Bearly there.

A television repair man working in New Jersey found a black bear in a customer’s basement. Apparently the bear had decided to hibernate in this old dude’s home.

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Can anyone explain to me how in the world a bear gets into someone’s house without them noticing? Rather, can anyone explain to me how a bear gets into someone’s house AT ALL? How does this happen?  Mice? Sure. Small and sneaky. Bats? They find their way in every now and again. Snakes too. Even birds—sometimes you get a bird in your house somehow, but a 500 pound BEAR? Did Smoky the Bear just waltz up to the front door, open it, and mosey down stairs with a sleeping bag to set up camp for the winter? Did Yogi just sneak in while old ass Dale was lethargically carrying in groceries, leaving the door open behind him? I don’t understand how something like this happens.

In other news, after a long search for my desperately sought-after 2008 Jeep Grand Cherokee Limited, I had finally found a few prospects on AutoTrader.com and Craigslist. Trent had been in Pennsylvania behind me for a couple weeks and would be returning the day before our Cancun trip, and I had been in Iowa looking online. We had come across a few, but they never ended up working out. Finally, one on Craigslist in Des Moines was looking like the perfect Jeep, and we had just one day to go check it out before we went to Mexico for a week. I get up that day and get ready, and wait for Trent to roll in from PA so we can hit the road.

The dogs start going ballistic, signaling that he had arrived, so I head to the front door to greet him before heading to Des Moines. I catch a glimpse out the window on my way down the stairs of a shiny, beastly, pearly black Jeep in the driveway. The trickery! He had had one the whole time. WOO!

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I run outside to go fondle my new vehicle. It is so lovely. I want to put my tongue on it. Fully loaded with navigation, a Hemi, 18s, leather seats, you name it. I am thrilled. I immediately fire her up to go for a test drive, opening the back door for Raleigh to come with. My dog then jumps in and immediately throws up in the back seat.

Anyway, in order to protect those lovely chromies from the harsh winter salty roads, we got some matte black rims for the cold season. All murdered out.

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Goodbye, Blazer. I will not be missing you. Well, time for me to go shhhnowboarding. Ta ta for now, boys and girls.

And trannies. I haven’t forgotten about you.

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B:   How’s that Jay-Z/Kanye concert going?

A:   Wild. The blacks are going wild.

B:   Haha. Great. Do you feel out of place since you’re not hooting and hollering and humping?

A:   Yes…all of the blacks ran to the front row of my section. I’m just sitting behind them. Haha.

B:   Typical.

A:   This arena just became a Baptist church; he’s singing “Jesus Walks.”

B:   hahaha. Excellent.

A:   The blurry man in the right corner is going to wild he might jump off this balcony.

Droid Doesn’t.

I’m going to throw my Droid into the ocean. I have had it up to here with this glitchy piece of shit. Last August after my Blackberry stroked out, Trent and I decided to go ahead and head into the Verizon store seeking iPhones, only when we got there, the salesman had a boner over Androids, and long story short, we left with Droid X2’s. At first I was thrilled. My Blackberry was autistic at best, so any functioning work of technology was like seeing Jesus walk on water to me. Things went well for a while, but lately it has gone downhill.

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My phone has gone full retard. It force quits applications constantly, it randomly shuts itself off multiple times a day, screens freeze, the camera refuses to initialize—I’m getting pissed. To make matters worse, I do not have upgrade options until March.

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…….2013!!!!!!!

I am writing both Verizon and Android a letter expressing my discontent. My goal is to get them to at a bare minimum, bump up my upgrade eligibility. Otherwise, I will pistol whip a bitch. I desire an iPhone 4s so badly. Siri and I will be the best of friends. I just can’t wait.

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Due to my lack of blog-writing for the past couple months, this topic is a little outdated, but I just have to touch on it. Did you guys read about the model who walked into a plane propeller? Lauren Scruggs got off a small plane in Dallas, Texas, and shortly thereafter walked straight into the plane’s propeller, losing her left hand and mangling her shoulder and her face.

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How the f-ck does this happen? This isn’t like having one margarita too many and walking into a sliding glass door at the 4th of July party. It’s not like going on a hike and accidentally getting slapped in the face with an aspen branch. You don’t just mosey into an thundering airplane propeller by accident. It’s a PLANE. It’s kind of hard to miss. My first suspicion that she was ham-smacked after drinking 8 gin and tonics on her flight was squashed by ABC News who reported that the woman had not been drinking, so what other possible explanation exists!? Way to battle the “models aren’t all dumb” stigma.

