In roughly two hours, I’m leaving for my cruise, which is pretty much full of WIN for me and pretty much full of LOSE for my family. I’m traveling alone down to Florida to meet up with Angie because stupid CHICAGO doesn’t have a stupid OCEAN it’s rapidly losing whatever awesomeness quotient it had. Chicago, I am moving away.

I’ve been on a cruise once before as a broke college kid and they put us in what HAD to have once been servant’s quarters, but I’ll tell you that it was awesome. Even when we hit a major storm and everyone started yacking in the hallways like the Great Pie Eating Contest in Stand By Me, it was pretty much the best vacation ever. My friends didn’t have a very good time, but I did.

I mean, it’s a big boat in the middle of the ocean. Occasionally, when you sail close to hostile countries, you get surrounded by men with semiautomatic weapons. What’s not to love?

This time, I’m going to relax, workout, get a motherfucking tan and write. I have a lot of writing to do on my book and a lot of thinking to do. I know, that makes me sound very deep and meaningful, but it’s true. YOUR AUNT BECKY, a THINKING person. Who would have THOUGHT it?

(answer: not me)

I’m hoping to come back with a camera full of hilarious pictures. It’s going to be like BINGO for Cruising Bloggers. This is what I want:

1) A picture of someone in a tuxedo shirt

2) Someone with a mullet

3) Someone with a SHE-mullet

4) Someone using a garbage bag for luggage

I’m not sure quite what else to expect, but I’m sure that will be an excellent start.

I’ve gotten a couple of guest posts lined up, and The Daver will be doing Go Ask The Daver this week, so if you want THE DAVER to answer your questions, go ahead and submit them to Go Ask Aunt Becky in the sidebar (if you don’t, he’ll just answer some Go Ask Aunt Becky questions). He’s more thoughtful and nicer than I am anyway and it’ll take him like 10 hours to write the column so that will be HILARIOUS if you do it. I can’t wait to get back and see what you make him do.

SPEAKING of book stuff, Dave will be home with The Sausages and sending out the sample chapter for my book, so check your spam filter if you’ve signed up because that’s where they’ve been ending up. See, I sent them from a DUMMY email address because I didn’t want people being all “WHO THE FUCK AR U SLUT?” in my real email case one of you had entered your email all wrong.

So the email address is a dummy.

But, if you haven’t gotten it by Sunday, send an email, marriage proposal, or complaints to dave@dwink.net. That’s Dave’s email address and he likes email, I think. Internet access on the boat is like 50 dollars a minute and while I might go through withdrawal, I can’t justify tweeting at that rate.

Bon Voyage, my Pranksters. If my plane does not go down in a fiery crashball like the last one I was on almost did, I will see you on Monday.

Also, for any of you who asked how old I was in that picture, it was taken on Sunday and I am actually 12.5. I’m aging backwards.

Alternately, why I should have no access to friends or instant messaging technology.

Aunt Becky: “OHMYGOD, I need your help!!”

Dad Gone Mad: “Okay, what’s wrong?”

Aunt Becky: “I have been up since Sunday and I can barely concentrate and I don’t know who else to ask because no one else will talk to me anymore because there’s this song, right?”

Dad Gone Mad: “A song…”

Aunt Becky: “YES! That Elton John song, “Levon,” and he goes, ‘he shall be-LEVON.'”

Dad Gone Mad: “……”

Aunt Becky: “I DON’T GET IT.”

Dad Gone Mad: “I think it’s a double entendre. You know, ‘he shall believe on.'”

Aunt Becky: “….”

Aunt Becky: “I see…Dude, I’m not sure I’m any happier knowing that.”

Dad Gone Mad: “But what can you really expect from some douchebag who sells cartoon balloons?”

Aunt Becky: “OR calls his child Jesus. Let’s be honest: that name has KINDA been taken.”

Dad Gone Mad: “And when was the last time the New York Times said “God is dead”? That’s just a filthy lie.”

Aunt Becky: “I’m pretty illiterate, dude, so I don’t read the paper. My next question is this, who names their child that? Really? Levon. I don’t know anyone named Levon. I pretty much know everyone, everywhere. I think it’s a conspiracy, Danny.”

