Today is November the 30th, which marks the end of an era. An era about Poop-Buckets, sleep deprivation, and apparently, how bizare I really am. You watched as I overused the comma frequently (and used parenthesis where I should have started a new sentence), Put Things In Capitol Letters That Should Not Have Been, and generally misspelleed eevenn tha siimplest oof wurds (I SOOO need a spell check for my site).

But you read (at least I’m pretty sure that you did. Without SiteMeter, I can’t be sure. Doesn’t matter anyway, does it?) and you commented, and I love each and every one of you from the bottom of my cold, blackened heart. It shrivelled a little less each time someone gave Aunt Becky a Warm Fuzzy, and was amazed each and every time Aunt Becky did not recieve a Cold Prickly. Aunt Becky knows a lot about Cold Prickly’s, laws yes, she does.

Happy (almost) December, Dear Internet, and may the month be filled of MORE posts about such titilating topics as: My Colonoscopy And What It Means To Me, Why Is The Baby Is Trying To Kill Me, (alternating between) I LOVE The Holidays and/or I HATE The Holidays, in addition to stirring subjects like Why Can’t My Family Change The Toliet Paper Roll?

No, but for serious, if you have some topic you’d like me to talk about, I’d be more than happy to oblige. Always feel free to comment, even if it is to tell me that you hate me with a passion, or that I am a complete idiot (trust me, I’m completely aware).

If you’re too shy to comment, you can always drop me a line at becky@psys.org. I love email, nearly as much as I love Christmas cards. And I loves me my Christmas cards. Anyone want to exchange them? I’ll autograph pictures of myself so you can put them on your fridge and when people ask who the hell that chick is making a corny face, you can say proudly “That is my Aunt Becky.” And then everyone will know that you MUST be awesome to have such a great aunt. (I know, I know, I’m delusional. *sigh* I better go refill my meds.)

For reals, if you want to exchange cards, email me and let me know. I stole that idea from Niobe, who I totally have a girl-crush on. Because she’s awesome.

Alex would like me to tell you that he says, and I quote, “What is UP my bitches?” I have NO IDEA where he learned such motherfucking swear words.

Ben (at age 2) would like me to tell you that he is completely ashamed of having me as his mother. He would prefer someone ELSE, like Io, or maybe Jupiter to be his mother.

But he stubbornly agrees that he’s cheeks are edible.

Ben would like me to inform you that he is NOT wearing a toupee, despite how it may appear, and Alex tells me that he’s much, much fatter now.

And as for me, Dear Internet, I will raise a glass with you tonight. Here’s to December! I just KNOW that it’s going to be a great month.

(clinks glass)