Dear Aunt Becky,
We all know that men have different sex drives than women. Fine. Ok.
Is there such thing as a female sex drive peak? I heard that dudes get to a peak in their early-to-mid twenties, whereas women rock it in their later twenties and into the thirties. Is any of this true?

I hope so, because my vajayjay has been a bit sad since the post-partum belly smiled down upon it.

-Sandy VaGina

I remember, Gentle Reader, hearing the same thing years ago and being fairly certain that I would probably have to either invest in a cadre of electric boyfriends or take a much younger lover.

Turns out, the whole sexual peak is referring to sex hormones. During the late teen years, testosterone is at it’s highest in men and with females, estrogen is at it’s highest around age thirty.

But, as with anything else, individual results may vary.

I’ve been trying to remind myself, just because something is “supposed to be” doesn’t mean it is. I was “supposed to” breastfeed away the 60 pounds I put on with my kids, and somehow, that just didn’t happen.

My own libido is tied directly into my self-esteem so if I’m feeling like Shamu’s land-dwelling cousin, Aunt Becky, you’re fucking skippy I’m not exactly jumping into the sack like a blubbery tiger. I know if I have a baby hanging from my boobie 23 hours of the day, I’m not feeling like a roving sex goddess either.

I’m betting that’s all you need: a little tweaking of the mind or the situation and you’ll be all about The Sex.

Dear Aunt Becky,

Sincerely,
I’d rather have to explain anal sex than have to pull a tooth, srsly.

Anal sex is pretty easy to explain, you know, because there’s ASTROGLIDE, which is full of the AWESOME, and I’m guessing your kid probably won’t want to talk much beyond that.

BUT ANYWAY.

Teeth? I got no issues with. Vomit? FUCK YOU GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME DON’T TOUCH ME DON’T LOOK AT ME DON’T YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT IT. But teeth, whatever.

I think that if teeth is your kryptonite (had to look up how to spell that btw), than this is what you need to do: make a pact with your spouse. He/she takes care of Teeth Duty while you take over for something that they cannot handle because that’s the way it works when kids get older and grosser.

The Daver manages most vomit-related things while I, well, cower in the corner in a HazMat suit spraying the air with Lysol and bleach.

You may find that it’s not quite as gross when it’s YOUR kid’s bloody tooth socket. If it is, you can always tell the kid that the Tooth Fairy pays extra if Mommy doesn’t have to deal with any blood, teeth extraction or admiration of the empty space. Kids are suckers for a good deal.

Dearest Aunt Becky—–

Last year I fell into a deep, scary depression in October/November. It was so bad that I dropped out of college. Heeding the advice of my counselor, I didn’t go back for Spring Semester–I continued treatment and eventually got back to a steady plateau. I didn’t start this Fall Semester because my loans caught up with me and I’m trying to dial them down before I go back full-time. Plus, I’m worried that I’ll become depressed again this winter. I’m happy where I’m at right now, though; living on my own and I have a kick-ass job.

My family, however, thinks that I’m never going back to school and that I am now, “Such a waste of potential!” and “Would have been such a great nurse.” I am still going back to school! I am just not willing to get so sick like I was last year, I don’t know how to respond when they talk down to me and say what a waste I am. What I want to say is, “It would have been a waste of potential if I’d killed myself last year!” But I don’t think I should do that? Any suggestions?

Future RN (Just not Today)

Well shit, girl, you’re not a waste of potential and anyone who thinks that is fucking stupid and should get the shit kicked out of them for saying that sort of thing. That’s cruel. Period. And I’m sorry anyone would say that to you. You shouldn’t have to hear that.

Being healthy is a zillion times more important than anything else and you’re smart to wait until you’re ready. Nursing school is fucking brutal and anyone who hasn’t been through it wouldn’t know how bad it really is.

And here’s where I’ll relate to you: my parents (the ones who made fun of me for going to nursing school) still think I’m going to go back to being a nurse. They’re holding out some sort of bizarre hope that I’ll suddenly realize that ‘WHOOPS!! Actually, I LOVED being a nurse!!!!’

Apparently my dad’s Facebook page says that I’m going to “go back to being a nurse soon” or something. It’s weird. Whatever.

Anyway. Obviously, they’re kinda delusional because I’d rather pour molten magma up my asshole than go back to being a hospital nurse. Not. Gonna. Happen.

But how can you deal with this?

Well, if I were you, the next time someone talks to you about being a “wasted potential” I’d probably retort snappily with exactly what you said, “better this than dead!” Or “well, you know what? I’m happy now.” And if that doesn’t shut them down, you really need to sit them down and level with them.

“Look, you can’t talk to me like this anymore. You’re upsetting me and it’s not fair. I am going back to school, but right now this is what I’m doing and I’m happy with it. If you cannot respect this and respect me, then maybe we don’t need to see each other right now.”

I wish you the best of luck and you need to remember that you–YOU–come first.

Nursing school can wait.

Dear Aunt Becky,

I gave birth to the most wonderful baby boy – my first kid – several weeks ago and am in absolutely in love. However, I was I labor with him for 36 long and insanely painful hours that finally ended in a c-section, after which he was taken to the NICU for so something which has now been thankfully resolved. During my stay in the hospital, he was fed formula and I was so drugged up on painkillers that I was unable to start breastfeeding right away. He never really got the hang of breastfeeding and I decided to pump and supplement with formula, because really, kid’s gotta eat and hi, screaming baby biting at your nipple? Not pleasant. Of course, in the interim, my dad got sick, and I’ve been taking care of his business as well as working at my own job. , I started losing all hours of sleep and I haven’t pumped for a while now.

My son is now eating nothing but formula and I’m getting nothing but criticism for abandoning all efforts to breastfeed. I would love to…but I’m gonna have to split myself in two or five. I feel terrible, nevertheless. I want to provide my own milk for him and give him the immunity and benefits of breastmilk and all that good stuff. What say you? Am I a bad mom? I feel like I suck for just throwing the formula his way.

No. You’re not a bad mom AT ALL. HEAR ME? YOU ARE NOT A BAD MOM AT ALL. Don’t you DARE let a single person let you feel like shit about it because until they’ve walked a mile with your tits, they don’t have the space to judge you. And if they do? SEND THEM TO ME.

Sometimes? BREASTFEEDING DOESN’T WORK OUT AND THAT IS OKAY. You’re not feeding your kid apple juice or vodka or Diet Coke so you’re fine. Please, give yourself a break on this one. You’re one person and dealing with feeding issues on top of the stress of life PLUS a new baby? So. Not. Worth. It.

Want to step into the Way Back Machine With Aunt Becky?

I had every intention of breastfeeding my first son, Ben. Bought all the gear including the ugly ass nursing covers they made and when he was born? He was having NONE of it. I had no C-section, no sick mom or dad. I tried to feed him and he refused to latch on every time I tried. I do mean every time.