Dad Gone Mad: “You’re pretty fucking weird, dude.”

Aunt Becky: “Just be glad that you don’t live with me.”

Today is Tuesday, which means that it’s Time For Beaver Talk with Aunt Becky over at Toy With Me. Today, I’m talking about songs to hump to, which is surprisingly safe for work. Totally interested in seeing what gets other people in the mood, since all I could come up with was either pop music or O! Canada.

Click the smiling beaver below to be taken away:

But for those of you who prefer not to think about me having sex, which I COMPLETELY UNDERSTAND, I’ve pulled yet another one from the vault to amuse you. Or annoy you.

1. It should come as no shock to anyone who has seen me dress myself that I am actually color blind. I’ll take a moment here to let those of you who have seen my fashion sense (or lack thereof) collect yourself from the gut-busting laughter. Try not to pull a muscle, mmkay?

…

…

…

Done, now?

Fuckers.

See, it’s actually pretty rare for women to be color blind as it’s an X-linked disorder (meaning both of my chromosomes must have it). I’ll avoid going into further details so that you are not forced to gnaw your arm off with boredom.

It has been the cause for many a (stupid) marital dispute over the shade of a particular color. In the end, I’ve learned to rely on Dave’s opinion (smart as that may not be) about certain shades.

My kids are going to have to get used to looking as though hobo’s have dressed them, eh?

2. I have an intense phobia of canned fruits, in spite of my unrequited love of fruits in general. There’s something about canned anything, floating happily in a goo sauce that completely freaks me out. Ditto for Jello molds.

This may be a throw back to the dissection craze of my 5th grade teacher, who, in all of her glory, decided to spend a large portion of the year showcasing the various creepy jars full of deceased animals suspended in Formalin (or the famous carcinogenic Formaldehyde, it was the 80’s, after all) to us. Now, I loves me my dissections (seriously), but seeing floating suspended baby chicks in glass jars was enough to give me nightmares.

I think this is where the phobia stems from (that, and my hippie mother would likely rather have eaten her own feces than served us something suspended in SUGAR.), but I can’t seem to shake it, EVEN IF I LIKE THE FRUIT IN QUESTION.

3. When I was in my first semester in college, I took an introductory biology class and one of the tasks that we were required to learn was all of the organ systems of the fetal pig (which are similar to the layout of a human).

While half of my class was left gagging into their Bunsen burners, I took to the task like a pig in, well, shit. The instructor insisted that we learn this inside and out (oh pun, pu-pun, pun, PUN), and suggested that we take ours home to study (due to limited laboratory time).

Well, I took it a step further and named mine. It’s the same name as my former heating pad boyfriend: Stu.

To maximize the shock value to my mother (and to ensure that the dogs did NOT have a tasty snack while I wasn’t looking), I decided to casually slip Stu into the meat drawer and then leave the house, knowing full well that she’d discover him in my absence.

She was underwhelmed.

4. Because in the academic realm, I am 110% An Annoying Overachiever, I became a TA for both Inorganic and Organic chemistry as well as a tutor for Anatomy and Physiology I and II.

It was only then that I developed a complete and total appreciation for teachers. Wow. Some of those students were not the brightest bulbs in the sconces.

5. Despite the fact that I blog like it’s going out of style (isn’t it?), I have never in my whole life written for fun. Ever. This includes journaling of any sort. Mainly because, what the fuck would I ever journal about?

In high school, I would occasionally try to write in a journal but it always ended up something like,

“I really like Shawn X. He sat next to me in Brit Lit and I swear he smiled at me. Oh, I don’t know WHAT I’ll do if he doesn’t ask me to Homecoming!”

And then I would look back on it and be embarrassed FOR myself.

6. One of the things I hate most about being a grown-up is that the older we get, the more PC we have to become. As someone who has never NOT laughed at a dick-n-fart joke, and whose all time favorite word is fuck (I actually gave it up for Lent one year DESPITE the fact that I am not Catholic. Maybe it’s better that I’m not Catholic, because I didn’t do a very good job of it.), I hate having to be all conscious of what I say in public and to other people.