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I need a cattle prod. I feel like it would be an extremely useful tool to have in my arsenal. I would get a lot of use out of it. The price-per-use would balance out beautifully. I could zap loud-mouthed teenagers in movie theaters, rapists, crying children, I’d electrocute people who say, “I seen you,” I’d shock people who are wearing Crocs—the uses are endless. Our roommate’s dog eats her own shit. She won’t stop. As soon as that steaming pile of feces exits the body, she can hardly turn around fast enough to inhale it. It’s nauseating. A good cattle prod shock or two could change that pretty quick I think.

WELL, time to fill up cup o’ tea #3. I can’t stop. BYE!

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B:   “I don’t even really know what to do on a stripper pole.”

C:   “I just try to like hump it and shit.”

Red hot.

We got Comcast cable for our apartment here in Greensburg last week. This is the first time I have had cable television in over three years. Er go, I am now finally able to be in the loop about the major current events and goings-on in our world;  terrorist attacks, who’s pregnant, who died, who got arrested for coke charges,  the weather forecast. Usually I find out about these things via peoples’ vague and unclear Facebook status updates.  Suddenly I start seeing statuses that say things like,  “Praying for the people in Japan,”  and,  “I can’t imagine what it would like to be living in Japan right now,”  and I’m sitting here going, “What happened in Japan? Polio outbreak? Did SARS make a comeback? Was there a tsunami? Earthquake?”  I try connecting the dots, making my own assumptions and gathering clues until I get some sort of idea of what might have happened in Japan. It takes me at least six days to get the story straight.

Is The Weather Channel trying to seduce me? I’m sitting here minding my own business on the couch with my laptop in front of me, and suddenly this sultry jazz music starts oozing from my television. The lights dim. Suddenly I can smell oil and rose petals. I look up to see The Weather Channel showing me a low pressure system shifting across the northeast. What are they trying to do, get me to take my pants off? “It’s getting hot and sticky out there,” it says. Now I’m uncomfortable.

Moving on.

I just saw “Bridesmaids” starring Kristen Wiig. I laughed out loud like a little delirious lunatic child. Pretty good characters. Lots of great one liners. No demon-possessed squawking boy in the theater this time, although I did sit next to a little porker who couldn’t have been more than 9 years old, and he kept repeating all the swear words the entire time. We went through the entire movie without him commenting on any of the sex scenes, blowjob jokes, or beaver references, and then at the very end of the movie when “Annie” and “Rhoades” kiss, he yelled, “EWWWW!”

Kids are so stupid.

My armpits smell like wild roses. I am not being sarcastic. I didn’t just come from the gym after 40 minutes on the elliptical and am now making a joke about smelling nice when in reality I smell like the underside of Chris Farley’s belly.

My armpits actually do smell like delicious, fresh, wild roses. Dove “Wild Roses” deodorant crossed my path, and I couldn’t resist the temptation. I’ve been sniffing my underarms like an inpatient all weekend. My underarms are irresistible. It’s as fragrant as perfume. I’m delighted.

Starbursts has really figured their shit out. I’m delighted to find that they have cut right to the chase and started selling the best flavors without all the stupid ones in the same package. The best flavors being all the red ones, of course. Anyone who knows anything understands that the only good flavors belong to the red palette. They call it the “FaveReds.” Cherry, strawberry, fruit punch, and watermelon. Nothing but reds in the entire pack. What a great move. It wasn’t economical for me to purchase an entire bag of Starbursts if I was only going to pick out the red pieces and leave all the rest. What if I get a shit bag and only even get four reds in the entire package? They’ve finally cut out the middleman. I’m not the biggest fan of the watermelon, but I’ll take 75% deliciousness over a gamble any day.

Alright, peace out.

Becca.

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“It must be so nice to be married and have a family! Your kids—“

“Listen. Last night, I was at home making a really nice dinner for my family. My son comes in and says, ‘I want to order pizza!’  I said, ‘No honey, Mommy’s making dinner tonight.’ He says to me, ‘Go f*ck yourself, Mom.’  He’s nine.”