Hi!

I recently found your blog. I love your blog and read it all the time! Anwyay, you mention that you almost lost it due to sleep deprevation because your son Alex never slept. I felt like I almost lost it this week. I was not sure if I was depressed or sleep deprived. How could you tell the difference between needing medication or needing a good night’s sleep?

Signed,
Sleepy

One of the things that got me through the intolerable first year that was Alex’s life was remembering hearing that they used sleep deprivation as torture for POW’s in prisons. They’d let the prisoners go to sleep only to wake them up just as they drifted off to the land of nod, which, coincidentally, was EXACTLY what Alex did.

Every night for nearly a year straight.

(I also remember hearing that they used Britney Spears songs as torture, which I listen to voluntarily, but this is neither here nor there) (hey, you, laughing at me, BITE ME)(no, not you, Sleepy, I know you’re too tired to laugh)

By the end of that year, I will tell you now in a moment of uncharacteristic honesty, I nearly killed myself. I’m not saying this because I’m trying to be coy or tragically glib, or funny or cute or any other thing you can associate with that statement.

I’m saying it because I was so trapped by my life that I saw no other way out. I fantasized about killing myself.

With chronic sleep deprivation, the line between needing medication and needing a good nights sleep blurs very easily and getting meds for the wicked case of post-partum depression I was suffering from (Alex was a HORRIBLE, AWFUL baby. String me up from the rafters by my toenails for saying that motherhood was anything less than the best! thing! ever! but he was).

I urge you, my friend, to please talk to your doctor. If you feel like you’re losing it, it’s best that you two discuss it. Sleep deprivation is a motherfucker and trust me, even now, it plays with my emotions when I’ve not slept well.

I got help and I let Alex cry it out because you know what? No matter what, sacrificing my own life for my child’s temporary happiness really isn’t fair. Any way you cut it up, a dead mom doesn’t make anyone happy. Even the most attachment-y of the attachment parents can’t fault you there.

If they do, send them to me. I have a foot I’d like to connect with their ass.

Please, talk to your doctor. PLEASE.

Dear Aunt Becky;

Do I have to apologize after every hormone indunced mood swing outburst including the ones that don’t involve any physical threats?

Well, now, see I hail from the Midwest, and here, land of the Pillsbury Dough-Boy and the Pot Pie, we’re apologetic to a fault here. It’s obnoxious how apologetic we are. I almost want to apologize for it.

Let me give you an example.

Why don’t you step on my foot at the grocery store, okay? And watch ME fall all over my asshole self apologizing to you. It’s absurd. If it’s another Midwesterner, it’ll take twenty minutes, the two of us standing there going back and forth like a couple of old people,

“No, I’M sorry!!”

“No, see, it’s MY fault. I’m the one who clearly had the audacity to have the misfortune to have a foot in YOUR way.”

It’s fucking bullshit. I know.

Long story short: yeah, I’d apologize. Unless the motherfucker really deserved it. Then I would revel in my good fortune at being able to site premenstrual psychosis and milk it for all it’s worth.

Orange Flavored Hostess cupcakes??

I can only presume that my friend is both shocked and thrilled to find another lover of Orange Flavored Hostess Cupcakes, as we both know that I happen to consider them a Dream Food. My friend is aware, no doubt, as this has made my list of 100 boring ass things about me (see sidebar, if you have no idea what I’m talking about)(I’d link, but that seems to just give you guys dead links), coming in at #4:

4. I think Orange Flavored Hostess cupcakes are the best food in the world.

So, my new found friend, obvious Foodie and connoisseur of all things Plastic-Tasting And Dyed Orange, I’m thinking that you and I should form a Secret Society. Because there are not too many of us out there. Certainly, the people who prefer the CHOCOLATE version of this tasty treat are a dime a fucking dozen, but you and I, well, we’re in a league of our own.

Perhaps we can come up with a whimsical name like Secret Society Of People Who Love Hostess Orange Flavored Cupcakes and have meetings where we serve our delicious treats on sterling silver platters and write odes to our favorite snack foods in leather bound notebooks. We’d, of course, have to do it with fountain ink pens because, well, if one is writing an ode, it should be in fountain ink, don’t you agree, oh, wise friend of mine?

Of course you agree.

(note to self: buy fountain ink pen to write odes to Hostess Orange Flavored Cupcakes with new Best Friend and Secret Society Member).

Oh, this Secret Society is going to be delicious fun, my friend. I can hardly wait for our first meeting! Why, I think we should kick it off with a rousing reading of the nutritional facts followed by maybe an impassioned dialogue of how it makes us feel to know that we cannot buy our treats at any store, but must resort to gas stations! Like commoners! THE SHAME OF IT ALL!!

Well, I can hardly wait to have our first meeting and exchanging of the keys. Trust me when I say that the honor is truly all mine.

