Hi Aunt Becky,

I was in a long relationship that ended last September. When it ended, I had a lot of support from one of my best male friends (someone I’ve known for six years from university, who has always been someone I talk to a lot and share very honest things with).

Naturally, as these things do happen, I started having more-than-just-friends feelings for him.  He is a wonderful person (I’ve always thought so), we have TONS in common, we talk daily (sometimes for hours, and we’ve done this for awhile).  Last week he and I sort of admitted that we have feelings for each other.

It’s good, and I’m happy.  If we were to be together, I think it would be one of the easiest relationships ever (we already have the same social group, like the same things, have families that already like each of us, go to the same major social events, etc).  There’s one thing though, that makes me feel slightly bad and guilty.

Three years ago, he was in a relationship with my childhood best friend (who is not in our university group of friends).  They had met at a party that I had invited her to, they dated for a few months and then called it off.. and then seven or eight months after that they were back together, and lasted for a whole year.  It’s now been another full year since they’ve broken up for good.  She and I used to be very close, but we have gone in slightly different directions so I don’t see her that often, and only talk to her occasionally these days.  We have a long history together, though.

I didn’t want to lie, so I sent her an email explaining that… “as much as I know it’s awkward, I’m having feelings for her ex-boyfriend.”  Her reply was that “she knows she can’t stop me, but that she finds it hurtful and weird.”

I like him… A LOT.  I’m just feeling bad that he has a history with her.

Do you have thoughts or advice for situations like this?  Right now I’m leaning towards moving the relationship forward, despite her, because I really believe he and I can be good together… does that make me a horrible person?

Signed,
Worst Best Friend Ever

Well, Prankster, I don’t think this makes you a horrible person. I can see both sides of the situation and I’m willing that the other Pranksters will be polarized in their advice to you.

The bottom line is this: are you willing to write off her friendship? Because that’s the worst case scenario: you lose her and you lose any mutual friends who may choose to side with her.

You can’t help what your heart wants and she can’t help how she feels about what your heart wants. Which can you live with?

I wish you luck, Prankster. That is certainly a tricky situation.

Greetings Aunt Becky!

I’m looking for your sage advice or at the least a smart ass remark.

Recently, I was in Dominican Republic on holiday.  Met a kind man from Amsterdam.  We had many drinks.  I facetiously said I would come to Amsterdam over Christmas to hang out.  For the sake of having fun in another country and having a cool tour guide.  He agreed we would have fun.

Not wanting to be alone over the holiday, I booked a ticket and room.  I mean, only live once and I was planning on a trip anyways, just hadn’t figured where. I informed him and he said his heart is filled with joy. He is now ending emails with the L Bomb.

Should I be freaked out?

Oh Prankster, I’m so sorry that your email was stuffed unceremoniously into the wrong folder, blocking it from my sight and rendering me incapable of answering you in a timely manner. HOW DARE MY EMAIL KEEP US APART!

I’m not, perhaps, the most romantic person, but I have been known to end emails with “Much Love,” or, “Love Always,” or “xoxo,” because I hate the way “Sincerely,” looks. “Sincerely,” looks, well, kinda insincere, doesn’t it?

That said, I’ve got a story of a good creepers that I dated to regale you with tomorrow.

Guys who drop the L-Bomb right away creep me the fuck out. But I’m as romantic as a booger, so there’s that. If I were you (be glad – very glad – I am not you), I’d probably be a little squiggly and all PROCEED WITH CAUTION from here on out.

Dear Aunt Becky,

Yesterday I broke up with my boyfriend of a year and a half. I feel like it was the right thing to do since we were constantly fighting and growing unhappier with each other every day.

If it was the right thing to do, then why the hell does it have to hurt so much? I feel so lost and alone without him and can’t help thinking about the good times we’d had in the beginning before everything went downhill. I would give anything to have us back at the point when we were happy. But I know that that’s not probable or likely at all.

Is it going to suck this hard forever? And if it was the right thing to do, why do I feel like a huge pile of shit?

Love is an asshole. I’d punch it in the throat if I could.

The short story is that it does get better…eventually. The long story is, of course, that it takes a long fucking time and while you’re getting better, it hurts like hell.

The worse the breakup (for me), the better the relationship had once been. That doesn’t help much, though, does it? Platitudes are fucking bullshit. (so are pants)

I’m sorry as hell you’re hurting and I wish that I could make it better. If you were closer, I’d invite you over for some slasher flicks and popcorn (I hate girly flicks) and maybe even some chocolate ice cream.

Sending you a big, fat, awkward-lasts-too-long-kind of hug right now.

Lots of love.

——————–

All right Pranksters, time to answer with smarter things, the kind I have egregiously overlooked because I was too busy thinking about how much I needed a real, live dancing cactus. Because I really, really do.

——————-

There’s all kinds of blogging discussions to be had all over at my other two blogs. Band Back Together has two and Mushroom Printing has one.

(bloggies)

Dear Aunt Becky,

Hypothetically, let’s say you have an obese ‘friend’ (more than acquaintance, not BFF’s). You see something that you think would interest them because of their size, like a show or a blog. Do you tell them about it knowing they’ll make the connection to their size? Or just keep it to yourself?

*whistles* Oh Prankster, this question seems positively fraught with peril.

My dad gave me two pieces of advice (he’s given me WAY more than that):

1) “Put on some goddamned pants, Rebecca.”