I tried SNS, the nipple shields, skin to skin, lactation specialists, I was bullied, I was shamed, I pumped and eventually? I said FUCK THIS and gave the kid formula. Because mealtime would end with us both in tears. Not. Worth. It. Ben was a colicky horrible baby and I didn’t need the extra stress.

I went on to nurse Alex and Amelia who had no problems (turns out that Ben had sensory issues) after feeling like a failure for five long years. I was ashamed of my inability to nurse my kid, which was “supposed to be” so easy. Well, it wasn’t.

What I’m saying here is this: you matter too, sweetie. Your son will love you every bit as much if you give him formula because he’s a baby. They’re love buckets. That’s what they do. And people are going to judge you for the breastfeeding thing because people are fucking assholes. They’ll judge ALL of your parenting choices, but the breastfeeding one is particularly annoying.

My advice to you is to try and NOT MENTION IT if people ask. Make a joke about feeding him steak or something and try and deflect it. If they persist, remind them that it’s REALLY none of their business and if they still persist, ask them how much they weigh. It’s none of their fucking business. It simply isn’t. That’s between you and your son. That’s it.

You’re doing a great job. That little boy is thriving and that’s all that matters. Take care of yourself, okay?

Dear Aunt Becky,

I’d like to know how to handle my Hitler-esque husband when it comes to watching programs we DVR.

You see, we have a toddler and cannot watch the shows we like when he’s around due to either bad content or the extreme guilt that The Man puts on us for rotting his brain. So, we DVR.

After he is blissfully sleeping, we trudge to the basement to indulge and that’s when it happens. It doesn’t matter what or how many backed up episodes I have, we will watch whatever he wants.

I mean, really. What can I do? Sometimes I just want to watch a cake challenge instead of someone in a motorcycle club get brutally beaten. Am I asking for too much?

Signed,
Not Hailing to My Hitler

First off, Gentle Reader, you have a DVR? I am VERY jealous right now because, you see, Aunt Becky lives in The Dark Ages and has no DVR. She is lustful after yours.

*lust*

*lust*

*lust*

Anyway.

What I would do, my televisionally controlled friend, is to insist that a certain portion of the night be Your Part Of The Night. Because I’m sure that just as you hate the Motorcycle Gang beating each other, he hates the Ace Of Cakes or Biggest Loser Marathon (side note, be sure to eat cake while WATCHING Biggest Loser because it burns more calories if YOU are on a diet, FYI).

But he needs to compromise. I personally would rather gouge out my eyeballs with a spork than have to watch Star Trek and I’m pretty sure The Daver would rather eat his own vomit than be forced to watch reruns of Sex In The City, so we simply go our separate ways when we want to watch these things.

Otherwise, the heavy dramatic “I HATE that you’re making me watch this” sighing would never end. Ah, TRUE LOVE.

So a friend of mine at school and I are both graduating around the same time with similar degrees and we’re looking for jobs. She applied at a company for position X. Two weeks later a new position Y opened up and I applied. I let her know that I applied to the company for position Y and NOT position X. Although she claims that everything is a-ok, it is clearly not. She’s acting different and generally being very cool towards me. I feel that I didn’t do anything wrong, because I didn’t apply for the same job and I told her that I did it (didn’t try to hide it from her). I know I can’t change her reaction, but here is my question for you Aunt Becky.

How can I stop dwelling on the fact that she’s mad at me (but unwilling to admit it)? Any advice on how to let it go? She is (was?) a good friend, and I miss chatting with her. Help.

It looks like your friend is pulling a “Melissa.”

Let me explain the term. Melissa was a friend of mine from nursing school and one day she mentioned that there was these positions opening up at a hospital. Eagerly, I asked her for the HR information, figuring that, like I would, why not pass along the info to a friend? I knew she was going for it, but there were a couple positions because the hospital is a pretty big place.

She never did.

When I asked her about it (because I am oblivious) she ignored me. Obviously, she had no obligation to help me, but I couldn’t fathom why she wouldn’t help a friend.

Same way I can’t imagine why your friend could possibly be upset with you, except that she’s insecure about herself and afraid that you’re going to eclipse her and somehow take her position. It’s really stupid, but I’d be willing to guess that your friend is threatened and/or jealous of you.

I’m sorry, but this is clearly because you are full of The Awesome.

Good luck. I hope that you get the job.

——————–

As always, my Gentle Readers, please feel free to fill in where I left off, although I must insist that you do not berate my first guest for her choice to formula feed. Like I said in my response, you may take it up with ME, but not her. I’ve had years to make my peace with my decisions. She needs some good lovin’.

If you’d like to see some places I’ve been:

I’m over here at Skirt! with an column about finding yourself.

I’m here at Sodahead talking about Preppers, who are people preparing for The Worst, and here where I’ve posed a question about online support groups and whether they have an obligation to help.

Dear Aunt Becky,

You seem to have really mastered this twitter thing. I mean, that’s how I found you, so it can’t be all bad. Just a few generics:
-Do you follow everyone who follows you?
-Is this the way to get more followers? Follow randoms and hope they follow you back?
-How do you make the magic where every person you respond to doesn’t show up in the twitter feed and only appears on your page? I’m sick of seeing @insertyourname here show up all over the place every time I need to respond to one of my flock.
That is all.
Well that, and really, followers? Did we have to call them followers Twitter? I feel like I drank the kool-aid.

Oh, my Gentle Reader, you are far too kind to compliment my Twitter prowess because really, I haven’t mastered it AT ALL. I’m pretty sure that 95% of my followers are the porn bot Blow Job Britney and the other 5% are people I’ve paid or blackmailed to follow me. If you’re still waiting on your check, by the by, sorry about that. I’m a terrible record keeper.

But I will try and answer your questions to the best of my ability.

First, let me explain blather on uselessly about Twitter for those blissful enough not to have an account. Twitter was designed to be a microblog which means that tweets are intended to be a mini-blog post. Also, it was designed to go to your cellphone as a text message (which is why you’re limited to such a short amount of characters).

When I first heard about it, from my source of all things social media-ish, The Daver, I was pretty dumbfounded because I was all, “dude, who would want to keep tabs on what I do 24 hours a day? I’m SO not interesting.”

I mocked it pretty heavily because it seemed to be the most narcissistic fucking thing I’d ever heard of, which, coming from me is saying a lot (I BLOG DAILY, PEOPLE). I mean, who gives a fucking shit about what I’m doing at 8:43 PM on Tuesday evening? Then I signed up for it myself. Then I doused my foot in ketchup and ate my humble pie and I liked every damn bite.

(full disclosure: I said the same thing about blogging, except for I was all, “what I ate for breakfast is NOT national news, Daver” and then I realized that the good blogs don’t have to be all about boring shit. MY blog is obviously not a GOOD blog).

Examples of tweets that suck (am using my own name as a reference):

*Come visit my store! Just listed adorable shoes for $7.99 http://marketersneedtogetafuckingclueyo.com

Marketing tweets are dull unless you’re actually a person and even then? People get annoyed when you’re all “COME BUY MY STUFF” because chances are, you don’t need to be reminded that something is for sale every 20 seconds.