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As always, questions may be submitted to Ask Aunt Becky through the link on the sidebar. Feel free to add your comments below, yo.

And, thank you genuinely to everyone who has helped me with voting for Mimi and my blog and has been graciously spreading the word. If you haven’t voted, and you want to, the links are on my sidebar.

I owe you. I mean that. Aunt Becky has got your back. I know you have mine.

Dear Aunt Becky,

I just had my performance review at work and the one criticism my boss gave me was that I need to work on my “ability to work with diverse types of co-workers who bring different skill sets, learning styles, learning paces, and work strategies,” (i.e. I have to learn how to better work with the morons we keep hiring). How do I do this with out smacking people?

Thanks!

boobarella

First off, let me say that I am sorry; that sucks. Sounds like many a Fearless Leader that I have had throughout my pathetically sorted working career.

Now this is how I would try and handle going in to work every day considering that quitting probably isn’t an option and if you’re like me, becoming an heiress is probably out of the question (although, I pray daily).

Remember this: The Big Boss looks for a certain pinhead type of person to be a middle manager. This type of person likes to swing around a bunch of words that don’t really make sense combined but sound efficient all strung together and are guaranteed to make the employee scratch their head, bewildered and angsty.

My suggestion, outside of a raging pill addiction, is to rent Office Space (or I can burn you a copy) and remember that while you’ll move to a different position and be happier being, well, you, this person will be stuck being Pinheaded Fearless Leader for the rest of their pathetic fucking life.

Dear Aunt Becky,

I’m 43 yrs old I just came back from my yearly 10,000 mile check up and I’m a little worried. Every year in the past it’s been pretty straight forward,feet planted, knees apart, deep breath, cold alien instrument inserted, scrape, and we’re done.

This time was a little different. My doctor had to try 3 different alien instruments, and she still couldn’t locate my cervix!! She assured me that it’s still there, but has referred me to a OBGYN just to make sure. Is this a common occurrence in women getting on in years? Is it possible that my cervix has dried up due to lack of use? Could it have fallen out when I wasn’t looking? Final question.. Do I even need a cervix if I’m not planning on birthing anything again?

Now, I am no expert in vaginas, I know, I own one myself and have been known to operate it, and maybe I’ve even confessed to The Internet that I might even be afraid of mine, so I can assure you that I’ve never seen my own cervix, but here’s my guess.

I think your cervix is probably hanging out with Jimmy Hoffa’s body, my old gym shorts (which may be in the dank crawl space at my parents house)(also: isn’t ‘dank’ a great word?), my virginity, (presumably) your virginity, 40,000 skin cells, that famous painting by that dead guy that’s gone missing and of course, the Mountain of Light Diamond.

All in all, I think your cervix is probably pretty happy where it is. Minus the gym shorts. Which should probably be burned.

Dear Aunt Becky,
When my obvious insanity doesn’t put guys off, I do get asked out sometimes. Usually by guys that I have no interest in and act like sad, lost puppies when they are around me. How would you recommend I reject them without completely breaking their soul?

Signed,
It’s Not Me, It’s Definitely You

Now, Gentle Reader of Mine, I should warn you that I was (and probably am still) exceedingly bad at matters of the heart and I am terrified at the thought of one of my children asking me for Love Advice. I may refer them to YOU, my wise blog readers. Pack mentality rules, and you guys always know more than I do.

But here is my snark free advice and you must not fail where Your Aunt Becky always did: you MUST be firm and kind without giving in to these poor guys. You are not doing them any favors by stringing them along and agreeing to a movie or dinner.

Your Aunt Becky could have learned much from her own advice here. Please, firm and clear: “I am not going to go to dinner with you. Thank you for your offer. Good-bye.”

Please, let Your Aunt Becky know how it goes.

Be strong, my sister. STRONG.

Why do Chinese restaurants give you rice with every single entree that you order? On Sunday, I ordered Sesame chicken (1 entree) and Vegetable Fried Rice (the second entree) from a Chinsese take out place. (In the interest of complete disclosure, I got a small Won Ton soup as well).

When I got home, I found out that they had also given me two(2) orders of white steamed rice! So, essentially they gave me white rice with my fried rice. I threw them both out.

Why would anyone want white rice with their fried rice?

I am pretty sure that your Chinese restaurant either believes that my children live with you, because they both seem to subsist on a White Stuff Only diet (don’t ask, don’t tell) or that they are running an undercover front for an awesomely illegal organization and they don’t want to alert you so they bribe you with food.

I think that’s a pretty sweet deal. You can ship your white rice to me. You can mail rice, right? Certainly nothing could go wrong with mailing perishable food, right?

Dear Aunt Becky,
My mother in law feels the need to fill my child full of crackers just before ingesting a nutritional balanced dinner. Of course said child refused to eat said dinner because he is full of said crackers. Is it ok to skull drag her dumbass and punt her head across the yard for such a deed?