3) Don’t ever talk shit about the in-laws, ask if someone is pregnant unless the baby is hanging out of their vagina, or bring up weight.

Recently, I got a PR pitch, something that rarely happens to me because I swear a lot (because swearing = awesome), so I was a little flattered. This company was offering me free plus-sized clothes.

Awkward.

I’m not plus-sized. I don’t know that you’d know what I weigh or what size I wear by reading my blog or anything, but this was a little…awkward. It didn’t hurt my feelings or anything. I mean, I’m more offended when someone expects me to jump up and down for a $5 box of chocolates, but if I’d gotten the pitch when I still losing the baby weight? I might not have liked it. No, scratch that, I’d have cried. I was really sensitive about it.

So, I don’t know that I can tell you what you should do since I don’t know you or her or your relationship to her, but I’ll tell you that I ignored my dad’s first rule (pants are bullshit, after all), but I do try and follow number two. Unless she’s asking you for referral, I think this is better left alone. Hurt feelings aren’t easily mended.

Pranksters? Advice?

Dear Aunt Becky,

The night I was born, my mother called my father at 1am in the morning saying “This baby will not go to sleep!” And I basically haven’t slept ever since.

Quite literally from the day I was born, I’ve been an insomniac. Actually, even worse than an insomniac, I’ve been a nocturnal insomniac. A term I’m 20% certain I made up, meaning I’m about 99% more likely to have luck falling asleep during the day than at night. No matter how exhausted I feel during the day, the sun goes down and suddenly I’m wide awake. I’m not sure if I’m a vampire or an opossum, but either way, it’s ANNOYING!

I’m 20 1/2 years old and this thing has been messing up my life my. whole. life. I would rather like to NOT go through the remainder of my life feeling like a zombie. As I have everyday of my life thus far. And sleeping pills are NOT the answer! So speaking to a fellow insomniac and fellow merry pranksters, are there any magic tricks I can try or voodoo people I can see? Because my internal clock really needs to be reset.

Sincerely,

Sleepless In A City Other Than Seattle

Oh Prankster, my Prankster, I’d love to churn out something flip and witty and coy about insomnia, but I can’t because I haven’t slept properly in weeks.

Like you, I’m nocturnal. I’ve spent thirty years trying to reverse this. Thirty years trying to fit into a world that doesn’t operate on my schedule. And you know what I’ve learned? I can’t.

I also go through cycles where sleep doesn’t come no matter what I do. Insomnia is a wily bastard. I have no doubt that someone like Heath Leger, who reportedly suffered insomnia, was just trying to get some freaking sleep.

As for curing your insomnia, I wish like hell I had anything of substance to offer you. I write (in my head) when I can’t sleep. I take sleep aids. I’ve tried a bedtime routine and chamomile tea and candles and visualization and meditation and relaxation and exercise and sex and melatonin there’s nothing that’s much helped me. I’m a shitty sleeper.

Tonight I’m certain I’ll be up with some catchy commercial jingle in my head because it’s not bad enough that I can’t sleep – I have to hear the Turn The (fucking) Tub Around song while I lay in bed watching the minutes tick by growing more and more irritated with each passing second.

Maybe I’ll catch you on IM sometime.

Pranksters? Any advice for Sleepless and Your Aunt Becky?

So, Pranksters, I have a Go Ask Aunt Becky question up over here and it’s about cosmetic surgery. As in: what would you tell your daughter if you were going to be getting a boob job? I haven’t been able to look at the comments because I’m terrified that I’m being shredded in them. Plastic surgery, it seems, is one of those things that people get very up in arms about.

And, as always, please feel free to pick up where I left off in the comments. I’ll be interested to hear what you have to say in response to all of these questions. Because, obviously.

Blah, blah, blah, BLOGGIES.

Dear Aunt Becky,

I WANT TO BE A FAMOUS BLOBBER LIKE AUNT BECKY!!* Well, actually no. I don’t.

I have a blog that exactly 9 people read (if they read it!) and it’s really for my creative outlet. My problem is my husband.  He doesn’t like when I put ANYTHING that’s not generic fluff on it.  I have a nasty habit of bottling things up, and when I can write about it, I can let it go. This happened recently and he was furious that I put our “business” “out there”.  An old friend’s wife read it, mangled it up and “told on me”. (He didn’t care about the issue that I wrote about though!! Dumb men).

So, how do I effectively blog without pissing off the people I need to write about?

Oh Prankster, it’s the age-old blobber issue: how much is too much? And I’m afraid that there’s no “right” answer, it’s all situational.

Here’s what I say about how much to share on your blog (and OH I am a bad person to ask this question):

1) Don’t put anything on the Internet you wouldn’t wear on a shirt.

B) Don’t lie.

3) It’s a small Internet after all.

4) People thrive on The Dramaz.

87) Own your words.

c) Whatever you write will probably be read by the person you’re writing about, especially if it’s a rant.

9) Facebook has made anonymity a hell of a lot harder.

28) And most stories, if you remove all of the identifying details and characteristics, well, they’re pretty dull. Plus, by that point, your story has lost most of it’s conviction because you’re all, “I’m mad because someone I can’t tell you about did something bad that I can’t mention because obviously.”

Bor-ING.

So.