*Am running to Target!!!!!!!!!!!!!

People do not give a shit if you’re running to Target, unless it’s to get ass-lube or hemorrhoid cream and even then, it’s only fun to laugh and point.

*lol my kids are so funny lol

Everyone thinks their kids are funny.

*Pick up your free dating report at whythefuckareyoufollowingmeyoustupidassbot.com

The Twitter bots, with the exception of BlowJob Britney are lame but probably an important part of the food chain. You don’t need to follow them back.

*Win an Olympus Camera RT: @pleasestoptweetingcontests to be entered.

The contest thing, well, everyone wants free stuff, but wow, that shit is fucking ANNOYING. My New Years Resolution (besides become an heiress) is to stop following people who tweet that shit constantly. Marketers are getting YOU to do their job for free.

*If you don’t respond to this tweet, you don’t love me enough and I’m deleting you from feed.

Histrionic people are dramatic whenever they’re not feeling like someone is paying them enough mind and they’re everywhere (usually Facebook, oddly). Whatever.

*@heidimontag I love you soooooo much!

I hate to break it to you, but @ing a celebrity is kinda douchy. They’re not going to reply to you, yo.

So that’s what’s annoying about Twitter, let’s get to the good shit, shall we? Because while most of you are no doubt bored shitless (as you should be), there is a point to all of this.

Do I follow everyone who follows me? No. Mostly, but no. Because why not? Except that it’s a fucking clusterfuck on there, but whatever. I miss a lot of stuff that goes on, so if something important happens DM me.

If you’re following BOTH parties who are having a private conversation, you get a lot of this:

@mommywantsvodka You are such a fucking spaz, Becky. Why did you put my Blackberry in the freezer?

@dwink well, at least I can properly manage to throw my socks down the laundry chute, Daver.

@mommywantsvodka what does that have to do with anything?

@dwink I’m deflecting. DUH. Also, did you happen to notice how light is playing off my face?

@mommywantsvodka Wait, huh?

@dwink I want a sandwich. Who is watching the kids?

@mommywantsvodka whoops!

What I’d suggest, my friend, is to download Tweet Deck and group your people into meaningful groups, or use the List feature on the Twitter home page so that you can make sure to catch the tweets you want to see, without having to see the bullshit like I showed you above.

So, if you want more followers, my suggestion is this: be interesting. The same goes for blogging. Make actual connections with people and be fucking interesting. And feel free to disregard every single piece of advice I have offered you. I don’t really understand Twitter either.

And the followers thing, that makes me totally uncomfortable too, because while I am very important (in my head) I think “followers,” I think cults, I think that guy in Texas and the people with the comet. So I say “Twitter,” “Facebook” or “The Internet.” Seriously. Or, if I’m referring to all of you, it’s just “This is what The Internet told me.”

As always, o! Internet, my Internet, I’d love to hear your take on The Twitter. My word, while The Gospel in my head, is totally not to be taken very seriously. Nor are any of my rules meant to be taken seriously. Notify your doctor of erections lasting longer than 4 hours. Viewer discretion, as always, is advised.

Aunt Becky, this may sound like a frivolous question, given my many-year-happy-relationship with a NOT GAY dude. However, of the…ahem, more than 10 somewhat serious relationships I have had, over HALF have been with gay or bisexual men. Not OPENLY gay or bisexual men. The other kind – I am a many-year beard!

Not now, which is why my husband thinks I’m insane to dwell on this. And yet…I do. I check myself for residual gay-dude traits and wonder what it is.

You’re damn skippy I’d be dwelling on this, especially if my genitals resembled a vagina and not a penis and my chromosomes were, in fact, an XX and not an XY. I don’t know how you WOULDN’T develop a complex after being a beard for so many years.

But since so many of the gay men that I’ve known over the years have been some of the awesomest people I’ve ever met, I’d take that as a compliment. Rather than see it as “I turn men gay” I’d think of it as, these guys thought you were great enough to have a relationship with, and once the pressure of a relationship was there, it pushed the issue forward.

You were amazing enough to be their last relationship with someone of the opposite sex, obviously because you were just that cool.

I’ll turn this one over to my readers, because I’m interested to hear their perspective on this.

Dear Aunt Becky,

My BFF totally used to have my back. If my feelings got hurt, she would listen. If I was upset she was there to help. I could vent freely and without judgment. I was blindsided recently when all of a sudden I had someone do something rude to me, and when I went to talk to her about it, she told me that she did not want to comment on the situation since she was turning over a new leaf and trying not to “gossip”. Gossip? I was not asking her to yell the tale from the rooftops – I just wanted to be heard and sympathized with. I was not passing on info, this was something that was factual that happened to me…

What would you do, Aunt Becky, if your closest friend suddenly decided that if a problem you had involved another person, it was “gossip” and should not be discussed?

Signed,

Falling On Deaf Ears

Oh Gentle Reader, this HAS happened to me, and I remember that it made me feel like I was suddenly being a petty bitch. Really, I wasn’t, but it felt as though I was.

It sounds as though your friend has been abducted by aliens and has been replaced by a clone who walks and talks like her, but acts nothing like her, and I’m sorry for that, because, well, that’s depressing. Maybe the new alien friend will learn the customs of female friendship and realize that this is something that we do for one another. We listen and we get each others back when we need to.

Barring that, I’d suggest that you start a blog where you can freely complain about anything from Farmville on Facebook to how annoying wrapping gifts can be. Just…don’t use names or identifying characteristics. Trust me on that one. You DON’T want that coming down on you like a load of bricks.

Dear Aunt Becky,

I’ve been a mom for the last 13 years, most of it as a stay at home mom. I have 4 kids, a shitload of pets, and a hubby who can be a pain in the ass but is awesome nonetheless.

My question is about my brain. I have the attention span and brain power of a gnat now. (The “g” is silent.) Following complex thoughts, remember something other than appointments, and being able to read something longer than Chicka Chicka Boom Boom is… well… hard.

How can I wake my head back up with minimal effort? Cuz I’m lazy like that.

*scratches butt*

Wait…did you say something? I TOTALLY MISSED IT.

Hi Aunt Becky!

I am nineteen and I just miscarried my first baby. :\ The father had no idea that I was pregnant. My question is, do I tell him, even though the baby is gone? I feel like he would just be spiteful and make me even more upset than I already am… but does he have a right to know?

Thanks!

Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry that you had a miscarriage. I’ve had two and I know the hormonal ups-and-downs are terrible and that on top of everything else, I’m just so sorry. My heart hurts for you.

I don’t think that you need to tell the father that you had a miscarriage if you think that he’s just going to make you feel worse. You should find someone to give you some support, maybe a good friend, or someone close to you that you can really talk to. I know that a lot of local clinics and schools will have some sort of counselors that can arrange sessions to help you worth through some of what you’re going through because believe me, you’re not alone.