I hate having to worry about offending people if I tell them what I think, and I hate offending people even when I’m not trying to. I use certain words to be humorous, not to be offensive (because I promise The Internet that if I am actively trying to offend someone, I will do so), and I hate having to censor myself in order to maintain the peace.

7. I genuinely believe that everything tastes better with bacon.

Now, here’s the catch: see, I’m supposed to tag a couple of people to do this meme, but I’m pretty sure everyone who has a blog has done it and is probably not as full of weird things to do it over and over again.

So I am tagging anyone (this means YOU! LURKER!) who reads this to give me a weird fact about themselves in the comments (use a fake name if you must). Because seriously, the comments are high-freaking-larious and might just help with poor, OH POOR Aunt Becky’s blinding headache.

Laughter IS the best medicine, after all (or so Reader’s Digest tells me, AND WHY WOULD THEY LIE TO ME?).

It’s been kind of a heavy week here, on Mommy Wants Cocaine Vodka, and I was going to peck out the story of how The Daver and I met, but I think that’s better suited to a day when I don’t have to be up and down and around and out like a chimp on meth. (notice I said CHIMP, not CHUMP)

No, I think today is a day for fluff. So I am going to bring out an old favorite: Love Songs That Make Me…A Little Gushy.

Dave Matthews Band, “Crush”

Now, I’ve always mocked DMB, not because they didn’t have talent, because they do, but because it was always the favorite choice of rich hippie frat boys who wore pukka shell necklaces and deliberately distressed Abercrombie and Fitch shorts. And they’d always call their band “Dave” as in “have you seen the new DAVE album?”

See, now, that sense of imposed familiarity has always annoyed Your Aunt Becky*, but undeniably the song “Crush” is one of the best love songs ever written. Somehow, the guy who looks like a middle-school teacher that routinely got all sorts of panties thrown at him, somehow he captured that feeling of falling in love.

“It’s crazy, I’m thinking, just knowing that the world is round.

And here, I’m dancing on the ground.

Am I right side up or upside down, and is this real, or am I dreaming?”

I’m deeply resentful of the fact that not only do I love, love, love this song, I would probably marry it. I exact my revenge upon him by imagining him as the retarded savant he played on House, MD.

I’m sure he’s weeping into his millions of dollars and teenage panty pile.

Ray Charles & Van Morrison “Crazy Love”

Several weeks before my wedding, I begged Dave to change Our Song from Louis Armstrong’s “Wonderful World” to this song, which combined two of my favorite voices. Van Morrison has one of those voices that seems to coat me in honey and make me warm and fuzzy inside, no matter how shitty a mood I’m in.

(this is also how Johnny Cash makes me feel)

If you like him I beg, no, I INSIST that you go to iTunes and download his version of “Comfortably Numb” with Roger Waters. It’s.breathtaking. No, I mean, it, like you’ll be unable to breathe, it’s so good.

When he sings, “And the Heavens open every time she smiles,” in “Crazy Love” it never feels to give me pee shivers and goosebumps. In a GOOD way, not like an “I’m scared for my life of this clown with an Uzi in front of me.”

Elton John, “The Way You Look Tonight.”

Now, he’s made his career out of singing sappy love songs, and his catalog either makes me swoon or roll my eyes depending on which one I’m listening to (“butterflies are free to fly, FLY AWAY, HIGH AWAY?” BLECH). But this one, this one makes me just melty inside.

(unrelatedly, I think “The Bitch Is Back” is exquisite)

BONUS!!

The one you can mock me mercilessly for, because the song is seriously Full of The Lame and The Corny:

Bon Jovi’s “Always.”

This song came out when I was dating my first boyfriend, back sometime around 1994, and I was entranced.

This was uncharacteristically bad taste for me, whose first albums purchased from Columbia Record Company (buy 4, get like 13 free) included, The Red Hot Chili Peppers album Blood Sugar Sex Magik (arguably their best album, um, EVER), Pearl Jam’s Ten and Sex Pistols Anarchy in the UK.

All albums I still listen to.

