Bevvy G

Well, guys, I met up with a new friend for happy hour tonight, and revealed my secret identity to her. As I was explaining this here alter ego, I realized just how long it had been since I’d last posted. I promise, I haven’t forgotten about you (though you probably wish I had) and will try to start posting more soon. For now, I’ll keep it short and sweet, as it’s already past 9 p.m. (when I turn into an actual pumpkin), but I promise not to let nearly a month go by before my next post!

For now, I just wanted to drop in and share one of those “please tell me other people do this too” moments. So, I am a 34-year-old adult with a (decent) full-time job, a horde of family and friends, active social life, no criminal record, etc. I mean, I’m half-successful at this life thing, guys. And so are all of aforementioned family and friends: you know- college-educated, homeowners, great parents, etc. But I’ll never forget a few years ago when my girl Anastasia and I were at the airport for whatever reason, and she stated that she literally can’t keep arrivals and departures separate in her mind, and has had some dangerous airport-driving situations as she tries to remember which is which. I legitimately can’t go to the airport without thinking about this anymore (and how it gives me a split-second pause as well). This sort of called my attention to things I should know, but definitely don’t know.

And I don’t mean, like, changing the oil in my car or putting air in my tires, because… no. I mean, like putting a pan on a burner and then turning the correct knob to the corresponding burner on the first try. Why is this so hard, and why is my hair on fire?

In addition, I was picking up around my house last night and came across another adult task that befuddles me on a regular basis….

Why is putting heels in a box like this the goddamn Rubik’s cube of closet care? I can’t answer that because looking at the picture gives me vertigo.

I have to go catch up on the day’s Instagram stories cross a few items off my to-do list before an early morning meeting and another full day of pretending to function as an adult.

-Bev

OK, BevHive- 2 quick questions.

a) On a scale of 1-10, how much does Spirit Airlines suck? Like, seriously. 

b) Also on a scale of 1-10, how badly does Bev need to go to Miami/Key West with Edith three weeks before I go to Mexico?

-Bev

*Note: One of these questions is rhetorical/I already know the answer. The other is not.

I just set a reminder in my phone for March 22, 2018 to remind me to pack my Southwest drink tickets for my spring break trip.

Happy Sunday, everybody.

-Bev

Bev is enjoying the first lazy Saturday she’s had since August, guys. It was going really well. I had a load of laundry in, I emptied my dishwasher, and made a hearty ham, eggs, and fried potatoes breakfast. I settled down on the couch in my robe with said breakfast and flipped on the tube. The Kardashians were nowhere to be found (dammit) but I quickly found the beginning of an episode of “Fixer Upper”, and took my first bite of my perfectly runny eggs. The day was slightly thrown off about three minutes into the episode, when they showed the birth of baby goats.

The birth. Of baby goats.

Jeezus.

YouTube Credit: mandjhancock

-Bev

P.S.- are there any houses in Waco, Texas that haven’t been “fixed up”? I mean, probably the David Koresh compound? Anybody? Also, the citizens of Waco have to be so pumped to have Chip and Joanna there so that people now associate Waco with shiplap, not fiery cults. Though, I have to say, I prefer fiery cults. Or any cults. Remind me to tell you guys about my middle school obsession with Marshall Applewhite. (I know)

If you knew one person who could somehow end up shooting shards of glass (plastic?) out of a hair dryer into her own face, who would it be?

I’d give you a hint, but I don’t think you need it.

-Bev

“I’m 23 now, but will I live to see 24?
The way things is goin’ I don’t know.” -Coolio (probably referring to Bev)

Pretty fitting that my last post was bovine-themed because it turns out the color of my hyperlinks is now the same color as calfshit. I mean, I had all my colors all sorted out when I did the Bev Revamp like a year ago, and the hyperlinks are SUPPOSED TO BE GRAY but they are most certainly BabyDiaperGoldishTan and I am NOT happy. I am going to have to schedule a tech session with my girl, Edith, as soon as possible.

Edith, please get in touch with Kris to schedule a FaceTime session in which I scream and swear, then give you my password and watch you fix my life.

Thanks in advance.

-Bev

Guys, like literally, I had the code (or some number?) of the color of gray I used for my hyperlinks. It’s written in my blog notebook (which I never use) and everything. Then something changed and everything has gone to shit. Calfshit! 

I feel like I kind of thought the links were coming up as calfshit gold but I just thought maybe it was because I had very recently visited the links on this computer- again, sometimes I just don’t think about bad things- see last post and Boogeyman reference. So I finally checked my own blog from my phone to find the hyperlink dumpster fire. Oh, and yes, I did include an excessive amount of links on this post so that we all have to look at the calfshit more. #masochist

I’m going to go ahead and bet that that GIF at the top is just a picture and not moving?!?!?!. I literally know nothing. I think I’ve gotten GIFs to animate here before? Maybe once? Am I wrong? What is happening? Who gave me the keys to this blog?

Live look at me, blogging:

Edith. Melva. Nina. Jesus. Someone. Anyone.

Guys, Maude posted an epic throwback pic on the ol’ FB yesterday and I could never live with myself if I didn’t share it here for the world to see. You know, all 57 of you followers, 43 of whom¹ actually click the email and read here *ahem*.

Anyway, it must be National 4-H week or something, because there’s a 4-H filter and Maude threw it back to her calf-showing days.