But no, I don’t think you need to tell him if you don’t want to. You should talk to someone, though.

Again, I’m really sorry. Picture Your Aunt Becky wrapping you up in a big fat hug.

—————–

As always, my Faithful Readers, please fill in where I left off, and rally around our friend who has miscarried her baby. She could use some love.

After I smacked Becky with a Yard Of Shortbread today ( look at her twitter for details), I was informed that I needed to make up for my pigheadedness by answering some Go Ask Aunt Becky questions this week. So I broke in to her website and am shamelessly sharing my even-less-qualified opinions with you. Enjoy!

Dear Aunt Becky The Daver,

I started a short fiction site recently called Fiction Five Hundred. I was wondering if you could check it out, and maybe spread the word a bit to people that you know of that enjoy fiction.

The site URL is http://fiction500.blogspot.com .

I’ll pimp your blog and various projects in exchange if you’d like. Kinda like a “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” type thing.

Thanks,
Badass Geek
(thebadassgeek.com)

Dear Badass,

I have run your Fiction 500 site through my own, carefully-calibrated, artificially intelligent Site Rating Software. It crashed horrifyingly, spewing electrons all over my desktop. In short, your site is so good that it literally blew my computer’s mind. I’m pretty sure it’s safe for people though, I’ve been reading through it and my brain hasn’t yet come squirting out of my nose. Bookmarked!

Dear Becky The Daver,

I’m trying to type this on the sly so my boyfriend doesn’t come stomping in asking me what I’m doing and catching me.

So, my boyfriend and I have been together for a year, and it’s pretty serious. We live together and all that awesome fun stuff.
I would like to take it a step further and become engaged. We’ve talked about this before, and so I’ve ruined the surprise and he knows I would say yes.
But every time we talk about it he says it’s too soon.
I don’t know if he’s waiting for a blow job or if I should propose.
I’ve been thinking about proposing, I figure it would prove I’m serious, and I’ve even considered a speech to tell him I love him and I want to spend the rest of my life with him and I’m in it for the long haul and just because we’re engaged doesn’t mean we have to get married now.

Anyway, my question(s) is/are: is it okay for me to propose, how should I propose, and do I give him a ring?

-Listener of Beyonce

Dear Listener,

I totally understand where you’re coming from — when something Just Works, it’s an amazing, wonderful, excellent feeling, and it sounds like you’ve found someone you feel ready to put your trust in, who you are ready to take the next step with. Each of those steps feels lighter and more giddy than the last.

But hold on to it! Being married has a whole lot of baggage associated with it; more than living together, sleeping together, having a joint checking account, or even having kids together. It’s a commitment that has to meet in the middle, with both people reaching out to each other for support, listening to and appreciating each other’s ideas & feelings. And sometimes, you’ll find that what you discover about your lover is not what you wanted to hear. Different people feel different pressures about marriage, and chances are his concerns aren’t anything like what you would think.

If you’ve talked to your boyfriend and he says he’s not ready, it could very well be that he is nervous about the commitment that goes into being married; most guys (at least, the good ones) wonder if they’re good enough, prepared enough, if they make enough money and if they can afford to take care of you; if they have their lives figured out enough to make a promise like this.

My advice to you is this: if you’re talking about marriage, he probably believes you’re serious already. Listen to him, give him the space he needs to work out his thoughts on the subject, and give him the support he needs to feel comfortable reaching his arm out to meet you in the middle.

It takes a maddening amount of patience to respect that someone else takes a lot longer to come to the same conclusion as you, but trust me — it’s good practice for marriage. Becks figures things out that take me weeks (I made her wait a year for a wedding rather than just heading to the courthouse!), and I figure things out that take her forever ( she was meant to be a writer! ).

If he’s a guy who’s worth giving your heart to, then he’s a guy whose opinions, concerns, fears, and ideas should matter to you. Treat him that way, and I suspect you’ll do fine. But I’d hold off on proposals and speeches and rings until you’ve had a good listen to what HE really wants. Then, if he’d dig being proposed to, go for it with gusto. If he wants to be the one to get down on one knee, then make sure the restaurant has a carpeted floor for him.

Dear Aunt Becky The Daver,

I have a huge problem – I can’t say No. Need something baked/sewn/driven/picked up/cleaned/organized/written – I’ll say Yes. Most of these projects aren’t five minute deals – they are HUGE. Why can’t I say No???

Dear Can’t Say No,

Can you babysit for us this week? We could use a break.

I tease! Saying No is a learned skill for a lot of people, including me. Most people who have a problem with it don’t like to feel that they are disappointing someone, or don’t take the time to think about the trade-offs. Try this:

Think about what you won’t be able to finish if you say Yes to whatever you’re being asked to do. Now, think about whether you want to say No to that person, or the person in front of you. You don’t have any other option, because that is what will happen when you can’t get done all the things you committed to: someone won’t get what they were asking for. (And, worse, they will be more hurt by you saying Yes and not doing it than if you just said No to begin with!)

And don’t let yourself think that you can just stay up late or get up early or push something back: all of those are saying No to being 100%, being healthy, being prepared for your regular life. If you aren’t 100%, then you have to say No even more!

It’s uncomfortable, but true: saying No now, or saying No later when you can’t get it all done, you MUST say No. The question is whether you say it up-front and save everyone time, or whether you say it later — possibly at the last minute, when they can’t ask anyone else, or possibly to yourself (!!).

Hope that helps,

The Daver.

Did I do OK, y’all? Becky always says to share your advice in the comments, so I say the same. ‘Cause it’s, like, my first time and stuff. Happy Sunday!

Aunt Becky-

Do you think it’s wrong to dangle sexual favors like a carrot in front of the husband’s nose in order to get him to do stuff around the house (dishes, lawn etc.)??? If so, got any better ideas?

Oh Gentle Reader, here is where I have to turn the tables on you and ask you, does it work? Because Your Aunt Becky might be interested if it did. This is how a conversation about division of labor goes in my house:

Aunt Becky: Hey, The Daver, can you please mow the lawn? I lost the dog in it last week.

The Daver: I can’t hear you.

Aunt Becky: I’m standing right next to you.

The Daver: I don’t speak English.

Aunt Becky: Yes you do. You’re speaking English right now.

The Daver: No I don’t.

(walks away leisurely to go save the world from global economic meltdown)

Then I hire the neighbor kid to mow the lawn and rescue the dog.

I think if I implemented a chore chart or a system of smiley faces he might throttle me if I didn’t throttle myself first, especially because then I might be tempted to go buy those stupid things you put in the toilets for little boys to aim their pee at.

And if I nagged him to death about it, I’d feel like a shrew, or worse, his mother.

To me, a blow job would be cheaper than hiring someone. But, you know, depends, I guess.

(also: does it WORK?)