The ethical quandary remains. How do you decide how much to share? What the hell is oversharing? WHY DOESN’T SOMEONE THINK OF THE CHILDREN!?!?! *wrings hands*

This is the bottom line. What you share depends entirely upon how much shit you want to take. You have to imagine that every person you’re talking about is sitting there, reading your words, or looking for themselves in there, and interpreting words on a screen without the benefit of facial cues, THEN write from that perspective.

Writing on a blog gets especially complicated if your husband doesn’t appreciate the things you talk about. As far as that goes, you’re either going to have your way and write whatever you want, whenever you want, however you want it, and you’re going to make him upset or he’s going to make you upset because you’re censored. Or, perhaps, you can meet somewhere in the middle. That fuzzy, nebulous, undefinable grey area.

WHY WON’T SOMEONE THINK OF THE CHILDREN!?!

I don’t tend to write about conflicts that I have in my personal life. Most people I know (read: three) have the ability to read my blog and I need dramaz like I need a jello mold salad (blech). If I do write about anyone, I try and stick to facts and my own feelings about them.

If you want to write about people, you have to assume they’re going to read it and get pissed the hell off. It’s a calculated cost/benefit analysis for you.

Will the personal cost of drama be greater than the benefit of letting it out?

That, my good Prankster, is entirely up to you.

P.S. You can always go password protected for the ranty posts. Also: my bitch-slap group blog Mushroom Printing will gladly welcome you.

Dear Aunt Becky,

A woman I work with has, in the past several weeks and in the course of discussing project-related details, referred to me directly as “my love” and then later said “I love you” while in the presence of a superior.

Now, I’m willing to brush these events aside because 1- she’s way married, and 2- seriously?

But here’s the thing: this is the one woman who, if given the chance, I would R-U-N-N O-F-T with without any reservations and never look back.

Please confirm I’m crazy to suspect her words are nothing more than, well, friendly words.

Your pal,

stupid.

Sorry Prankster, I love you and all, but I’d venture a guess that her words are just that: words. Some people are more comfortable using pet names than others and apparently, my love, this woman is one of those.

I apologize, darling, but I’m guessing she’s just very friendly. Unless she’s grabbing your balls while she does it. Then, hm, well, maybe. Or maybe she just likes testicles.

Love you!

AB

—————-

So, Pranksters, what say you? How would you answer these questions?

*BEHOLD MY FAMOUS BLOBBERNESS. I AM BLOBBER, HEAR ME ROAR! IT’S THE EYE OF THE BLOBBE…okay, yeah. But that made me snort. “Famous” my ass.

Dear Aunt Becky,

I used to be a semi-balanced person who would get upset at stupid things but liked people pretty well. You know, normal. But since having a kid I have become a very cranky person, Aunt Becky. I get irritated when people don’t agree with me, even though I know people are allowed to have their own ideas. I’m insecure and taking everything way too personally, especially about how I raise my child. I find myself not even wanting to talk or write to people because I know I’m going to get annoyed by whatever responses I get, and that sucks since I really like talking and writing. How can I find my mojo again and stop being so damn sensitive?

Sincerely,
Tired of Defending My Opinions

So, there are two things I do when I get all IMMA CUT YOU MOTHERFUCKER over some stupid-ass Facebook status update or something. Okay, wait, I can’t count because there are three.

1) I log off Facebook because it’s about the stupidest thing on the planet (coming from someone who writes about herself on The Internet, that’s saying a lot). It’s also the one thing that’s bound to piss me the hell off. I mean, wait, you raise fake sheep in a fake farm and you’re judging me for my parenting choices? Hilarious. That’s Facebook for you. ANYWAY.

Since I’m probably fuming about Facebook and Jimmy Fucking Wales and fucking Mark Zuckerberg (Facebook founder)(now that John C. Mayer and I have finally resolved our fake fight)(John C. Mayer is now crying tears of relief again)(P.S. that was an awesome Prank, Pranksters): I do a couple of laps around the house.

Why? Because I’m all EYE OF THE FUCKING TIGER.

2) I yell “BITCH GIT ME CHICKEN.” Why? There’s no chicken. I hate chicken. Mostly, I yell it because it’s fucking hilarious and how can you take anything seriously if you yell that?

Then, I start laughing, because, really, I was mad at someone who FARMS FAKE CROPS. Um. There are so many layers of wrong there. And WOAH, that’s a whole lot of taking myself too seriously.

(you can, of course, remove any adjectives and replace them with yours. I don’t know that you’re mad at The Facebook. I just assume so because I usually am. Or Jimmy Fucking Wales. I hate that rat bastard)

3) This may be the most important and best part, because once you’ve let out some of that tension (running) and realized you’re taking someone who takes a quiz to determine which Disney Princess Describes Her Best while telling you that shopping at Target makes you a Satan worshiper too seriously; you need something to relax you.

There’s only ONE MAN for that job.

No, not vodka.

Oh yeah, that’s right. Happy little clouds. And BOB ROSS. Bob Motherfucking ROSS. You shut your whore mouth when Bob Ross is painting a happy motherfucking tree.

Now, if there’s anything better than listening to THAT GUY talk, I don’t know what it is. I don’t WANT to know what it is. I love Bob Ross. I love Bob Ross until it hurts. Bob Ross and his awesome happy little birds and and dude, the guy is so cheerful you just don’t know what to do. Bob Ross is calm. Bob Ross is awesome.