But there it was, cheesy ass-rock from a guy who spent more time in front of the mirror than a 14 year old girl, and I loved it. I STILL love it, although not because it’s the kind of song that gets a girl in the mood or anything, but because it’s just…awesomely bad.

SUPER BONUS OVERACHIEVER SONG!!

Rod Stewart’s “You’re In My Heart.”

Okay, I know, I KNOW, you’re snickering, I can hear it, people. I have bionic hearing and I can hear your snorts from even here. Rod Stewart is The King of Cheese, I know, and his songs mostly suck, and he’s like eleventy-niner hundred years old.

I DON’T CARE.

“You’re In My Heart” is one of the awesomest love songs ever written. And when I told Daver as much, I swear he looked around for my Depends and my Geritol and then insisted upon seeing my driver’s license. Perhaps he was making sure my AARP card wasn’t expired or something.

It wasn’t.

—————-

Your turn. What love songs make you swoon and get mushy inside? The more shameful, the better.

OH! And I’m going to try and respond to you in the comments, because I’m not awesome about emailing everyone as they comment. So yeah, I’ll be IN THE COMMENTS. STALKING YOU.

*get it!?!

Aunt Becky: ‘I *so* don’t get this song.’

The Daver: ‘Wait, isn’t this America?’

Aunt Becky: ‘Yeah…or maybe it’s ‘Chicago.’ The 70’s had a lot of bands named after cities. Either way, what the fuck do they mean- ’25-06-24′? That makes no sense.’

The Daver: ‘What are you *talking* about? It’s ’25 or 6 to 4′!’

Aunt Becky: ‘…’

The Daver: ‘You know, like 3:35 or 3:26 am.’

Aunt Becky: ‘…’

Aunt Becky: ‘It is not!! There is no way!’

The Daver: ‘What the hell did you think it meant?’

Aunt Becky: ‘I don’t know…maybe a combination to a lock or something? No, I refuse to believe this song is about a time of day.’

The Daver: ‘And a locker combination makes more sense to you?’

Aunt Becky: ‘No! That’s why I *said* that I don’t get this song, dumbass!’

The Daver: ‘It’s about smoking dope, Becky.’

Aunt Becky: ‘I refuse to believe that in all my years being a pothead that I never could figure out that this is a drug song. I have a sixth *sense* about this crap! I mean ‘Lake Shore Drive….get it ‘L.S.D’?’

The Daver: ‘Are you still bitter that you couldn’t do the ‘Dark Side of the Moon’/ ‘Wizard of Oz’ thing?

Aunt Becky: ‘I cannot discuss this with you. You wouldn’t understand. You were off being ‘good’ while I tried to determine the best liquid to put in my bong. Creme de Menthe was a hands down favorite.’

The Daver: ‘Fine.’

“…”

“…”

(three days later)

“…”

Me: ‘Is it really 25 or 6 to 4?’

————

What song lyrics have you completely screwed up, Internet? I know that I cannot be the only one who thought that Radar Love = Red-Eye Love.

It’s been quite a long time since I’ve broken up with someone. I’ve been with The Daver for many years (five? six? I can’t remember anymore because it seems like forever. Um, yeah. I mean that IN A GOOD WAY, of course) and before that I was with Nat, whom I dumped (and therefore didn’t feel badly about). But I’ll never forget just how full of The Awesome it is to crank up a good break-up song, cry–or scream wickedly–along with the lyrics, and generally sit and wallow in self pity.

Okay, so it wasn’t full of The Awesome back then, but looking back on how mournfully I treated some of my break-ups that were really more of a blessing than a curse. I guess that it’s a maturity/hind-sight thing.

But here, here I have compiled a list of songs so awesome to listen to while breaking up–and mourning–that they make me a bit nostalgic for long gone (thankfully) days.

1) James Blunt- Goodbye My Lover. He’s best known for that other song You’re Beautiful, a song which I also adore, but I happen to love this song. It came out after I was married, so I obviously don’t associate it with any particular break-up, but it doesn’t matter. When he sings, “Goodbye my lover, goodbye my friend, you have been The One, you have been The One for me,” I get some massive chills.