Becky –

I have known these people for fifteen long, and I mean long, years. I am the type of person who will let you know when you have pissed me off. These people prefer to lift proverbial rug and sweep under. If I do say something my MIL will cry, which sets off a full born shit storm. My son has a pair of Nike skateboard shoes. Or he had. When they last came to visit said in-laws threw them away because “they” don’t like skateboarding, “it’s dangerous”. They also removed the mouth guard from his school issued football helmet and put on one that FIL thought was safer (you’ll poke your eye out kid). This type of shit has been going on for years.

Everyone tells me that I should not take them to task, but I’m getting older and less able to eat shit (it is true what they say). My husband is afraid of them (Catholic guilt you see). They also went through my medicine cabinet and told my son that mommy takes to many pills. My husband says “Why do you care what they think” Durrrr my son? They also like to pump my three kids (including my 4 year old) for information that gets repeated back to me. Can’t I just tell them to go eff off?

Sincerely, Ready to go all Chris Brown

I am pretty sure that you deserve a medal for putting up with these people for so long because I don’t have any idea how you’ve managed to do it. Certainly, you’re not going to change them because people like that get even MORE crotchety in their old age and you’re probably not going to change your husband either. The Daver, while he’s not going to throw me under the bus, he wouldn’t really stand up for me either, so I feel you.

You have the option of doing one of two things because the shit tornado is going to hit you or hit her and it’s really your call who it’s going to hit.:

1) Telling them to piss off the next time that they try and mess with your family and then dealing with the fallout. If they want to get in your business, bite back.

2) Dealing with it the way you’ve always dealt with it and have some extra margaritas when they’re in town.

Good luck.

Dear Aunt Becky,

I had the worst day humanly imaginable. Please feel free to take my story and make it an absolutely hilarious comedy, as I’m on prescribed vicodin and EVERYTHING is funny.

My four year old was diagnosed with respiratory distress and the doc diagnosed her with steroids. Steroids in my small child make her act like a ping pong ball in a shoebox. Within an hour after her discharge from the hospital, I begin to feel crummy. Sore throat, cough, runny nose. Oh joy.

I spent the weekend crashed on the couch, miserable and trying to recover. My child continued to be her lovable, completely wild self. Screaming, swinging, laughing and creating general mischief. She went back to school this morning. Praise God.

I went to work, hoping for the best. Within an hour, my boss said “No way, jose” and sent me home because I’m a germ-infested liability. Leaving the building, I fall. I fall down the freaking stairs. And I’m pretty sure besides my completely deflated and injured pride, my arm’s broke.

Too embarrassed to find someone, I hurry to the ER. After an exhausting wait, I was found to be not broken *I disagree since the dr couldn’t even remember what my illness was in the first place*, two ear infections and a viral lung something or other. But heaven-they prescribed VICODIN! Hours later, prescription in hand, I arrive home. To find that the city has issued a warning telling residents to not drink the water.

Of freaking course.

So I’m in pain, my kid needs her cocaine, er, I mean steroids and I need painkillers. Mommy’s dragging ass and my kid is chattering hers off.

What the hell did I do to karma?

Thanks for letting me vent. Your stories cheer me up greatly. Seriously. They do. 🙂

Then this one, baby, is for YOU.

——————–

As always, O! Internet, my Internet, please feel free to add your witty insights below because I have most certainly missed something.

OH! And I added an EMAIL ME link on my sidebar because that seemed like a good idea especially since I am trolling for writing projects and other assorted things to do. So, if you need a slightly sober writer, I am totally your bitch.

As a squee! of things to come this week, I would like to announce that I am guest posting over at Canadian Family Magazine’s blog this week. And yes, in case you’re wondering, they DO know that I am not Canadian. Their blog is called the Family Jewels Blog (which, hahahaha!) and I’m very proud of what I wrote, so please come visit me.

Also, because they are better people than I am, they have given me some subscriptions to their magazine to give to you. I have some other things to give to you this week, too that I made my friend give you. See, I AM a giver.

Of other people’s stuff.

OBVIOUSLY.

——————–

Dear Aunt Becky,

I have an older, grandmotherly next door neighbor, who recently discovered the wonderful world of the internet and has my email address. I am bombarded daily with at least half a dozen forwards. Half of those are praise Jesus and the other half are anti-Obama. Is there a way to politely tell her to cut the crap or should I just suck it up and keep deleting?

Oh, Gentle Reader, I laugh, not AT you, but WITH you, because there is a reason that my in-laws do not have access to my email address and this would be it. They appear to have just gotten email like, last week (although The Daver assures me that this is not true) and Dave is inundated with these emails as well.

Recently, he got one that they wanted to make sure that I saw about breast cancer, “prions” and plastic water bottles, which he quickly found the link to the hoax on snopes.com and sent back with a gentle note chastising them for blindly forwarding it on.

But my favorite story, Dear Reader, has to be the one that Daver received last Christmas and I only repeat the story because it is so funny that I have the whole thing saved on my desktop to pull up whenever I am having a bad day. It’s so bad that Dave wouldn’t let me see it on Christmas morning when we got it because he thought it would make me too mad.

It’s a Power Point presentation that someone put together, you see, and you open it up, this lovely winter scene, and oh, isn’t that nice! A rustic wagon! How…QUAINT! Adorable. So words flicker across the screen….

“If you have food in your refrigerator, a roof overhead and a place to sleep…”

it trails off…

“you are richer than 75% of the world.”

Well. Now. Doesn’t that make you feel good about yourself? Just a small side of guilt there?

The next slide, a rustic fireplace scene. Crackling log. Homey. Nice.

“If you woke up this morning with more health than illness….”

it trails off again.

“you are more blessed than the million that will not survive the week.”

Well sweet JESUS. That’s not making me feel very Christmas-y. I’m sort of feeling depressed now. Okay, the slide is changing, maybe those were flukes.

Ah, some nice pine trees and a beautiful winter sunset. Enchanting.

The words flicker…“If you have never experienced the danger of battle, the loneliness of imprisonment, the agony of torture, the pangs of starvation…”

….“you’re ahead of 500 million people in the world.”

Now I’m searching for something to slit my wrists with because, wow.

Also, where are they getting these numbers?

Another winter scene flashes through my tears, a winter scene, untouched by man.

“If you hold up your head with a smile on your face and are truly thankful…”

(pause for dramatic effect)

(pause)

(pause)

(pause)

(pause)

“you are blessed because the majority can, but most do not.”

Just wow. Wow. Now I am supposed to be thankful and not depressed beyond belief?

This was sent, I should add, by my father-in-law, whom I adore, but who came into the labor room after I’d pushed out Alex and said, “another child born into this crazy, messed up world.” I would have kicked him if I could have.

So, Gentle Reader, I think you probably should make a folder for your sweet old lady’s emails to go right into and then just empty it. And pray she never asks you about them.

Also, I can TOTALLY forward you this Power Point if you want a good laugh because it’s really, really funny.