Bob Ross and his happy mountains will make you feel better. Even if you are like me and you have the artistic abilities of a thumb-less chimp living underwater.

Bob Ross will love me anyway.

Bob Ross loves you, too. And Bob Ross would never judge your parenting skills.

Jimmy Wales, however…

No, seriously, though, Jimmy Wales probably doesn’t hate you.

Probably.

Also, if you’re really feeling super-irritable and grumpy all the time, it could be a sign of something more like postpartum depression, which even Bob Ross doesn’t think is funny. So you should mention that to your doctor. Being irritable all the time isn’t totally normal unless you’re listening to John C. Mayer Justin Beaver.

Also also: you may never want to take my advice except for the part about talking to your doctor.

Because I am not someone who should give advice on something like this considering my archenemies are Jimmy Wales and Mark Zuckerberg (who, Pranksters, we NEED TO TAKE THE INTERNET AWAY FROM…SOMEHOW. JUST. I don’t know how).

————-

So, other Pranksters who are smarter than me and presumably have a smarter, better way to handle this stuff, HOW do you handle it?

You know it’s going to be a good week, Pranksters, when I have to put a disclaimer up. That said, it’s AUTISM DAY AGAIN!! The only thing I have to say is TRUST ME when I say that I’m not talking about a single one of you. You know that I value every one of your comments and frame them on my walls because they are always well thought-out and respectful. Also: hilarious.

So, before you’re all, ZOMG DOES SHE MEAN ME? Of course I don’t. I have never once been unhappy with a single comment you guys have left on the site ever. Honestly. I always WELCOME your stories and advice because that’s how I roll (this will make more sense once you read the post). If I’m talking about it, I want to hear what you know. Always. Including today.

Dear Aunt Becky,

Am I the only one who is sick of having the same pap thrown at me when the topic of my autistic child is being discussed? Well-intentioned friends and internet moles especially love the ‘Trip to France’ or whatever destination vacation a “normal” child is supposed to take us. I love my child, and I don’t feel like I missed out on a trip to Paris or Sweden or wherever. It’s been a real trip, but all children take us on a trip that sure as shit isn’t where we thought we’d go.

When I was a kid I’d ask my parents where they were going (without their 7 kids) and they’d respond, “Crazy.” I totally get it now that I’m a parent.

I don’t think a special diet will cure my child. In fact, I’m not looking for a cure. I don’t consider my son to be diseased. He has autism. He’s unique. I adore him. He’s funny, serious, frustrating, loving, rewarding, and much more. I don’t think anything I did while pregnant or when he was a baby caused this. Asperger’s runs in both my family and my husband’s family. Heck, if they’d been diagnosing it when we were kids, both my husband and I would qualify, as would my sister, my mother, etc.

Is it ok if I just bear the dirty looks when my son acts a little differently and don’t explain, “oh, he’s autistic?” I’m not excusing his behavior; just explaining, but I get tired of the rest of the conversation about dyes, carbs, hfcs, vaccinations, mercury, etc.

Thanks Aunt Becky!
Mama Lizard

So there was this one time I was out to dinner with my friends – friends I saw maybe once or twice a year – and I happened to make mention that I thought I might be lactose intolerant (spoiler alert! I’M NOT).

Well, there was a girl who was at the table behind us who overheard this conversation and decided to join in. She was lactose intolerant, you see, and milk gave her the squirts, and also she had a cat and a book and liked the color red and she spent the entire hour that we’d planned for dinner telling us about her lactose allergy.

I waited for her to shut up so that maybe I could sneak in that appropriate, “gee, thanks for the info, please shut your whore mouth and let me visit with my friends who I never see, and not you and PS you smell like mothballs,” but I couldn’t. Maybe I should have interrupted her rousing discussion of her fucking colon to tell her to take her squirty pooper somewhere else, but I was afraid she’d shiv me with her butter knife. She had shifty eyes.

I got this a lot before I learned a valuable lesson: shut your OWN whore mouth.

(Also: thar be crazies afoot!)

Alas, I digress.

When you have a common complaint like autism or migraines or a squirty pooper, the general knuckle-dragging, Mole Rat population tends to know a bit about it. Or at least, the sensationalized news bites that we’re bombarded with every freaking second.

So when you say something like, “My kid has autism,” sometimes people misinterpret that as, “Please, tell me all about the latest bullshit you heard from some non-medical Internet email forward!” Or, perhaps, “Please repeat what you saw when Jenny Fucking McCarthy went on Oprah and spewed her crap pseudoscience all over the place! I’d love to hear that soundbite!”

I like to imagine that people mean well, I really do, but that’s because it’s been a long time since my kid got diagnosed with autism and I’ve learned to tune out the bullshit. My son is not his diagnosis. People, in the heart of hearts, are good. Sometimes, they just don’t understand that you don’t want to hear it because you’re in the checkout at Target and your son is bathing the floor with his tongue and REALLY? A new diet? You don’t say?! That’s fucking great. Do I look like I give a shit at this moment in time?

I love blogs, but I don’t trust that what I’m reading is always backed by a science I believe in. Illnesses (autism, migraines pooper issues), those tend to be emotional issues for a lot of people. And when emotions get involved, things can get ugly, fast. Hence, the Internet Mole People. I can cite a thousand examples of When Emotions Go Bad on The Internet, but I’ll save that topic for another time, or, I suppose, allow you to fill in in the comments.

