Pizza face.

I’ve been putting a lot of thought into what I would wish for if I had 5 wishes, because I have tons of time to do that between working and just being a bitch all the time. Genies are cropping up everywhere nowadays. I think I would probably wish for the following:

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1. Thick, luscious, long, dark eyelashes.  Even as a child, I spent almost every single birthday cake candle blow-out wish on being blessed with beautiful, voluminous black eyelashes. It never happened. I think I am single-handedly supporting the mascara industry. If my home and all my belongings were lost in a fire, the first thing I would go out and purchase is a tube of Covergirl Volume Exact mascara in “very black.” Like, if I could only bring 3 items with me while stranded on an island, one of those items would be mascara. I need it. I NEED it.

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2. I would wish I were able to eat whatever I wanted while maintaining a solid 118 pounds.   Eating cheesy bean and rice burritos and cruising the China Buffet on the reg is not conducive to keeping a hot body in real life, unfortunately. If I were able to stuff my face with delicious, fattening, greasy, carb-loaded food on the daily, I so would. My diet would consist of the following:

McDonald’s double cheeseburgers & french fries.

Haagen Dazs.

Caramel sauce. On everything.

Taco Bel cheesy bean & rice burritos. I don’t care what it’s made of.

General tso chicken, fried rice, & crab rangoon.

A shit ton of pasta.

Entire cheese pizzas.

Pillsbury Funfetti cake.

French fries.

Gallons upon gallons of Dr. Pepper.

Brownies.

More french fries.

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I’m a real fatty on the inside. Of course, if these items made up the entirety of my regular diet in real life, I would be next in line to participate in gastric bypass surgery. People would volunteer me to be cast in the next season of The Biggest Loser. I’d swell up like Kirstie Alley in 2009. It wouldn’t be pretty.

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3. The ability to control the weather.   This would really make my day. I would have an unreasonable amount of snow days. The temperature would never exceed 75 degrees Fahrenheit. Wicked thunderstorms would rock my world weekly. I would direct the properties of people who I hated to maintain a smothering 115 degrees plus 99% humidity. Ah, the power.

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4. Hand-eye coordination.  I have none.

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A potato would have a better chance of catching a frisbee than I. I’m bad at arm-sports. Being able to hit a wiffle ball or serve a volleyball would have really helped me fit in better during middle school PE, and would also increase my chances of survival during the event of a zombie takeover in which I may be required to fire a handgun.

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5.  Be able to strike people with high voltage electric current when they deserve it.

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I would really take advantage of this power. There are so many people I would love to zap the shit out of. Rude people, people who don’t get over on the interstate when I’m barreling down the entrance ramp, people who say “I seen you”—imagine the problems and bad habits I could fix. Just like a dog shock collar, except way, way worse. We already know it works. Just give me lightning bolt fingers.

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I don’t think this is so much to ask. I’ll be rubbing my lamp in the privacy of my bedroom now.

(That’s what they’re calling them these days. Wink.)

Gross.

Love,

Becca.

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“China Town, picture taken about a block away from the site (sidewalk) I slept at due to a lack of funds for a hotel or hostel. Oh well, I ended up meeting a drunk homeless Mexican who gave me some good advice as to where to sleep if the police make me move… Then some guy came up to me with food and asked if I’d eaten that day which luckily I had because he thought I was a bum. Ha! Some people say NY is expensive, but it’s really not that bad if you just sleep on the streets.”

3Don’t.

The man who mows my yard every week and I are in an all-out war.  I finally figured out that he comes on Tuesdays every week to walk around and weed-whack the tiny yard we have around the house we rent. This is the same yard that my dog leaves landmines all over. I sometimes forget to clean up all the dog crap before the lawn guy comes early Tuesday morning, and I then find half a dozen piles of dog shit smashed into the ground, making it nearly impossible to pick up.

It’s like, listen, John Deere—just walk around it. Avoid the dog doo. Do you really have to crush it into the grass and make me need a spatula to scrape it off the lawn? But then it’s like, I guess I could just remember to pick up the piles of dog poop every Monday night.

BUT STILL!

I am really unimpressed and unsold on 3D films. 3D technology is mediocre at best. I end up forgetting the film was even supposed to be three-dimensional, and only remember toward the end of the movie when I realize how bad of a headache I have from squinting at the shitty technology. So really in the end, I’m spending twice as much as a normal movie for a shitty pair of plastic glasses, and nothing else.

I am addicted to Sour Altoids. Specifically the tangerine flavored Sour Altoids. The problem is, the tangerine ones come mixed in with green apple and watermelon flavors. Despite my general distaste for artificially flavored watermelon candies, the watermelon comes in an okay second place next to the tangerine. The green apple flavored ones get left behind in the container and thrown away. The issue with my Sour Altoid addiction is that they are burning the shit out of my taste buds and the roof of my mouth. I’m not kidding. It’s like a Ferrari peeled out of a parking lot, except that the parking lot in this scenario is my tongue. It’s so sore and raw. The problem is that I can’t stop. I keep popping those delicious candies into my mouth. It’s like crack. I can’t put it down.