I would say that this is only an acceptable answer if you can somehow manage to capture the entire thing on video so that you can then upload it onto the Internet so that I can watch it over and over when I’m having a bad day. Because that mental image is DELICIOUS.

*sighs*

I had the same Epic Battle Royale over juice. My mother seemed sure that juice was the sweet, sweet nectar of the gods, which made my son decide that food was then not worth eating. Ever. Obviously, you know the rub.

If talking to gently doesn’t work (“you know that he DOES need to eat dinner, and crackers aren’t dinner…”), and if talking to your kid doesn’t work (“crackers aren’t ACTUALLY dinner…”), I’d say punting is the only option left.

And then Youtube, there you go.

If you do NOT put this on Youtube, I will hunt you down.

Hi Aunt Becky!

After reading about your struggles with sleep, and those damn siberian farting squirrels (it’s a real phenomenon, people!), I was wondering if you have any advice on approaching the topic with a doctor.

I’ve attempted to drop hints at appointments in the past, but the doctor tends to head toward the “Are you depressed? Maybe some SSRIs would help you sleep…” Path. Nope, not depressed. Slightly stabby from lack of sleep, but not depressed. I’m just an extremely light sleeper and have trouble falling asleep if there is any audible noise. Earplugs don’t help, and otc stuff like benadryl doesn’t cut it.

Thanks in advance!

‘Literally Sleepless in PA

Those fucking squirrels are everywhere. Assholes.

Man, that’s a tough conversation to have with your doctor, especially if you have one that seems convinced that you’re depressed. Which, if you’re not sleeping, dude, you know you’re just NOT SLEEPING. It’s gonna make you loopy, not depressed.

My advice is this: try to be firm and clear. Go in to the doctor SPECIFICALLY to talk about this. Arm yourself with a notepad where you’ve written yourself a simple script. I tend to get all stupid around doctors after years of having them not listen to me, so having something I can keep repeating helps me out.

If he/she doesn’t listen. Go to someone else. You’re not alone.

(Unisom works best for me, by the by)

You have my FULL BLESSING to punch the next person to suggest warm milk to you. Good luck. Let me know how it goes.

Aunt Becky, can you talk a bit about trolling? What’s your policy on responding/ ignoring/ deleting comments?

Why of course I can, Gentle Reader, because as you know, Your Aunt Becky can talk at great length about nothing at all because I am a blogger and this is what we do.

Truthfully, though, I have no such policy in place in regards to trolls.

But let’s back up for a second, shall we? An Internet Troll, for those of you not in the know, has many definitions, ranging from:

• Someone who expresses dissenting opinions “I don’t agree with what you say.”
• Someone who comes to a blog trying to cause deliberate harm, “You’re a fucking assbag and you should be put out of your misery”
• Someone who tries to pick a fight with you or your readers for the sake of being controversial, “God, you’re all a bunch of sheep” or “I hate women because they are the weaker sex.”
• Someone who is stating misinformation, “Aunt Becky can divide by zero.”

In the years that I have blogged, I will be honest with you, I can count on (barely) my two hands the trollish comments that I have gotten, which I know, wipe that look of shock off your face, I know. I’m surprised too. Really, I am.

Maybe I shouldn’t be, though. I don’t tend to court controversy, though, and I keep my nose away from most of the mommy wars because I don’t find them worth my time or effort. Besides, 50 million Ethiopian pygmies don’t give a flying shit, why should I bother getting involved?

I’d much rather pluck my leg hairs out one by ever-loving one than express my deep and meaningful opinions on the latest thing we’re polarizing about THIS week, because OBVIOUSLY.

I’ve deleted one nasty comment once, and that was the day that I got booted from my lovely three day stint in the hospital broom closet for suspected pre-eclampsia and some ass-bag calling me out for being boring just didn’t need to be published that day.

Most people, though, I’ve learned, are perfectly lovely. I treat most of the people that I have met through my blog as they are my friends and I do my best to keep up with everyone. Of the 8 or so trollish comments that I’ve had, probably 5 of them have apologized to me later on, which I’d say is a pretty decent track record.

Part of it too, though, is burying my head in the sand. I no longer have a stats program that records any incoming links and I do not have a google alert on my blog name, so if people are talking smack about me, I am not privy to it.

I think I like it better that way.

So until I see otherwise, I don’t plan on having any sort of policy on trolls. Unless they’re fucking with my people. In which case I will smack a bitch DOWN.

Gentle Internet, what is/would your policy on trolls be?

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And, as always, lovies, if I’ve left anything out, please, add in what you will. Also, please don’t be afraid by the huge jump in the number of comments you see after my posts. They’re due to the threaded comments which add a comment every time *I* add a comment, which make me look impossibly cooler than I am.