Dear Aunt Becky,

I worked hard. I stayed in school. It took me eight long years to graduate college with a B.S. in Elementary Education. The job market for elementary education is TOUGH. I ended up not finding a teaching job. I got married. I had children and now I have no desire to teach in the classroom. Ever. I am so happy being mommy and dream of being in the PTA/PTO and classroom mom, etc. What’s wrong with me and what do you suggest for treatment?

Gentle Reader, I think you should count your lucky stars that you’ve found what you’re good at, happy doing and pat yourself on the back and start running for the PTO board NOW! Wait, is that an elected position? Because, girl, I would totally vote for you.

Get your campaign buttons ready, start baking some cupcakes and let’s get this party started!

As someone who fought her way through nursing school, hating every single second of it and knowing I’d make a terrible nurse, I spent a full four years drifting around, stupidly searching for what I could do next to make myself happy.

I think I’ve finally found it.

So, cheers to you, my friend. Tonight, I will drink my glass of water on the rocks to the pursuit of happyness.

——————–

As always, The Internet, please fill in any gaps where I have failed, and please, submit your most burning-est questions to the form on the sidebar.

Now, my faithful Go Ask Aunt Becky-ers, I have a special treat for you. I sort of feel like I’m introducing the Pope here, but since he (He?) wouldn’t post for me on account of it being Sunday and Sunday being a Holy Day and a Day of Rest, I’m introducing you to a blogger who needs no introduction.

She’s my favorite blogger and I’m not just saying that because she’s posting for me on, like, my second ever guest post. I actually feel like squeeing and jumping around the room right now and were it not 11PM and had I not just wrangled an exhausted Alex back into bed, I’d be dancing around.

Yup. That’s how I felt when she agreed. Although with less cheese sauce. Because, obviously.

This is Julie, from A Little Pregnant, and you should immediately subscribe to her and worship her like I do. Seriously, I am not worthy of her and if I sound like a teenager at a New Moon premiere, well, so be it.

Julie is posting for Go Ask Aunt Becky some questions that were asked about infertility because she’s far smarter than I am, I blackmailed her to guest post for me. Guess she shouldn’t have taken those donkey pictures in college, huh?

Auntie Becky Julie (can I call you Auntie?),
First of all I want to thank you for your post The Others, and for including struggling to conceive, some people don’t understand that that is a loss, too. So thank you Auntie!

My husband and I have been trying for a year and half to get pregnant. I have just found out that 2 of my sister-in-laws are now pregnant, for one this will be their 2nd child and for the other their 696th, or something. While I am very happy for them, I also feel like I have been bitch slapped by God or whoever.

How do I deal with the Pregnancy stories (these 2 were preggers together last time and I wanted to claw my ear drums out THEN!) and unsolicited advice (one of them is always doling it out in abundance because she has 4 kids, like I haven’t tried EVERYTHING!!)? Please tell me how to deal with this without coming off like a complete bitch….

Signed,
Not Expecting

Families dealing with addiction are often instructed, for the sake of their own emotional health, to distance themselves from the destructive behavior of their loved one, to detach, as they say, with love. The fact that this is the phrase I sternly utter when informing Paul that I am sending his favorite ratty-ass flappy-elastic underpants to the glue factory makes the saying no less incisive.

By that I mean I don’t think you have any duty to stay in their presence when those kind of conversations occur. Of course you don’t want to come off as a complete bitch, but can you give yourself permission to come off as…a partial bitch? A demi-bitch? A bitchkin? A bitchula? A bicicletta? (What? No, I’m not mocking you. I think those banana seat is very slimming. And a playful flick of the handlebar tassel to you, my friend.)

I guess what I’m saying is that making yourself slightly vulnerable to criticism may well be the best strategy for preserving your overall well being. Because I honestly don’t see anything wrong at all with letting a pained look steal over your features — ha, not so tough, given the circumstances — and then modulating your voice to a husky whisper before saying, “I’m sorry. This discussion is really painful to me,” and then excusing yourself from the conversation. If they know your situation and still think you’re a bitch, well, that tells us a lot about them, doesn’t it?

As for the unsolicited advice, the souped-up Schwinn in me wishes you could meet their suggestions with wide eyes and a grateful gasp. “Ohhhh! That’s a fascinating thought! Wait, let me get a pen. I want to pass your idea along to my reproductive endocrinologist, the noted Dr. Shirley M. Pregnate, and offer it as a potential avenue of research, because in all my years of trying no one has ever suggested that we stop using condoms,” or whatever helpful pointer you’ve just been given. I know: It’s wrong to shame the ignorant. I know. Because then you’d be a complete bitch. And we’re trying to avoid that.

So instead I’d suggest saying the following next time unsolicited advice is proffered: “Thanks, but I don’t really feel comfortable discussing this. How we often we hit it siiiideways is a private matter between my husband and me.” You could edit out the sideways part, I suppose, and customize it for your needs — perhaps you’re more of a scorpion-style girl. Mongolian basket trick? The dirty Chautauqua? Anyway, the details are unimportant. What matters is that you communicate the unequivocal message that you’re not looking for input. Then if input keeps coming, you’re not the complete bitch; they are.

And none of this, alas, shuts anybody up, but then very little ever does. But if you give yourself the leeway to remove yourself from the conversation without being too, too concerned about how you’re perceived — a factor that’s mostly out of your control, anyway — you might find it all easier to deal with from a distance. I truly hope so.

My best friend has been struggling to fall pregnant for 2 years and had a miscarriage last year. I have stood by her and supported her through all her fertility treatments, which have all failed.

I am now 5.5 weeks pregnant and she was the first person I told because I didn’t want her to find out from someone else. She sent me a very bitchy e-mail and now won’t talk to me.

What do I do now? I understand where she is coming from, but I feel so guilty that I am not enjoying this very much wanted pregnancy.

Usually when people say this they mean it in a dismissive, scathing way. When I say it here, I swear I mean it in a liberating, peace-be-with-you new-age naked-dancing stinky-hippie kind of way: It’s not all about you.

Your friend is hurting, and I think it speaks well of you that you’ve been concerned about her feelings about your pregnancy. It’s a courtesy I wish everyone extended to their friends. It’s a sad comment on how seldom it actually works out that way that I read your question and wanted to give you a big damn medal for what should be, oh, I don’t know, common human decency.

That said. Thaaaaat said, I wish your friend hadn’t countered your compassion that way. I can’t fault anyone in her position for feeling the way she must, but I’m sorry she reacted the way she did, for both of you: on your account, because it hurt you, and on hers, because if she’s not feeling bad now about sending that bitchy e-mail, she may well later with a little time and distance. Everybody eventually loses, even if she found it cathartic in the short term.

But like I said above, it’s not all about you. At bedrock, this is about her feelings about her own situation. Her feelings about what she doesn’t have are thrown into very harsh relief when confronted by what you have. This isn’t her fault or yours, and I don’t see any right or wrong in the situation. It could be that if you think this through in those terms, you’ll feel less inclined to take her reaction personally. If you truly believe you’ve treated her with kindness, and indeed it sounds like you have, drop the guilt and be ready, if you can, to welcome her back as a friend if her hurt eventually abates. She’ll come to you if and when she’s ready.