If you’ve noticed, I also don’t tend to discuss medical issues on Mah Blog for the very reason you discussed unless I’m ready to, well, discuss it. I don’t do it in real life, either; well, not any more. The image of her creepy colon spewing everywhere was enough to make me shut the hell up.

I figure that people can point and laugh and judge me as a lousy, unfit parent or otherwise loser at life all that they want. So long as I don’t have to hear about mercury in shellfish or how a gluten-free diet will cure all of my woes. It’s not because I don’t believe them, it’s just because I don’t always care.

You and I can stand in the We Are Shitty Parents People Lose At Life Corner together. I’ll bring you a Shut Your Whore Mouth shirt to wear. Hell, I’ll bring enough for ALL of us. WHO’S WITH ME?

————-

So, Pranksters, what say you on the topic?

Dear Aunt Becky:

I asked a simple yet detailed question on an interweb “Moms-Helping-Moms” website and got a shitload of rude, demeaning answers.  I never meant to make myself come across as a terrible horrible person.  I even re-read my question but I guess I really am a huge bitch.  Whatever shall I do?

Sincerely,

Wicked Witch of Wisconsin

Well, Prankster, you’re clearly a miserable excuse for a human being who should not be allowed to live, breathe or walk among normal humans.

OR, wait, that had too many words spelled (mostly) properly. Let me retry that.

“U SUK WHOR.”

Was that better? That was my attempt at emulating an Internet Mole Person, or what I like to call “trolls.”

Internet Trolls, for those not versed in Internet Jargon, are people (I think they’re people, but a DNA test may be required) who post rude, mean, or otherwise inflammatory responses to a post on a site with the express purpose of evoking an emotional response.

There are a couple of different kinds of Internet Trolls (Pranksters, I’m sure I’m missing a few, so fill in, please):

Off-Topic Trolls (Internet Mole People) These people always make me wonder if they’re actually PEOPLE and not robots.

Your simple post on cats evokes this response, “WELL, I THINK iPOD’S ARE THE SPAWN OF SATAN’S PUCKERED POO HOLE YOU FILTHY, SOULLESS ASSWAD.”

Religious Trolls (Internet Mole People) These trolls use Bible Verses and religious scripture to justify being mean to others for no real reason.

Your same post on cats evokes: “Well, in (Bible Verse) something was said and THERE SHOULD BE NO CATS! YOU WILL BURN IN HELL!!! I will pray for your immortal soul, but it’s dammed already, so just get ready for hell.”

Let-Me-Hijack-Your-Post-To-Tell-My-Horrible-Story Internet Troll. These Internet Mole People almost always leave you wondering why they left you the comment at all, except that you’re now probably feeling guilty.

Cat post evokes this: “When I was a kid, we had a cat and that cat was named Sam and Sam was a mean cat and he gave my brother named Sam rabies and then we had to take them both out back and shoot them and then at the funeral, Sam The Cat’s Ghost came to haunt us and we were scared because it was a funeral and the whole town was there and there was a GHOST of a DEAD CAT who had KILLED MY BROTHER and oh my God the whole town came out and then my mom started breastfeeding a llama and I don’t know where the llama came from and then we went to the carnival and I thought I was getting rabies but really it was gangrene so I had to chop off my leg with a rusty ax and that is why you should shoot your cat.

The Pointless, yet Mean Internet Troll. These Internet Mole People usually speak in text-speak and only insult you. They’re usually found in forums and news sites with a misspelled very cutesy name.

Your cat story, responses vary, “U R a whore,” “U Suk,” “U R Dumb,” and occasionally the “Die Bitch.”

The “This Is My CAUSE” Internet Troll (Internet Mole Person): Person who defines themselves solely by their “cause,” and spends countless hours blathering on and on about it to anyone on The Twitter, The Facebook and blogs. They have a Google search set and hours each day to devote to blogs and they do that to leave comments about their “cause.” Which no one cares that much about. Or is a one-sided thing and almost always involves emotional manipulation and impassioned catch-phrases to get the very annoying point across.

Like this: Your cat post, “This Is My Cause!!!!” Internet Troll: “Well, you should know that new babies should never, ever be around cats because the cats smother them while they sleep. The cats try and SUCK THE MILK from the babies because cats like to SMOTHER BABIES and if you DON’T GET RID OF YOUR CAT, you’re basically saying that your BABY IS WORTHLESS and you should be sent to BABY JAIL if you do that you soulless ASSHOLE.

(never mind that you are a single 56 year old man without kids, because “This Is My CAUSE!!!!” Trolls don’t know anything about you or your life. Just their very, very irritating causes.)

The “WON’T SOMEONE THINK OF THE CHILDREN” Pseudo-Concern Trolls. These people are precisely as you’d imagine. They take any instance in which there might be an issue of perceived impropriety and exploit it.

Your cat post: “WON’T SOMEONE THINK OF THE CHILDREN?!?”

The Emotionally-Charged Troll. These Internet Mole People pop up, usually in the form of some other type of troll, to make you feel bad by playing on your emotions.

Same cat post, “well, I HOPE you got that cat from a shelter because these (grim shelter statistics) cats die every year while breeders force cats to pop out kittens by the barrel and if you didn’t, you’re supporting that and really, you should make sure to always get an older cat because they are hardest to adopt.”

The Not A Troll, Trolls: Not everyone expressing a dissenting opinion on your website is an Internet Mole Person.