Dear Aunt Becky,

I am a mom of an 8 month old beautiful (and perfect, of course) little girl. One of my closest friends has a 6 month old son. During our pregnancies, we were both really excited to have kids so close together, saying they could grow up together like siblings.

But after my friend had her baby, she changed. I know everyone changes after they have their kids, but this is extreme change. She has this holier than thou attitude, judges all of my decisions as a mother (and everyone else’s parenting choices), and it just seems that now that she has a child, she’s looking down her nose at everyone. I love my daughter, and do what’s best for her, but my friend takes the cake when it comes to overprotective. She won’t take her child outside for more than a trip to and from the car for fear of mosquito’s and *gasp!* the sun. She won’t let anyone hold her baby for more than a few minutes. I could go on and on. Normally, I’d find this behavior to be overprotective, but wouldn’t think much of it.

However, she’ll make rude comments to me when I do take my daughter into the sun or let other people hold her, or even babysit her. I let this go in the beginning, thinking it may be a postpartum issue, but it’s gotten to the point that I’m sort of ready to end this friendship, but I feel horrible for doing it. When you have a friend that goes absolutely insane judgmental after having a child, do you stick by and hope it will go away, or say “Peace out” and head your separate ways? Is there a way to suggest she speak with her doctor about postpartum depression without offending her?

———————

There are a lot of really cutesy terms people could make up to call your “friend.” They’d probably involve a lot of hyphens and Capitol Letters and maybe some RANDOMLY CAPITALIZED WORDS, but I’m going to be uncharacteristically brief here: I’m afraid that your friend has turned into a kind of bitch.

It happens sometimes to new parents, and forgive me if I’m wrong here, because maybe I am, but their personalities, well, sometimes they change.

I don’t imagine that there’s any way that you’re going to politely be able to tell your friend that she’s being insane because she won’t see it and that she should seek help because I’m sure that she thinks that she’s being nothing but rational.

YOU, my friend, will be made out to be the asshole no matter how delicately you phrase it and I’m sorry. I know a couple people that I have thought about politely nudging toward Prozac and have decided to keep my wide trap shut for once in my life. There is just no way to say it without looking like a jackass.

Maybe, just maybe, your friend will return to who she was, but only if she realizes that there was a problem on her own (or at the suggestion of her spouse). Could you speak with the spouse?

If you can’t, I’d walk, nay RUN away from this person, because if there is ANYTHING that I have learned from being a parent for over 8 years it is this: people who live their lives FOR their children are not going to be your friend.

*Gasp, won’t SOMEONE think of the CHILDREN?!?*

They will constantly be comparing their Darling Johnny to your much less adorable Little Billy. Noting you will ever do will pass muster. I’m sorry. In this case, it’s really not you, it’s her and her Perfect Little Suzie. I promise. You cannot possibly win.

Being the eternal optimist in pessimist’s clothing, I’d probably distance myself as much as possible, because REALLY, who needs to be badgered by a friend that often, while hoping that my friend would come back. But really, I’d probably prepare myself for the worst.

You do always seem to lose people during the major transitions in life. I’m sorry, love. It’s not you, it’s her.

——————-

Will I ever reach a point where my appearance matters more to me than the appearance of my kids? Or will I go through the rest of my life licking the PB off their cheeks and brushing the hair out of their face but personally shunning a mirror like the vampire I am?

With the way that my mother still lunges toward my brother and I if she detects the slightest hint of a pimple forming on either of our delicate hairlines, I’m assuming that the answer is no. But she was wearing earrings today and, well, I didn’t brush my hair when I left the house to go blow a wad of cash on clothes for my kids. I own 3 shirts that fit properly and my children could go months without doing laundry.

Also: do you want to make out with me now? I’ll let you touch my boob.

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How do I win at LIFE, Aunt Becky?

I’m pretty sure it does NOT involve mayo, pickle relish OR John Mayer, but I’m sensing that a lot of you may disagree with me on this one.

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Because this felt like I ended it really abruptly (AND because I felt all naked today from not posting today–posting every day of the week is kind of—stalkery on my end, isn’t it? Like, I should I give YOU a break from me and my stupid antics or something.) I am presenting you with a festive shot of my daughter:

She’s too young to run away yet, but the look in her eyes is pleading, Internet, please, please…

….pass me some yogurt.

Hey Aunt Becky,

My husband hates my pets. I have 5 smelly guinea pigs and he is always reminding me of how smelly and worthless they are. I love them, of course, so I am not sure how to find that perfect marital compromise with this situation. What is a lowly hog-keeper to do?

And yes, I know they are delicious food animals but we are not yet in *NEED* of eating them.

Yet.

Okay, so I added the “yet” in there myself because it felt good, but I should tell you, my Internet friends, that my delicate reader is not in any danger of eating her darling guinea pigs. Which, I would say, are probably not edible. I mean, *shudder, shudder* I can’t eat meat that looks anything like what it did when it was alive, so there’s that, but moving away from MY neuroses.