2) G’n’R’s November Rain. Now, I went back and forth here between this song and Use Your Illusion I and II’s Don’t Cry (also I and II) and I think I made the right call here. I mean, think of the video! Stephanie Seymour and a wedding and a death AT a wedding! What more can you ask for? Besides, it IS hard to hold a candle in the cold November Rain.

This song encompasses everything that a quintessential break-up song needs:

*Sung by a sensitive man who really cares about the chick he’s dumping
*He also really regrets the shit out of having to dump her in the first place
*But he’s “letting her go” to “be free” and when she’s ready, he’ll be waiting
*A sexy guitar rift
*An even hotter video

Internet, I know that you can love me, when there’s no one left to blame. Right? RIGHT??

Sorry, I’ll stop now.

3) Bob Dylan- Most Likely You’ll Go Your Way (And I’ll Go Mine). Did you appreciate the segue from G’n’R to Bob Dylan? Because I totally did.

This song is from a different sort of genre of break-up songs: the ones in which someone is fucking pissed. Bob Dylan has a whole catalogue of these sorts of snarky and mean break-up songs, and it’s something I adore him for. But this has to be one of my favorites. I mean, you can’t mess with lyrics like this:

“You say you’re shakin’
And you’re always achin’,
But you know how hard you try.”

Because you totally know that person, whether or not you dated him or her, you know someone who behaves like this and you’re all “wow, that’s annoying. But shit, wouldn’t it be more annoying to DATE him/her?” And Bob Dylan DID date him/her and wrote a song about it so you could nod your head and say “Abso-fucking-lutely, I know who you’re talking about.”

Or maybe it’s just me.

4) Christina Aguilera- Walk Away/Fighter. These are actually two back to back songs on her Stripped album, but I’d be sure to guarantee that these are designed to listen to one after the other. Walk Away is the typical sad break-up song with lyrics like “Your love was like candy, artificially sweet, I was deceived by the wrapping” that remind me completely of all of the dudes I dated that weren’t exactly who they said they were. What can I say, I had bad taste in dudes.

Fighter is the song that happens after you stop marinading yourself in self-pity and loathing and are done crying over the dude that pulled the rug over your eyes. If you’re like me, anger is preferable to sitting around and moping especially about a dude, so Fighter is honestly up there in my list of Best Songs Ever. This song is an angry person’s anthem, but it’s not specifically something you have to listen to when you’ve broken up with someone, just when you’re fucking pissed because you have totally been wronged.

5) Rolling Stones- Angie. The Stones have always held a really special place in my heart, especially after my friend Stef died last January as The Stones were her favorite band. I cannot think of one without the other, so there’s no separation between the two.

But either way, this is one of the saddest, most mournful break-up songs that I can think of off the top of my head. You can tell that Mick Jagger REALLY MEANS what he says when he croons things like:

“But Angie, I still love you baby, ev’rywhere I look I see your eyes,
There ain’t a woman that comes close to you, come on baby, dry your eyes.”

And there’s a secret part of you that wishes that any one of your miserable ex’s ever thought something so sweet, poetic and romantic about you instead of something more realistic like, “Man, that chick gave some GOOD head.”

YOUR turn, Internet. Gimmie some good break-up songs that I’ve forgotten to include here. Lord knows my mind ain’t what she used to be and I’m damn certain I’ve forgotten some pretty key songs here.

I totally remembered Faith No More’s “King For A Day, Fool For A Lifetime” album last night, and when I found a copy of it and turned it on, it was a thousand times better than even running into a good friend and catching up with them. Suddenly, I’m 15 years old again, all skin and bones and odd angles, completely sure of myself that whatever I do is the Right Thing to do.

It’s like reliving those days without having to be there again. Because no matter how self assured I was, the teen years just aren’t something I care to relive. Even if it mean I could have my 26 inch waist back.

What albums do that for you?

While I’m totally aware that there are some nasty people who lurk around on the internet looking to leave mean comments for people going though some shit or another, with the express purpose of making the author feel bad. I’ve seen ’em in the darnedest of places, popping out now and again to spew nastiness and bad karma around, but they’re not here.