Hi Aunt Becky Julie-

I am currently 15 weeks pregnant with my second child. My best friend (also my cousin) was pregnant and due a week after me. She just lost the baby this week. This is her second miscarriage this year, and I am just devastated for her.

My question is this-how do I help her? I don’t want her to feel like I’m rubbing my pregnancy in her face, and I know she won’t think that, but it breaks my heart that I am, no matter how hard I try not to, inevitably going to cause her pain over the next 6 months.

I just don’t know what to do. I want her involved in this child’s life (I was actually planning on her and her husband as godparents) but I don’t want to push or say too much. She is a wonderful person and I know she is going to want to hear all about this baby, but I’m so scared of hurting her.

First, on behalf of every reproductive loser out there, let me thank you for even acknowledging that your pregnancy might cause someone else pain. You and the person above can timeshare the Congratulations on Not Being an Asshole medal. It seems so obvious to those of us in the know, but sad experience tells us that it’s anything but obvious to the world at large. So thanks for that.

Now as to your question. Some people maintain that honesty is always the best policy. Me, I happen to think that honesty is seldom the best policy; too many people see it as a license to reveal unpleasant things that are better left undiscussed. (What. I was raised Episcopalian, okay? We own that tightly-buttoned shit.) But this is a rare instance where I do think honesty would serve everyone well.

Why not tell your friend how sorry you are for her hurt, how eager you are not to cause her any more pain, and then ask her what she needs? Why not tell her you’re ready to let her guide things, to follow her lead, and ask her to tell you when she needs some space? It seems like the situation calls for feeling your way as friends rather gingerly; it also seems like yours is a relationship with a long history of trust built in. So if the two of you can work through it together, gradually, with her leading the way, it seems probable to me that the two of you can make it through this really difficult time with your bond intact, and maybe even enhanced.

…Whoa, hey, now that’s some new-age naked-dancing stinky-hippie shit, huh?

But in all sincerity, I’m sorry for your friend’s loss, and sorry for the turmoil you find yourself in. Good luck to you both.

—————-

Wow. So, Aunt Julie rules and Aunt Becky is going to be dethroned and I totally see why. Thank you, Julie. Also, sorry bitches, Aunt Becky is back in action tomorrow.

As always, your pressing, burning Ask Aunt Becky questions may be directed to that tiny link in my sidebar and please, tell Julie that she rules and add any other witticisms that you might have in the comments.

And no, I will not look at that rash on your penis. MUCH.

Hi, Aunt Becky!

I saw your article on Toy With Me, and thought you might be able to help me with my problem.

*whispers* I’ve never had an orgasm…while having intercourse. I have a GREAT time with my husband, but alas, I don’t know what to tell him to do to get me there!

Also, *ahem* using my fingers isn’t really my thing. But I’m up to trying other stuff!

Thanks!
Trying for the Big O

Well, my friend, you are not alone, and for that I am sorry. I appear, actually, to be in the statistical MINORITY here, because I can get my rocks off by sex alone. Thankfully, though, for you (and I suppose for my Google Search Engine, which is already blessed by things like “Ron Jeremy” and “Debbie Does Dallas” as well as “what does rabbit poo look like?”)(don’t ask)(also, am I the only person who thinks of my Google Search Engine as a person?), my sex-a-licious friend over at Toy With Me, Dear RedHead tackled this on Friday.

Here is what she found.

Good luck, and Godspeed.

Aunt Becky,
I recently married a really great guy, but he is a bit of a “Momma’s boy”. Now, this wouldn’t be so bad, but this woman feels the need to get involved in or comment on every aspect of my life. She wasn’t like this before we got married, but now, she won’t leave me alone! How do I fix this situation before I accidentally kill her or something?

Well fuck me seven ways from Sunday, that sucks.

My very conservative mother-in-law may or may not loathe the ground that my heathen walk on which may or may not have something to do with the Thanksgiving that I accidentally showed up wearing a “Too Busy To FCUK” shirt (say it with me now “WHOOPS“*!), but actually we get along okay.

So here’s the kicker of this: you’re going to have to deal with this with your husband. This is one of those “united we stand, divided we fall” type of situations, because if you do not, it’s going to go around and around and you’re going to look like the bad guy.

It’s going to be all, “SHEILA (that’s your pretend name) said that you can’t come over and talk to her that way, MOM” and then it looks like you went whining to Bill (your husband’s pretend name) about Mary (your mother-in-law’s fake name). You look like an asshole. Not just like any asshole, but a WHINY asshole. Which totally isn’t fair.

No, you and Bill need to set some boundaries TOGETHER when it comes to your mother-in-law because if you don’t, she’s going to show up when you’re doing the nasty one day and tell you that you’re not boning him properly. And that is BULLSHIT.

This is going to be one of those ugly talks, or maybe it won’t be, I don’t know. Dave’s not one to stand up for me, in fact, if you, Sheila, or ANY of you were to be all, “Hey Dave, your wife is a bitch,**” he’d be all, “DUH” and I’d be all, “HEY!” So, if I had an issue with my mother-in-law, like a real one (she’s a state away, heh) or anyone else, it would be me against them. Or Ben and I against them. He always takes my side.

I wish you the best of luck.

Aunt Becky,

Why does my husband watch football all weekend? And by watch football, I mean yell at the television all weekend long and generally pollute the atmosphere of our home with his ranting at the little uniforms moving around on the TV screen. I don’t mean this in a wifey, woman-y way, but I really hate football season, because my husband acts like Sybil- ecstatic when his teams when, menopausal when they don’t.

Am I a hag if I tell him to get a new hobby? Or ask him to go have his heart attack at a sports bar?

Well, I don’t think you can tell him that he can get a new hobby because, well, I think he might beat you with his commemorative Bears 85 (THANK YOU!) Superbowl Shuffle Gold Record, but yeah.

Dave’s a soccer guy and while he’s not thrilled when The Fire lose, he’s not exactly moping into his bag of chips. I don’t see why sending him off to the sports bars is a bad thing, or having him build himself a Man Cave somewhere where you don’t have to listen to the bellowing.

But I am turning this question over to you, my people, who can probably answer this better than I. Sports fanaticals are just something I’m not familiar with (she says as she strokes her orchids).

——————–

So have at it, my friends, fill in any gaps I have left for my desperately seeking advice-rs above. And, as always, feel free to submit your questions through the sidebar.

*True story.

**You don’t really need to test this theory because he doesn’t read my blog and besides, what if you hurt my extra sensitive feelings. SHUT UP! I have sensitive feelings. STOP LAUGHING.

Dear Aunt Becky,

I am absolutely, positively sure my (future) brother-in-law is abusing my (future) nieces. If not physically, then mentally and emotionally.