———–

That’s Your Aunt Becky’s guide to Internet Mole People, (I prefer that term because they’re people that pop up randomly to say stuff that makes you feel badly before retreating back to the holes to which they crawled out from), and I’m sure I’m missing some. So, Pranksters, FILL IT IN.

And as for YOU and your EVIL POST, you wicked bitch, the moderators at that site should have been watching to see that you didn’t get creamed. I don’t understand the logic behind allowing someone to submit or answer a question (or post), only to allow them to get their ass handed to them by Internet Mole People. As site admins, they should get YOUR back or, if they hate your question, NOT ACCEPT IT (my queue is backed up, which is why I haven’t gotten to YOUR question, Pranksters).

I know that’s what happens at a lot of those sites and it makes me sad. I cannot imagine submitting a serious question only to have 98 moms jump down my throat, telling me “U R doing it wrong ASSHOLE.” Because most days, I’m all too sure I’m doing it wrong. I don’t need Internet Mole People telling me so. There is a difference between answering a question and being deliberately cruel.

You’re not a terrible, horrible person. Not by a long shot.

Especially since I know that the next time you see another person getting their ass handed to them by a Mole Person, you’ll jump in to show them some kindness.

Internet Mole People can SUCK IT.

————–

Pranksters? What am I missing here?

Dear Aunt Becky,

After reading your blog for a while, I know you’re familiar with The Crazy.  Since I don’t know a lot of people personally who really get it, I’d love your advice on recovery.  Long story short, I have a great life – wonderful husband, three amazing daughters, the opportunity to stay home full time, etc.

BUT.

The past two years have been bullshit.  I developed anxiety/panic disorder while pg with baby #3, which I’m still dealing with.  I’m better than I was a few months back, thanks to therapy and meds, but life events have not helped at all (the biggest one being the death of my 6 yr old niece, who was born with a terminal illness.)  I have to fight with phobias and hypochondria on a daily basis.  Of course, I feel guilty to complain since I know there are others who have been dealt worse cards – but this is MY Hell, so it sucks shit through a straw to ME.  I still don’t feel like “the real me”, and I’m not sure I ever will.

I’m sick of it.  I want my life back.  So I ask you, as someone who has been through a similar process: What advice would you give someone who is hoping to get themselves back is the New Year?

Thanks for listening,
Mermama3

Oh Prankster, I so get it and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I wish like hell shit wasn’t so fucking hard sometimes. I’ll spare you the platitudes because they’re bullshit and if you wanted one, you could get it crocheted on a pillow or something. Sometimes, life is just fucking tough. And then, when you think it can’t get worse? It totally does.

It’s an asshole like that.

Luckily, eventually it stops and you learn to roll with the ups and downs because, well, we’re adaptable.

But you, you sound like you’re on your way to where you need to be. You’ve realized that there’s a problem which, as we all know, is the first step. It SOUNDS trite, but it’s not. Pinning down what it is that’s wrong is hard – harder than people give proper credit. So props to you for that.

Acknowledging that I was sick to fucking death of pretending I was someone that I wasn’t was huge for me. Mentally ditching all of the excess baggage, all of the old ties I didn’t need to people who didn’t deserve my love or loyalty, examining my relationships to see them as they really are, those were all things I had to do to figure out who the fuck Aunt Becky really is and what she stood for.

It sucked.

A lot.

But it was also kinda empowering. Because knowing I was able to fix this, that I could actually control my own happiness and fix my own emotions; that’s a big revelation. I was in charge of my happiness. I was. Me. Your Aunt Becky. In charge of her happiness.

I started with small things.

An orchid plant or three. Some time in my garden alone with my headphones. My phoenix tattoo (that was like 64 kajillion sessions). Creating Mushroom Printing. Then Band Back Together. Getting my hair cut. Walking around Target alone for half an hour. Taking a long drive.

Small things. Small things that made me happy.

I’ve done a lot of crying, too. I can’t believe my eyeballs haven’t exploded, actually. Somehow, I’m still here. More or less intact. You’ll make it, too. I promise. I’m so sure that I made you something. Something to help you along the way. No one should have to walk through The Shit alone when there’s so much good in the world. I know that because I see it all the time here with my Pranksters and over at Band Back Together.

I made you a present. It’s over on Band Back Together.

Go on, go see it. All of you. It’s for everyone – bloggers or not – to join.

You will find yourself again. It may take a lot longer than you’d like and it may suck a lot harder than you think is fair, but you’re in there. I know it.

Sending you a big ass hug without a platitude. Because platitudes are bullshit.

——————-

So, Pranksters, do you have any advice to offer? I know that she and I are not the only two people in the universe who have been in this situation before. How have you found yourself after you’ve been lost for some time?

Also: JOIN THE WORLD TOUR, YO.

Dear Pranksters,

I find it odd to admit to you that I have friends, especially friendships that have lasted for more than a couple of months, but alas, it is true. Two years ago, I met Mrs. Soup. I only know it’s been two years because we have daughters the same age. Avi Soup is Amelia’s age. They’re also twins.

I can only tell them apart because her kid has more teeth than mine.

Kathy is also my age (30)(okay, she’s like 28 or some shit, I don’t know, WHATEVER, but she’s not like 90).

This is Kathy:

Now you know she’s not like 90 or something because LOOKIT HER and the FAT BABY who is not mine but looks a hell of a lot like it.