This, Gentle Reader, is a tricky situation indeed.

Obviously, your husband knew about your pets when he married you in the same way that I knew that The Daver had a roaming colony of socks that follow him wherever he goes (Oh LOOK! They had TWINS!!), but that doesn’t mean that I have to like it or cherish it or worship it and the socks, one would hope, aren’t alive. So, he knew, but it annoys him, that’s fair.

What’s also fair is that your husband is also not, I presume, perfect either.

Something that I would probably remind him of when he is harping about your annoying guinea pigs. Providing that you are not making him take care of them, which is NOT fair, and that you ARE taking steps to reduce their…annoyingness (I truthfully find guinea pigs adorable, but I know nothing about their odor or what living with one is like. I asked Dave and he informed me that they are “cool pets.”).

I might, if I were you, keep a detailed list of things that you can refer back to when he prattles on about your precious pigs, not to be HURLED HORRIBLY at him, just as a gentle nudge like a soft puff of air to remind him that we all have annoying hobbies.

If you need proof of this, ask The Daver to do a guest post about Tate, the world’s SHITTIEST hedgehog.

Marriage and compromise, she says with gritted teeth, go hand in motherfucking hand.

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Dear Aunt Becky:

I am a nursing student. But, hey, I actually want to be there. I could tell you long stories about mishaps as an office manager and my tearful story of being laid off, but…I’ll refrain. For now.

My question (even though you aren’t a fan of nursing any longer) is: LPN or RN? Should I stop in 10 months with my LPN, or go straight through and finish with my RN diploma?

I’m tired of teachers and professors and nursing school deans (aka salesmen) who, natch, want that rest of my poor poor wallet and student loans and would rather get the opinion of the ‘been there, done that’ crowd.

This would probably depend on where you’re living, but if you’re in the US, get thee your RN degree and DO NOT STOP WITH YOUR ASSOCIATES DEGREE IN NURSING (the associates degree, for those of you playing along at home, is the 2 year degree offered at many community colleges) if you can swing it. If at all possible, get your Bachelor’s degree (RN-BSN).

I know when I left the field, there was a lot of buzz about hospitals in my area hiring ONLY Bachelor’s prepared nurses. It will open up far more doors for you, although, to be fair, the associates prepared nurses I met had much better clinical experience that we did coming out of the bachelor’s programs. Many hospitals do offer programs for employees now, though, to turn their RN’s into RN-BSN’s, so keep that in mind as well.

Where I live, LPN’s mainly work in nursing homes and assisted living facilities, so if that’s what you want to do, then, that’s what you should get, but if you have the wherewithal to get through nursing school, DO IT.

And I happen to know a Super Overachieving Retired Nurse who used to TA for Organic, Inorganic, Biochemistry, Anatomy AND Physiology AND Pathophysiology* who lives in the computer and now goes by Aunt Becky, RN, BSN who’d be happy to help you out.

*Told you I was Super Becky, Overachiever

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What, exactly, is dark matter?

How the fuck should I know?

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Why does the rabbit have a mirror on a chain coming out it’s arse?

Wait, don’t you store your watch in your colon? Because I totally do.

I also store my car keys (well, one set of my car keys), one of my children (this varies), my iPhone, a wallet, my AmEx, a 12 pack of soda I picked up on sale for The Daver now that I can’t drink it any more *sobs*, a pack of mint gum to soothe my stomach, a pen I stole from a waitress at the Thai place down the street last week (the Pad Thai is phenomenal, you should try it!), a pack of salami just for kicks and some soap.

Because you never know when you’ll need soap. DO YOU?

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As always, please submit your questions to my dwindling stack (I’m making a neat stack of questions to be answered in kind of order!!!)(note the added exclamation points for added emphasis) of questions through the link on the sidebar because I’m not clever to comb through the comments.

If you feel kindly enough and you heart me, I have some awards I’m up for on my side bar that I would be ever-so-honored if you voted for me. I feel like a douche asking, but you know, I’d feel like more of a douche NOT asking, so, you know, obviously I do NOT win at life any more.

What makes a blogger a great blogger? You’re awesome and I’m fascinated on a daily basis when I read your blog. I have a blog, and I imagine I have a few readers at least, or I hope. I get 2 or 3 comments every time I blog, which excites me…but what can I do to get more people to comment on my blogs, and how do I go from just having a blog to having a great blog?

Well, first, thank you kindly for your sweet words. Flattery will, as you well know, get you everywhere with me, so would you like to come over so that I can maybe wax your car and cook you a ten course lunch or something?

First, my not-so-inclusive-list-of-Blogging-For-Dummies-Tips

Blogging is a tricky thing to quantify, because although there are a lot of “experts” who write articles about it on google, as any quick search will pull up, most of them don’t have jack shit to say. Seriously. I totally don’t have jack shit to say either, but I have never claimed to be an expert on anything whatsoever.