I expected some woodwork crawlers to come out to chastise me for a) feeling badly during such a (to quote my friend Five Husbands) blessed time AND to rail on me for b) considering taking druuuuggggsss while *gasp* pregnant. And while I haven’t closed comments, so the woodwork trolls might pop out at some other time, I was shocked and overwhelmed by the support that The Internet provided me when I really, really needed it.

Thank you sounds more hollow here than I’d like it to, but it’s all I’ve got, unless you want me to stick my coffee-coated tongue down your throat. Which I totally will (if you’re not sick).

With the placebo effect of my Vitamin W on board AND the triumphant return of coffee! to my diet, I admit to feeling loads better. I’m sure the actual omission of struggling and the embarrassing revelation that I might have feelings also contributed to my new feelings of almost-well-being. Honestly, I don’t quite care WHAT it is, so long as I feel more hopeful than I had been feeling.

So, without further long-winded adieu, I welcome you to a new feature on my blog. One that won’t slow down page loads or alert the Work Authorities that you are Not Working. AND, it’s my favorite kind of post since it involves audience participation.

3 Of The Most Cornball Songs I Cannot Live Without (But Can Barely Admit To Liking):

1) Aerosmith’s Don’t Wanna Miss A Thing.

Now, I saw Armageddon, which appeared to me to be one gigantic Pepsi ad (don’t believe me? Go look at the end of the movie, when everyone is all old tyme-y and pretty much everything is covered in American Flags), but had kind of a cute premise. Plus, it had Ben Affleck in it before he got covered in fug, which at the age I was when it came out, was a huge bonus.

But that song. Oh, that song. Oh, how I longed to have someone care about me enough to wonder if I was dreaming about me. Now that I look back on that song, after looking up the lyrics, I’m suddenly shocked that I never saw how creepy it was.

“I don’t wanna close my eyes
I don’t wanna fall asleep
‘Cause I’d miss you, babe
And I don’t wanna miss a thing”

*shudder, shudder*

Who doesn’t like SLEEP? CRAZY PEOPLE, THAT’S WHO.

I suddenly feel relieved that no one seemed to associate that song with me. Because they might be very well polishing my skull into a nice ashtray as we speak.

2) Rod Stewart You’re In My Heart

It’s always been with great trepidation that I inform people that not only do I *like* Rod Stewart, but really, I *love* him. You see, I cut my teeth on good classic rock and metal and Rod Stewart is pretty much Easy Listening, a genre of music I tend to despise.

Regardless, You’re In My Heart is one of the most honest love songs I’ve ever heard, even if the singer has that foppy, weird hair on his head. It’s not all I loved you since the moment I saw you, which makes me believe it, because seriously, the first thing I thought when I met Daver was “Holy shit, he’s wearing black jeans. Who wears black jeans anymore?” Answer: The Daver.

When Rod “The Bod” sings,

“You’re a rhapsody, a comedy
You’re a symphony and a play
You’re every love song ever written
But honey what do you see in me?”

I might even get shivers. Seriously. Maybe even goose-bumps.

3) Bryan Adams Have You Ever Loved A Woman?

Now let’s be clear here: I’ve never really, really ever loved a woman. Sure, I’ve made OUT with them (remember that Ashley? Don’t even pretend it didn’t happen), but I’ve never loved them in the way Mr. Adams implies. In fact, I’ve often been glad that I *didn’t* love them. But alas, I digress.

Really, I don’t even know WHY I love this song so much. Much like Don’t Wanna Miss A Thing, the lyrics certainly leave much to be desired. I mean, when he says stuff like, “she needs somebody to tell her that it’s gonna last forever,” I struck by the way that Daver will remind me of this by cackling wildly and saying, “You’re stuck with me FOREVER.”

But something about his stupid soft voice makes me kind of want to make love on a beach with a hot male model like that Chris Issac video. Or with the guy from House, MD. Or both. Then again, when DON’T I want to do that? Answer? NEVER.

————–

Your turn. C’mon lurkers. I admitted that I liked BRYAN ADAMS. BRYAN “I SUCK” ADAMS.