Also in that picture is her husband, Ryan.

Ryan is 27.

Ryan had a stroke on November 30. I know. I KNOW.

In the middle of the night, she woke up and he was in the throes of a stroke. No prior warning, no other health issues, no nothing. Just…BAM.

Everyone’s worst fucking nightmare.

I saw it happen on Twitter and promptly freaked the shit out because HI, THAT’S MY FRIEND AND THAT’S HER HUSBAND AND I KNOW WHAT GOES ON WITH THEM BECAUSE I TALK ON IM TO HER CONSTANTLY. But, of course, it wasn’t about me.

Ryan, her husband, is okay. He’s out of the ICU (last I heard, which was a couple of days ago) and moved to a rehab facility to help with his recovery. Kathy is back at work part-time and has moved back in with her parents to make ends meet.

Her blog has more information on it.

Occasionally, instead of talking about my ass, I can use my blog to do things like ask for prayers. Because Kathy? Kathy is the kind of person who has prayed for me. Without asking, she’ll pray for me and it always makes me feel fucking better. Because that’s the kind of fucking friend Kathy is. Also: she doesn’t say the f-word much, which makes me laugh, because occasionally I can coax it out of her, which makes it better. And I love her for it.

It’s my turn.

Pranksters, can you pray for my friend Kathy and her husband and her Mimi-lookalike-daughter-Avi? I know that she’d love it if you did. Just send her some love and some prayers and some light. Please?

I’ll bribe you with a Mimi video or something if you do.

Okay, so this is Kathy and her blog and you should visit her and least send her some love. RT her blog, FB it, Stumble it, whatever it is you kids do these days. I don’t know of anyone who could use some prayers and love more than her. She’s a beautiful person and her soul is golden and if you tell her I said that I’ll punch you in the taco.

(one of my friends has an etsy shop and all of her proceeds are going to benefit Kathy and Ryan Campbell. That’s fucking* awesome)

Love you madly,

Aunt Motherfucking Becky

*I threw in all the f-bombs for you, Kathy. xo

Dear Aunt Becky,

I am 15 weeks pregnant and have never felt more confused, stressed out and alone. I have been married not even a year and have a six year old stepson whom I have been a full-time mommy to him for in the nearly three years I have known the both of them. The problem is, my husband has serious trust and paranoia issues, which has really taken a toll on our relationship. He is always mad at me for one thing or another, usually something that is just made up in his head. He even says he does not trust me and he has called me a selfish bitch on numerous occasions.

Because of his issues, I do not have any friends and feel hesitant to talk to anybody anymore, let alone my husband. Since he is always upset with me about something, my pregnancy has been nothing but stressful. I am afraid that his anger, which he blames on me, is going to seriously affect my body and our baby. I love him and when he is happy with me he is the most loving, awesome man in the world. He has a lot of past issues ( his ex-wife cheated on him) and he keeps blaming me for things when I haven’t done anything wrong. I think I am a good person but when he gets like this (which is all the time) I just feel like I want this baby out of my body. I get really depressed. Especially last week when he went so far as to pack up his and his son’s bags and leave me.

I really want this marriage to work out for the sake of his (our) son and our unborn child. He refuses to get help for his issues and I just want to crawl in a hole and die some days. My body cannot take much more. I am afraid the stress is going to make me miscarriage. I have no friends and have never felt more alone. I just want my husband to be happy with me again. I love him so much and would do anything for him.

Sincerely,
Pregnant and Hurting

P.S. – Thanks for your blog. It has really helped me through this.

Dear Pregnant and Hurting,

If only I could reach through the computer and give you a big squishy hug. I’m so sorry, Prankster. Now I’m not going to presume to tell you what to do with your life, but I am going to tell you that you do not have to live like this any longer.

I’ve spent much of my life on edge, afraid convinced that someone in my household was Furious George with me, and it’s been an incredibly stressful thing to overcome. Being raised that way (no matter how unintentional), it’s taken a long time to not revert right back to that feeling of being on constant edge from “someone” being mad at me. That’s how living with someone with a serious mental illness is. These are some of the long-term effects.

I suffered terribly from antenatal depression (depression during pregnancy) in at least some part from the stress of my life. It’s a very real thing. It’s not because I’m a bad person or because I didn’t love my child or because I was a bad mother. Antenatal depression just...is. But that doesn’t mean that antenatal depression needs to be in control of you.

You need to seek some treatment for yourself and your baby. There are many kinds of antenatal depression treatments – some that don’t involve medicine – that can really help you through the worst of it. It’s not going to fix everything in your life, but knowing that you have an ally can help tremendously. This is the link to antenatal depression resources on Band Back Together. Here’s (my friend) Katherine Stone’s Postpartum Progress; also an amazing resource.

I’m telling you with all of my conviction that you need help of some kind. I wish I’d sought help sooner. I wish I’d told people how much I was hurting. I even knew I had antenatal depression and still thought I didn’t need anyone. If I had, maybe I wouldn’t remember pregnancy as the single worst part of my life (parenting, even on it’s worst days, is so much better). Talk to someone. Write down how you feel. We’d love to have you at Band Back Together. Reach out to people.

I know that all of these things may sound impossible, but you can do it. You’re worth it. So is your baby.