However, I have pretty bad Pile of Crazy, including a long history of catastrophzing and some pretty severe PTSD from my physically, mentally, emotionally abusive (ex)father.

My (future) brother-in-law has done some things in front of me that his parents and/or wife have called him out for. My nieces get extremely upset at the idea of us leaving, but not so at the prospect of being left with us.

[identifying details removed to protect privacy]

Thanksgiving is coming up in a few weeks, and I’m dreading it. Either they won’t show up and I’ll spend the whole time obsessing over why, or they will show up and I’ll spend the whole time waiting for the bomb to go off.

How can I know for sure my nieces are safe?

Oh Gentle Reader, I am so sorry for all that you have been through. I hope that you are healing. Now, if you or anyone else out there suspects that someone is abusing a child, please don’t wait until you have proof. Report it.

Your state or county may have a number you can call to make an anonymous report. If not, below is the National Child Abuse Hotline.

The Childhelp National Child Abuse Hotline 1-800-4-A-CHILD is dedicated to the prevention of child abuse. Serving the United States, its territories, and Canada, the Hotline is staffed 24 hours a day, 7 days a week with professional crisis counselors who, through interpreters, can provide assistance in 170 languages. The Hotline offers crisis intervention, information, literature, and referrals to thousands of emergency, social service, and support resources.

All calls are anonymous and confidential.

I wish you the best of luck, Gentle Reader. I am sending my love and prayers to you and your nieces. Always.

And to you out there, living in my computer, please, if you or anyone you know is being abused, or you suspect abuse, do not wait for proof. Report it.

National Child Abuse Hotline: 1-800-4A-CHILD

National Coalition Against Domestic Violence: 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)

National Center on Elder Abuse: 1-800-677-1116

If someone is in immediate danger, of course, call 911.

Dear Aunt Becky,

How is it possible that every time a virus runs through our house my marriage also takes a hit? Is this some new bioterroist weapon?

My hubby is the best. Seriously, great guy, and I love him. But when I am dealing with our small children being sick, he becomes the most useless guy in the world.

For example, if I am tending to one sick child and he feeds the others (we are talking take out here), I will come downstairs to find all the uneaten food out, dishes everywhere, a heap of mail strewn throughout, and the overflowing garbage pails winking at me. If he bathes a child for me so I can tend to a sick sibling, I will find he has forgotten to drain the tub, and dirty clothes, wet towels and tub toys litter the bathroom.

Now, bringing home dinner and bathing children – to name just a few examples – make him feel like he is being the best, most helpful husband in the world. He is actually shocked to learn that I do not feel he has hung the moon.

How do I convey that when I really need help and he cannot complete a task, but only leaves chaos and crap in his wake that it only makes me resentful?

How can a virus infect both my children and my marriage??????

Signed,
Resentful after Rotavirus

Well, apparently I am sending myself emails to Go Ask Aunt Becky while I sleep because that’s the only alternative. I cannot believe that there’s another The Daver out there who simply cannot manage to keep house without destroying it. This is precisely why I do not let him

Either that, or The Terrorists are winning and have somehow implanted some RNA into the Rotavirus that infects the host with The Apathy, rendering them entirely unable to wash a dish, put away a towel or drain a tub. By weakening the sanctity of our marriage, it will weaken us as a country and divided we will motherfucking FALL.

Fucking terrorists.

Hi! My blog is on Blogger, but I am thinking of changing over to Word Press. In your opinion, what are the pros and cons. I’m just starting out, but I already have some followers. How hard would it be to keep my followers while changing sites?

plus, how do i score an awesome layout like yours?

Oh, Delicate Grasshopper, I am probably the LAST person on the planet you want to answer this question but I enlisted my good friend Dr. Google and also The Daver to fill in any gaps. I cannot promise all of my knowledge is 100% correct, because I am about as good with computers as I am with bocce ball (read: not good at sports involving balls), but I will make an effort for YOU.

First. I have both. Because a lot of you have Blogger blogs that do not allow anonymous comments, I signed up. Here is my Blogger blog. You like my design over there? It was made by my friend Badass Geek. He designs those.

Let him do one for you.

And if you’re looking for a sexy WordPress Layout like my old layout (sniff, sniff), talk to Admin or Mrs. Soup.

Anyway. Here is what I learned on my travels:

Blogspot blogs are free. Which is ALWAYS better than paying. Because OBVIOUSLY.

WordPress.com is also free and while I have a blog that uses the same software, I’m not entirely familiar with wordpress.com. I know the software, though.

Blogger blogs are easier to set up and use, which is good for a moron like me. Seriously, I set my own up in about 10 minutes which should tell you a WHOLE LOT.

WordPress blogs are much more customizable, but require a more extensive knowledge from someone who has a better knowledge of computer stuff than I do. Now, I could figure it out–so could you–if you wanted to and there are plenty of How-To Guides out there.

Custom templates are pretty cheap for Blogger blogs and there are tons of free sites out there that have really fun ones.

WordPress does have a standard subset of templates as well, but a lot of the third party templates don’t work with all of the web browsers (Internet Explorer, Safari, etc) and may just not work at all.

There are a ton of WordPress widgets and plug-ins that can be installed that do everything from greeting you with lines from “Sympathy for the Devil” or those that allow you to respond to comments via email. This is called Threaded Comments and it’s kind of my boyfriend.

Blogger doesn’t have many of these options.

Blogger, is owned by Google, and can be shut down at any time IF you violate their policies. I doubt that any of you do or will, but you ultimately don’t have full control, even if you’re still on your own domain but through their database.

With WordPress, you have full have control of your content.

Blogger loses major points with me when it comes to commenting. I’m sorry, my Blogger people, but your system sucks. I get probably 400-800 spam messages every day and they’re caught by my nifty plug-in and they do not require my people to sign in or try to translate ancient Cyrillic just to say, “I fucking love hate your blog, man.”

WordPress wins ease of commenting hands down. No one should have to have a Blogger account simply to comment and Blogger should offer some sort of spam filter better than the CAPCHA. I promise that loses you comments.

Really, the choice is yours. Both have their high points. I mean, who DOESN’T want to be greeted with “Hi Aunt Becky, please allow me to introduce myself, I’m a man of wealth and taste?*”

There’s a way to redirect people from one address to another, or you can simply have people update their links by leaving a “SORRY, I DON’T LIVE HERE.” I know when I switched, Dave just had it redirect people from there to here and it worked well.

That, love, is beyond me.

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Please, my friends in the computer, add in anything that I missed on any of these questions. Please.

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If you read all of that, please, pour yourself a bourbon, dip a cookie in it (it’s 5:00 somewhere, right?), and then clap your hands together with glee. Because tomorrow, my loves, I have something for you. Something SPECIAL I promised you. And something I am delivering.

Something that I fully expect you to tease me relentlessly for.

So get your Depends on drink the fuck up.

Tomorrow, tomorrow.

*That was rhetorical.