Except AWESOMENESS! And winning at LIFE!

But since you asked, I’ll try to answer. If you’re talking about starting a blog about a niche market, though-knitting, gardening, cooking, technology-make sure that you scour those site and stick with that topic. Join a forum about said topic and try to connect with like-minded people. But don’t expect people interested in Linux to be wowed by your Orchid Lovers UNITE!!! (or UNTIE!1!!) blog.

Cross pollination rarely works unless you have an established core audience, and even then, they’re probably not reading about your Fantasy Football Picks if they came to read your cookie recipes.

If you’re talking about personal blogs, like mine, well, it can be a really tricky niche to break into (with the saturation of blogs onto the web, let’s face it, they’re ALL tough to break into) as well.

In the blogging world, you need to have a product that other people want.

Some people offer advice. Or recipes. Or humor. Or pictures. Or tips and tricks. Or porn. Or escapism. If you can successfully offer this to people, you will have a great blog.

I’d start off by just… writing. Stories are a good place to start, but not everything makes a good story and not every story needs to be told. You’ll learn what works by reading what other bloggers that have been at it awhile do. The best personal blogs offer readers something that they are able to relate to.

Unfortunately, there is no THAT WAS EASY button when it comes to blogging.

Blogging successfully takes a lot of work. It’s mostly unpaid, it opens you up to all sorts of criticism and it’s about as glamorous as saying that you clean toilets with your tongue for a living. I spend hours a day blogging, writing, reading, commenting, tweeting, and keeping up with my friends and readers.

And as for the comment quandary:

If you want comments and you want to build a Loyal Internet Army, the only way that I know of (save for inviting the spam bots in) is to comment until your fingers bleed on other people’s blogs.

Go to Google reader, hook yourself up with one, add a bunch of blogs, and comment like crazy. I’m a hell of a lot more likely to keep tabs on people who are loyal to me and I know that other people feel the same way. When I started blogging here, I had been blogging elsewhere for several years prior, and my friends (ACTUAL friends, as in people who personally have squeezed my hot ass) followed me here.

It took at least 2.5 months of solid comments and near-daily posting for a single person other than my friends to comment here. So before you feel too self-conscious about your own lack of comments, do remember that. That alone should keep you warm on many a cold night.

Also, a technique for getting comments much less distasteful than outright begging (or whining) for comments is asking a question or trying to engage your readers. If you want to build a loyal community, you should make sure to foster that part of it. Build your blog roll, know your readers, comment like mad.

If that is too much work for you then you probably won’t have a Blogging Empire.

But blogging, they say, is SO like 2002 anyway, so maybe that’s a good thing.

Besides, who the hell am I to tell you anything?

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Does The Daver ever totally freak out on you about your posts? My husband is having a hard time living with me when I write even a whisper that involves him. We normally get along pretty swell, except when he is featured in my blog. Then he gets paranoid and angry. Does the Daver every say, WTF, Becky?!

Will you be shocked to learn that my answer here is actually a “no?”

Hear me out: as I’ve said on countless occasions, and what will serve as Exhibits A, B, C AND D at my trial, Dave plugged me into a blog so that I would stop talking to him. When you see how prolific I am, this must make some sense to you.

If you do go back into the archives during a particularly boring masochistic (or is it sadistic? I cannot be sure.) day, you’d note that I did, at one point talk about The Daver more than I do now.

I’m not sure if I got more self-absorbed or if The Daver got more boring, or a little of both, but I just sort of…stopped. Maybe it’s because I don’t see him much anymore, or maybe because our private time is private and while it does appear that I do let it all hang out, I don’t really, I don’t know.

One time and only one time have I written anything scathing about The Daver and it was on the day before my birthday last year (I won’t link to it, but if you’re industrious, you can find it) and he told me that he just didn’t read it.

It’s weird, I guess, since Daver is really a private guy and I would probably let the mail-man examine my cervix if he asked nicely and it were for med school class or something, but we have it worked out pretty well. I suppose he trusts me not to fuck it up too badly or he knows that he has enough blackmail material on me to shame me underground for years.

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(DANCE PARTY!!)

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Anything you other bloggers out there care to add?

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As always, ladies and gentlemen, feel free to submit your questions to Ask Aunt Becky (the linky-poo on the sidebar). I have been trying answer them in an order that makes sense, in case you’re wondering why I haven’t been answering your question.

Since I am always wondering whether or not I should join the ranks of blogging, I am wondering how you figure out what your boundaries are as far as what you allow yourself to blog about?

I just cant figure it all out? be myself, kids with real names or not, pictures of kids or no, etc etc….. everytime I think yes I am going to do it, I get hung up in the details and am too afraid to start.

Hm, blogging, good question.