As for your marital situation, I only want what’s best for you and your baby. Your husband’s trust issues are not your fault. You cannot fix someone else. You cannot take responsibility for his emotions or his actions. I know how much it hurts and I know how isolating it is to feel so alone all of the time, believe me, Prankster, I do, but you’re not alone.

We’re none of us alone. Please get some help. You’re worth more than feeling like this all of the time.

We love you and we know you can make it. You’re going to come out the other side and know that you can kick any problem square in the nuts. It just doesn’t feel like it right now.

In the meantime, we’ll be anxious to hear how things are going.

Much love,

AB

—————

Pranksters, please help me out here. But whatever you do, remember that “just leave him” or other guilt-inducing statements (“think of the children!!!!!!!”) may make her feel worse. It’s just never that simple.

Got some bad news from the Anonymous Asker:

Y’all, I need prayers. At the preliminary custody hearing they gave custody to my husband based on the lies he and his daughter told on the stand. I am heartbroken and I don’t know what to do.
Please pray for my son’s safety.
Crying real tears,
The Anonymous Asker

Dear Aunt Becky,

I tried to write this email a couple times and realized I keep including a thousand skank details that don’t matter.

How do you pick between two men who are polar opposites?

What if you’re made a pro/con list cause you’re that kind of person and Guy A makes more sense but your gut tells you Guy B and you CAN’T FIGURE OUT WHY?!

What if you can’t figure out how to break up with Guy B because his crazy ex-wife cheated on him and now he’s super super wrapped up in you and it would sort of devastate him (even though you feel conceited saying that, even anonymously-ish)?

What if you even feel silly writing this email because it makes you feel like a shallow, stupid high school girl?

Even if you don’t put this up with Go Ask Aunt Becky, I would really like to know what you think  Even it’s a smack down of what an idiot I am.  I don’t think my friends would tell me that, which is why they’re my friends, but I’m fairly confident you would.

– I can’t even come up with a moniker for this crap.

Prankster, while your dilemma is serious, your email had me laughing my ass off. I think I would very much like to be friends with you because you have the ability to crack me up even when I’m all Campaign of Doom on Anthropologie because I ordered a sweater on Wednesday and it’s Saturday and I have a canceled order (out of stock! They let me order it anyway!) and a depleted gift card (gift card department isn’t in over the weekend!) and nothing to show for it. They bent me over and took my monies!

HULK SMASH AUNT BECKY.

So, I see your dilemma and it’s a doozy and I found myself in that position a couple of times and here’s my best advice: go with your gut. My gut doesn’t lie. My head often skews things.

Guy Number B it is!

See, it’s much easier when I make decisions for you. Also: when I go on a Campaign of Terror, everyone around me who I am not chewing out laughs their ass off. The Daver turned blue in the face trying not to laugh where the person on the phone could hear him.

Thanks, Daver.

Dear Aunt Becky,

I have a problem. I’m 18 years old and I only attract older guys. The youngest guy I have ever had interested in me is 21. Now, this isn’t such a terrible thing except that they all make big deals about my age. They say they like me but they just can’t bring themselves to do anything about it because I am too young! So, what do you propose I do?

Love
Way Too Young

P.S. I live in Australia, so I am legal to vote, drink, drive etc. so it’s not like it would be illegal!

HOLY SHIT, YOU’RE YOU...bwhahaha! I’m teasing you.

You’re mature for your age. I think that your email shows that and that’s full of the awesome. My guess is that your boyfriends are all, “she ACTS like she’s 25, not 18!” and then when they think about it, they feel all old and stuff.

I’d take it as a compliment as best as I can.

I say that because every time I do something with my eldest son, Ben, I get the same treatment. I had him at 21 and while it’s not geriatric or anything, it’s not scandalously young.  I get mistaken for the babysitter. When I inform people that I’m his mother, it’s all “YOU CAN’T HAVE A CHILD THAT OLD,” and I’m all, “uh, wow, this is awkward now.”

Try to remember that it’s their issue, not yours. Remind me of the same, okay?

Dear Aunt Becky,

I am in love with a wonderful man.  A man who loves me and loves my daughter as his own.  A man i could never turn my back on.  I am keeping a secret from this man and i have no idea how i will ever be able to tell him.  I have herpes.  I got it from an ex (i was extremely committed to him. him, not so much in return) who cheated on me and passed it to me.

I have told this man that i want to wait until marriage until I have sex again because of all the messed up relationships i’ve had in the past.  We have talked about getting married.  I’m able to tell him everything except this….Do you have any help on how i can and should tell him?

It sounds, Prankster, like this guy is a keeper. And if this guy is a keeper, then I can’t see The Herp scaring him off. But I can absolutely see why you wouldn’t want to tell him.

But you can’t wait until marriage. That, I think, would put a serious kink in your relationship, and not the whips-and-chains kind.

So I’d approach him armed with the facts and tell him openly and honestly what happened and how terrified you were to tell him about it. If he’s as good of a guy as you say, I don’t see herpes scaring him off. Plenty of people continue to have perfectly normal and happy relationships with only one infected partner.

——————–

As always, Pranksters, please fill in where I left off in the comments. You can always submit your burningest questions to Go Ask Aunt Becky.

Also: you need to check out Froggy Girl’s Etsy shop, Hamlet’s Mistress AND Shui Teas, all of whom were brave enough to get ads on my blog, allowing me to get out from under The Man. And robots. Always with the robots.