home after yet another glorious day in California traffic.

As usual, The DragonMonkey is making loud, noisy laps around the house.

“Eeeeee! Hahahahahahahahah! Kick doggie! Hahahahahahaha! EEEE!!! EEE!!”

In a perfect, 1950s world I’d be donning my apron, patting my perfectly coiffed hair, and getting ready to lovingly prepare a healthy, nutritious, and delicious warm meal for my family.

Unfortunately for The Bean, this is 2011 and I ain’t no June Cleaver.

“Hey Bean,” I holler, trying to be heard over the racket the DragonMonkey is making. “Grab a hotdog out of the fridge for the DM. It’s dinner time.”

Hot dogs are considered healthy, delicious, and nutritious, right?

Please don’t answer that.

“We’ve only got one,” The Bean hollers back. “What else do we give him?”

“Ummmm…..” Let’s see… rice takes too long… I’ve cooked fish three times this week…. I did chips yesterday….. Ah-ha! “Applesauce. Give him some applesauce.”

There. Protein and fruit. Maybe it’s not a culinary masterpiece, but it’s gluten-free and filling. Yay for me.

From the living room, the Squidgelet begins to whimper quietly. Hello? Hello? Has everyone forgotten about me?

I flatten myself against the wall, preparing to push myself between the Bean and open refrigerator door and the narrow kitchen doorway so I can go pick him up.

Thoughtfully, the Bean shuts the door slightly, so I don’t have to actually suck in my flabby belly beautifully toned abs to squeeze past. I shoot him a smile, but he seems distracted.

As I scoot past him, I see the door jerk in my direction… once, twice… accompanied by a muted “Pa-choo! Pa-choo!”

I stop, and stare at the Bean incredulously.

“Did you…Did you just pretend to hit me with the refrigerator door? Complete with cartoony sound effects?”

The Bean flushes, and his eyes drop guiltily.

“Yeah.”

“Why? What on earth would make you do that?”

He shrugs like a teenager, still eyeing the floor guiltily. “I dunno. It just seemed like it would be fun. Like a videogame, or something.”

*******************

Actual Excerpt from Gmail Chat:



Sigh.

They never grow up, do they?

Goodbye Anonymity!

Hello, Internet.

My name is Becky.

I live in Huntington Beach.

I have a husband, two children, a big butt, and a cocker spaniel with self-esteem issues.

I am thirty years old.

Thirty.

Like, wow. Thirty. According to the plan I made for myself in junior high, I should be celebrating my one year wedding anniversary and saving up my money. After all, in about a year or so I am going to branch out and open up my own large animal veterinary clinic in Colorado. In about two years I will become pregnant with my first child. The funds from the release of my SECOND book will help cover the gap of my maternity leave.

You know, if you ignore the fact that I still live in California, have a desk job, have not published a single thing and you only focus on the children/husband aspect of my plan…

Woohooo! I’m a total overachiever!

I tried to think of something big that I could do to celebrate turning thirty. I actually gave it quite a bit of thought over the past few weeks/months, and I finally came to my decision:

I am coming out of the blogging closet.

I’ve been hiding my blog from my real-life friends and family, mostly because I liked the freedom of my “anonymity”. I even went as far as creating a “fake” Facebook profile and linking it to this blog… that way I could still be “friends” with you guys, but not worry about anyone spilling the beans.

The thing is—- hiding stuff is not really my thing.

I mean, for starters, I’m too busy for that kind of silliness. Being secretive takes time, and time is not something I have in abundance.

We are desperately low on groceries at home. I’d complain about it, but it’s pretty much all my fault. Apparently you have to actually get in the car and GO to the store to replace what you eat. You can’t just think about it really hard.

Trust me. I’ve tried.

I’ve even tried “Accio, Groceries!” but it doesn’t seem to work.

On a side note: I’ve always had a problem with the way the wands work in Harry Potter. How am I supposed to daydream about living in a world where all of my magical powers rely on whether or not I have remembered to bring along a small, easily lost stick? If I were invited to Hogwarts (I’m sure they’ve just misplaced my invitation. Aaaaaanytime now.), the first thing I would do was head down to the infirmary and have them surgically graft my wand in my arm. Wandius GraftusArmium! How much simpler would THAT be?

Anyways, life is busy.

I work long hours.

I have a two year old who completely destroys the house on a daily basis by flinging toys and random toddler paraphernalia everywhere.

I have a 5 month old who nurses through the night.

I have a mountain of laundry crouching in my bedroom. Now that there are four of us, it seems like I can never catch up. The pile is getting menacingly tall.

In fact, it’s just getting menacing.

At night, if I squint at it just right, it actually looks like Jabba the Hut.

With all this, I don’t really have time to live a duplicitous, double life.

By day, we have a Becky….. but by night, we have Blogger Becky with her secret superpowers of… uh… telling embarrassing stories about herself!

Yeah.

Besides, The Bean loves me and supports me. How do I know this? Well, for starters, he messages me about 3 or 4 times of a week: Has the Blog of Becky been updated yet? No? Do you have any stories on the back burner you could work on?

Plus, he took time out of an extraordinarily busy weekend to sit down and fix my shiny new url, despite the fact he had a midterm and two angry little children whining and crawling all over him.

I mean, if that’s not dedication and support, I don’t know what is.

So, after mulling it over, I’ve decided to go public.