There are, of course, a ton of different opinions when it comes to blogging, because what would life be like without a zillion different people all claiming to be Know What’s Right? (answer: boring)

Anyway.

So, on the one end of the spectrum, you have the people who feel that absolutely under no circumstances whatsoever should one put out on The Internet stories and/or pictures about your family. Why, there could be a Pervert looking! Or a Child Molester! Or Your Mother-In-Law!

They have a point: one cannot, even with a password protected blog, control who reads what they write.

Then you have the people who make up nicknames for their children and spouse, and often blur out their faces, so as to be as anonymous as one can be on The Internet (which we all know is never completely anonymous). I know a lot of people who go this route and mostly, especially in the cases of using initials rather than actual nicknames I get confused and click away.

(also, any variation of “Hubs” or DH is slightly more saccharine than necessary)

My brain is raisin-sized on a good day, and I am not about to fill it clear up trying to remember if FJ is Son #1 or Son #2 because life is too short. So my advice for anyone who wants to go this route: please, PLEASE give your kid a fake NAME. A REAL fake name. I can remember a name. Initials I cannot.

After this, you have the people like me, who use their real name, but don’t include everything about their life. Yes, you know my name because I am NOT clever enough to come up with a pseudonym and I do not believe that I am not interesting enough to warrant one. I find the cloak-and-dagger stuff a little silly, so I don’t bother.

BUT I SEE WHY OTHER PEOPLE DO.

I often do include pictures of my children, although not with every post and I do not blog exhaustively about them. Because, while I find them endlessly entertaining, they are just like any other child and I don’t think that their every syllable deserves a post. I, on the other hand, am ENDLESSLY fascinating.

(that was a joke)

So my advice to you, o! aspiring blogger is this: you must blog for the only person that matters: you. Because I have been at this for many years and am still waiting on both fame AND the legions of screaming teenage girls.

Whatever you do, make sure that you are absolutely comfortable with whatever it is that you do, prepared to own your words at any cost, because you never know whose eyeballs they will wind up in front of.

I hope, Gentle Reader, that this helps,

Love,

Aunt Becky

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All right, The Internet, dish. I want your take on this.

Throw your questions at me for next week’s round of Ask Aunt Becky. I’m getting some sweet ass questions that I can actually answer. Shocking, I know!

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Be sure to cast your vote for your favorite entry in “Aunt Becky Travels The World And Does Stuff.”

Voting ends on the 15th of September.

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I have been nominated for a couple of awards, two on my sidebar at the top and one here. They do both annoyingly require registration, but if you’d be inclined, I’d be thrilled.

Seriously, thank you to all who voted. I owe you deep tongue kisses. Or vodka. OR ALL OF THE ABOVE.

Is it trashy to hang your child’s art work (one construction paper size piece from each child) on the storm door?

Oh, Gentle Reader, if only you knew how many nights I stayed awake, soaking the pages of the newest Pottery Barn catalog with my drool, dreaming, just dreaming of the days when my sofa might match the drapes and I might be able to use my coffee table for more than a toddler-jumping-off platform (it is also used, I want to add, as a bed for Auggie. Which, I know. Huh?). I fantasize about the days when I will have end-table books and breakable hurricane lamps on my dining room table.

Truth be told, I fantasize about being a size 4, too, and, well, yeah.

I’m no (insert home style star here) and if I had to describe my house, it would be kid chic, complete with a side of dog and cat fur! So I may not be the best person to ask this question to, but I will try to answer you proud.

Providing that you’re not trying to score a centerfold spread in Architectural Digest or act like you live in a house that has no kids, I say why not? Providing, of course, that the drawings aren’t of anything graphic (OR DECIPHERABLE if so) and/or containing: penises, vaginas, butts, poop, or people in various stages of killing each other.

Unless, of course, you’re trying to scare off potential door-to-door salespeople or people who want to tell you about how God Can Save YOU. Then, I would be as graphic and foul as possible.

If it’s cute and it makes you happy to look at and you don’t mind telling the world that you have kids, I’d say go for it.

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I have a family member who gives Mister and I, and our children, things we really don’t need. (Or want) This person is a semi-compulsive shopper in recovery, and I think a lot of her “gifting” is actually “cleaning off a shelf.” I’ve tried to hint that we really don’t need these things, without sounding like an ungrateful bitch.

What really makes me feel bad is that she takes the time to wrap them, and pays good money to ship them across four states. Is it rude to say, “Let’s just exchange one gift per person this Christmas.” Which would be code for, “Please don’t pay Fed Ex to ship me a(nother) salad spinner, a shoe shining kit, a pair of socks with cats on them, and a flashlight, wrapped in red and green paper.” (Ugly! Hateful!) Help!

Now this, my dear friend is a tricky question.