Speaking of delicious treats, if you have not yet experienced Haagen Dazs (“Oh great, here she goes again with the ice cream”) Bananas Foster flavored ice cream, you should be ashamed of yourself. You simply do not know what you’re missing. It puts the original dessert to shame and makes it look like an imposter.

“All the lively flavors of classic Bananas Foster captured in a distinctly delicious ice cream.

Flavor top notes:   fragrant roasted banana spiked with warm hints of cinnamon and nutmeg.

Flavor finish notes:  lingering notes of caramel and brown sugar.”

If you don’t have a boner over the description alone, then I’m going to have to assume you’re paralyzed from the waist down and are over the age of 80. It’s sinfully delicious. Get yourself some.

I am really sad that The Voice is over this season. I would like it to continue every week for the rest of my life. There was one part I could do without, however. That was Alison Haislip’s role as the Twitter correspondent, constantly informing us of what was “trending now” in the Twitter world. Completely pointless. Listen, Alison. If I want to know what’s “trending now” on Twitter, then I will log onto Twitter. I do not need an entire portion of the television show dedicated to you logging onto Twitter and telling me what is going on there. I don’t give a shit what ZoeyGurl69 is saying about Javier in 140 characters or less. Don’t waste my time.

Well, time to strike up the band. What I really mean is it’s time to put on Law & Order SVU and put myself to bed. I don’t know what I meant by “strike up the band.” I don’t know why I said it.

Sorry.

Rebecca

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“I HATE Winnie the Pooh. His crew is just—garbage! Tigger’s on drugs, Eore’s suicidal, the little pig is always having anxiety attacks—it’s awful.”

 

Seeing double.

Zooey Deschanel and Katy Perry are identical, biological twins. When is Mythbusters going to go ahead and prove this? I want a DNA test. It’s the biggest conspiracy since JFK’s death. If they’re not twins, they’re clones. Somebody’s hiding something.

Speaking of twins, I would really like to see Jennifer Aniston’s. The gossip news had my hopes up, telling me her rack would be out on display for the world to see in her upcoming movie “Horrible Boss.” Unfortunately E! squashed that rumor and spoiled the fun. How does this woman stay so impossibly sexy all these years? I’d stick it to her.

I hope she reads this.

(She won’t).

Haagen-Dazs has really figured out how to nail their flavors over there at the ice cream factory. It’s like they have an ice cream laboratory where they’re breaking down the science of putting actual desserts into ice cream form, and they’re doing a REALLY fantastic job of it. Recently I have tried the bananas foster, the blueberry crumble, and the spiced peach crumble flavors, and MY god are they ever good. They absolutely put the original desserts to shame. The flavor descriptions they describe on the containers themselves are mouthwatering on their own. They describe the flavors like a fine wine. It gives me a woody just reading about how the ice cream is going to taste before I even get to taste it. Let me give you an idea; let’s use the blueberry crumble:

Simmered ripe blueberries folded into dense blueberry ice cream with rich, buttery cobbler crust crumbles.

Flavor top notes: Bright, ripe blueberries.

Finish notes: Sweet cream, tart fruit, buttery cobbler crust.

I just salivated on my space bar.

It’s more mind-blowing than your taste buds can possibly imagine. You need to experience this elixir of life. Don’t waste any more time. Your tongue will do the macarena in your mouth, and give your molars a lap dance. What I’m trying to say is, Haagen-Dazs is like your mouth on ecstasy.

Do yourself a favor and boost it to the nearest grocery store, STAT. I might go ahead and purchase an extra deep freezer unit so I can stock pile it top to bottom with these delicious, decadent flavors, just in case Haagen-Dazs means business with this “limited edition” stuff. You would be wise to do the same.

My dog went on poop strike for two entire days. This was frustrating because it was raining 80% of the time those two days, and I spent more than 10 minutes at a time on probably 6 or 7 separate occasions standing in the wet, cold down-pouring precipitation waiting for him to stop holding out and drop a deuce. “Surely he has to give in soon,” I thought. “I mean the dog usually poops 3 or 4 times a day. There’s no way he can just quit cold turkey for 48 straight hours,” I rationalized.  He did though. He refused to ‘do the 2’ from Friday afternoon until Sunday night. Hopefully he’s back on schedule, because this rain is not stopping for another 8 days it looks like. I don’t have time for this shit. (That pun was totally intended).

WELL, I’m off to stuff my face with more blueberry crumble. Adios, amigos.

Rebecca.

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“Don’t be angry just because I bought some kickass donuts.”