Life is too short to waste time hiding things. I like my blog. I enjoy writing in it. It’s fun to tell stories, and it’s fun to write without worrying about whether a professor will find my writing style too informal. I can write fragments. Like this. Or this.

And I can start sentences with conjunctions if I want to. It’s totally awesome.

Hey, maybe it’s not a private veterinary practice or a cabin in Colorado, but it makes me happy, and I’m proud of it.

So, hi. (If you squint, you can see me waving.)

My name is Becky. Becky Bean.

I am thirty years old.

I have a husband who I call The Bean (You can see how far of a stretch THAT nickname was) and two boys: DragonMonkey and The Squid.

I’ve decided that while I may want to go public, I’ll still refer to the boys by their nicknames. After all, what if they go try to get a job in a couple of years and when the potential employer Googles their name, they find stories about how they smeared the crib with poo or had a tendency to run around naked? Besides, they really are nicknames – I’d say The Bean and I call them “DM” and “The Squid” more than we call them by their real first names.

That Facebook link over there on the sidebar is a link to my REAL Facebook account.

I’m going to update the info on it and even include a link to this site.

Sweet. Happy Birthday to me.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go ignore Jabba the Laundry Monster a little while longer and work on a couple of stories to post on my not-so-private blog.

Psssst… Look Up

I turn 30 on Sunday.

Wow, I know. Thirty. Crazy.

Anyways, the Bean just gave me an early birthday present, and it made me so happy I actually “squeed” out loud.

Check it out, everyone!

Look up.

See my new url?

Yeah, that’s right:

OOOOOOOhhhh! I’m a REAL blogger now!

I love you, Bean 🙂

***Update: If it still says blogspot for you, just squint your eyes at it and pretend until we get the kinks all worked out, okay?

***Second Update: I thought I figured out how to fix everything. My word verification was “excitgn”. “Yes,” I thought. “It IS exciting!”

I totally broke EVERYTHING and my entire blog disappeared.

When I finally figured out how to put everything back to the way it was sorta fixed, my word verification for the change was “eatme”.

I hate computers.

I NEED THIS BOOK



I think the title of this blog says it all. Like a teenage girl at a Justin Bieber concert, I’ve been known to crush, and crush hard.

Fortunately for my pride (as well as The Bean), I tend to crush on horses and books.

I stumbled across a new book during my internet forays this weekend, and now I can’t think of anything else. I MUST OWN THIS BOOK:

It’s a spoof on romance novels and the Twilight series. Need I say more?

Here is an excerpt:

“I wouldn’t drink that poison if I were you.”

He spoke with a slight accent, reminding Smella of a lonely soul from another place, another time. Or maybe just a British guy trying to sound like he was from nineteenth century Boston.

Smella’s eyes widened. Her gaze shot to the beer, then back to the stranger. “What poison?”

“You can’t pin anything on me!” The bartender hollered while stumbling backward, before falling against a shelf of beer mugs.

Locked in the stranger’s dark gaze, Smella ignored the sound of crashing glass. She was more interested in his perfectly kissable blood red lips and the cold, impenetrable aura that radiated off his stony features.

“Alcohol destroys your kidneys.” The stranger flashed a subdued smile, revealing pearly white, jagged teeth.

“You’re right.” Turning down her lips in disgust, Smella pushed away the offending glass. “Thank you for berating my choice of beverage. Throughout this novel, you may occasionally behave like a total control freak, but I know you are only concerned for my well-being, and because I am a woman, obviously I’m too stupid to act in my own best interest.”

Somewhere in the darkest recesses of her mind, she thought she heard the obese bartender scream, “Help me! I’m bleeding everywhere!” But she refused to let him ruin the romantic tension that she was trying to build with the tall pasty stranger. Leaning toward him, she playfully batted long lashes while twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

But the stranger didn’t respond to her flirtation. He was too busy pinching his nose and making a gagging sound.

She scooted back. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” He spoke through a wheeze. “I have to go.”

In a flash, he was gone.

Smella was confused, bewildered, frightened, rejected, vulnerable, hurt, self-conscious and irritated.

But never mind her PMS.

She was more concerned about her awkward encounter with the kind stranger.

It’s not the cleanest writing ever… but who cares? I think I may even want it just for the cover. I mean, kilts are sexy, right?

Killing Zombies is Serious Business



In May I agreed to be maid (matron? ick.) of honor in a wedding.

The wedding happened yesterday.

Yes, that’s right—two months from initial planning stages to execution.

I’ve never been so exhausted in all of my life… I seriously think this wedding wore me out more than my 37 hour labor with Squidgelet.

On the other hand, it was all worth it, because the reception was held at Dave & Buster’s and I now have the world’s most awesome photo of myself:

Me.

Pearls.

Makeup.

A plastic machine gun.

And a wild “I’m-killing-zombies-don’t-interrupt-me” gleam in my eyes.

Sweet.

We really are horrible parents.

It’s all my fault.

It really is.

I mean, if it weren’t for us, the DragonMonkey probably would have loooooooved monkeys.

But then we went and scarred him for life..

Every night we have to convince him – YET AGAIN – that no.

No.

NO.

No, there are no herds of monkeys living in our absurdly tiny backyard. The ficus trees that line the wall do NOT contain hoards of evil, flesh-biting monkeys or angry, volatile gorillas.

The trees are full of leaves. And sticks. And probably a couple of birds or bugs.

There are NO monkeys.

It takes awhile to convince him of this, but eventually it sinks in.

Until the next night.

And the next.

And the next.