First, I would probably thank her for her generosity (on, at least, the phone, if not in person. Email can be tricky because tone cannot be interpreted) as kindly as possible, because, well, that’s polite. Then, as she’s ‘you’re welcoming you,’ I’d throw in a really, really, really sweet sounding “you really don’t have to go to all the trouble!”

I would probably leave it at that so as not to offend her.

If she persists (getting rid of some of this stuff may be sort of a gift in and of itself to her, because perhaps it makes her feel as though she’s really sending the stuff to a good home) sending gifts, I would donate them to charity.

Because I understand that you need another whimsical Santa-head oven mitt like you need a hole in your head.

Trust me.

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Hey Aunt Becky,

Since you’re such a people person, what thoughts do you have on avoiding relatives who plan on sleeping (and yelling) at your house for a week during Christmas WITHOUT actually telling them to their face how much you can’t stand them?

No this is not early, they just ordered their plane tickets on the internet, and I do not have the money to send my family of five flying in the opposite direction.

Thoughts?

“In the Middle” (Thanks, I’ve always wanted to use a corny pseudonym.)

ps. Something is messed up on the sight right under “ask”.

First, corny pseudonyms are drastically underused today, Aunt Becky agrees*.

If being honest about this is out of the question and straight up mentioning (or having your spouse say) that having a houseful of guests isn’t feasible, I would go with one of the following options:

Option 1: I would do whatever (and I MEAN whatever) I could to make sure that they stayed in a hotel. Your sanity is worth a hell of a lot, and if you’re dreading Christmas already (SO been there), then maybe you can find a cheap rate for a nearby hotel. You could GRACEFULLY, tactfully insist that they stay here, as your gift to either them, or to you.

Option 2: Depending on your relationship with them, if it were good enough, I might ask at some point (in my stupidest, I don’t know anything tone) “Oh! Where are you staying!? I hear there are some AWESOME rates at (name local hotel). Want their number?” Be forceful, stupid sounding and gentle at the same time.

Option 3: Convince your family that you have some horrible communicable disease like rabies and they cannot possibly be exposed! O! The humanity!

Option 4: Call your doctor and get a prescription for Xanax and spend your holidays living on a fluffy, pink cloud where you won’t care that everyone is yelling at you.

Option 5: Call your liquor store and get a case of (insert your drink of choice) and spend your holidays living on a fluffy, pink cloud where you won’t care that everyone is yelling at you.

Option 6: Move out for that week. Fake a work trip, a separation, whatever, and get the hell out of there.

Option 7: Praise Sweet Merciful Baby Jesus that your family doesn’t live closer and try and grin and bear it. Then say a prayer thanking Sweet Baby Jesus that the holidays only come once a year.

Now, none of these options excludes the other, so if you like a little from Column A and a little of Beaker B, feel free to mix them up.

I wish you good luck, my friend. Good luck indeed.

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As always, should you have a burning question for Aunt Becky other than “How does The Daver stand you?” (that has already been answered in my FAQ page), please go over to my sidebar and click on the “Go Ask Aunt Becky” page. You can freely and anonymously send me questions, which I will answer every Sunday.

Also, if you would like, I have been nominated for a couple of awards, two on my sidebar at the top and one here. They do both annoyingly require registration, but if you’d be inclined, I’d be thrilled. Seriously, thank you to all who voted. I owe you.

Deadline for entry into my contest to give away all my BlogHer swag is September 8th. I’m afraid (read: thrilled to be done with owning business cards) I have no more cards to give anymore.

AND, if you have anything RESPECTFUL that you want to add here in the comments, go ahead! Just be nice to these people.

*get it!?! HA.

If you’re reading this in a reader, because you are a brilliant soul (Google Reader is not only my BFF but my lover and also, I would tongue kiss it if I could)(maybe some days I do)(shut UP), I’d ask you kindly to click through and see my fancy new design! It was done by the fabulous admin at Mommy Brained.

See, now, I know her REAL name, but unlike my stupid ass, she goes by “admin.” Intentional or not, I’m not positive. But she rules, and you really should check her out if you want a site design. And a laugh.

Along with my new design, I have decided that I am going to start my own (crappy) advice column, because the world needs to know more of my worthless opinions, right? (don’t answer that) On my sidebar, you will see a new page added “Go Ask Aunt Becky” and if you click on it, a page will open! Like delicious magic!

Your questions can be submitted directly through the site allowing for some degree of anonymity, because sometimes, shit the things I want to know aren’t really something I want attached to my good name.

The answers will air on Sundays (also known in my house as Post Secret Days) and any other time I feel the need to answer something rather than try and come up with a real, actual post.

(also, I’ve been trying to answer comments IN the comments. Because I win at LIFE.)

To answer the most burning and frequent questions that I will no doubt get, let me strike preemptively:

1) I’d guess that my sexy ass is a gift from God and genetics.

2) That rash on your crotch is scabies and no, I will not look at it.

You’re welcome.