Yes, her calf-showing days. Now, before you get this all twisted and think Maude was some sort of Amish stripper² years ago, I am talkin’ cows, not legs here, folks. Maude was actually pretty interested in/knowledgeable about her 4-H calves for a few years there, and she (a.k.a., Smoke) took home some decent prizes throughout her 4-H career (no red ribbons, for all you former 4-Hers).

Now, quit yappin’, Bev, and show us the damn picture… (yells the one person who is actually still reading…)

I have to admit, as excited as I am to unveil this photo, there is one huge disappointment. In order to conceal Maude’s (and therefore, my own) identity, I had to cover her face. This might not feel like that big of a deal, but you don’t now what’s underneath my crude iPhone edit… 

Pic credit: http://perezhilton.com/tag/sally_jessy_raphael/#.WdbyYtOGM_U

Because it’s this.

Yes, this is what you’re missing. Maude had red Sally Jesse Raphael glasses for years. You know, from the age of ten to fourteen or so? (Maude, weigh in here) It’s one of my favorite things to make fun of her about- along with her deformed thumb. Remind me to show you a picture of that shit sometime. #witchcraft

Anyhoo, all of this 4-H talk got me to thinking of my own 4-H days- much less fruitful than Maude’s in the calf-showing department, that’s for sure… I thought for sure I had shared my (traumatizing) cattle show experience (note that I have one while Maude’s calf shows was most certainly plural), but a few quick searches here indicate that maybe I never have? I mean, there’s this gold(enstein) mine³ of my 4-H scrapbook during a closet clean-out, but I think you’ve made it through nearly three years of reading here without the tragic tale of star-crossed lovers, Wilbur and Bev. I promise you that the 20-year-old version of that adventure will be coming soon, and it’s a goddamn doozy, let me tell ya. It will be here before you know it, but I’ll give you a little hint by unveiling the title: “Tears and Tranquilizers.”

God, I’m going to need a Xanax to dig up these memories, guys. I am 100% positive that I have a similar picture of myself with my calf, and I’ll do my best to dredge that bitch up. (note: I will not be wearing SJR’s signature red specs, but I think you can catch a glimpse of my steel-toed boots, so I think you’ll be satisfied…)

-Bev

¹I literally just feel too damn Fancy whenever I use the word whom and have no idea if I use it correctly or not. And it’s one of the few grammatical things that I kind of refuse to Google to try to find answers… it’s like the Boogeyman is in the basement, and I ain’t opening up that door, OK? OMG, speaking of Fancy, remember Fancy? My friend from O’Reilly Auto Parts? God, I loved her.

²Maude is currently working for a company that has been bought out by another company, and is essentially riding the train to the end of the track, and will be searching for a new job sometime in the next year. Does anyone know the going rate for Amish strippers?

³I just love using gold(enstein) mine. Exhibit A. Exhibit B.

Most people sort their laundry pretty simply, right? Like… lights, darks, etc. What would you call a load consisting of the shoes you can’t soak the Fireball smell out of and a fluffy blanket that you found a mouse turd on 2 weeks ago and finally gained the confidence to pick up?

Hypothetically speaking, of course.

-Bev

My colorist took pictures of my hair and put them on her Instagram tonight, so any further communication and requests for Bev can be made at: kris.jenner@gmail.com

Oh, and I’m also pregnant¹.

-Bev

¹I feel like I have to explain this part due to my… less-connected readers. Mom, Sue, Nan, and Connie- I am NOT pregnant. Pretty much all of the Kardashians are and I was making a Kardashian joke, as I often do. Don’t worry, if/when I ever get pregnant, you won’t find out here.

I’ll send you an email.

You know, like MamaG did when Smoke potentially had skin cancer.

Well, I’m bringing this post to you from the brink of sanity- like I’m in the parking lot of an asylum, guys. Not literally, but you know what I mean. I thought my original mouse problem was solved when the original Mickey was slaughtered, and I honestly can’t type details right now, but the “original mouse problem” is not solved. I have not slept in my own home in four days (three nights) and I am existing on a very specific diet of champagne, salted caramel mochas, and cheese. This experience is really teaching me a lot about myself and how I deal with bumps in the road. Here’s a little taste of what I have learned.

I need medication. 

I mean, seriously. In the past week, I have…

*cried. a lot.

*stayed at some of my best friends’ houses. a lot. (more on that in another post-shoutout to Bev’s friends, man)

*paid a fourth grader to “keep me company”. (this sounds creepy as hell. It’s really not. Literally.)

*not walked around my house barefoot.

*seen the most beautiful man I have ever seen in my –literally– life at Home Depot, stalked him a teeny bit (he was in the rug area- I like rugs too…), then jumped nine feet in the air when I passed the end of an aisle and he came to the same corner at the same time with his cart. (startle reflex on FLEEK) I was wearing sweaty gym clothes, carrying bleach and mouse traps, and I can’t believe that asshole didn’t ask me out to dinner.

*not sat on my living room furniture.

*boxed my personal trainer- that. felt. good.

*done my makeup in my office at 6 am.

*listened to a lot of rap music. Rap music makes me feel like I can conquer the world (or kill an animal that weighs 4 ounces). #RakeItUp

*carried around a plastic Target bag containing my toothbrush, toothpaste, extra (travel) phone charger, contacts, and glasses. Like, this bag has been in my car for like ten days. I am ready for any sort of natural disaster. (just add peanut butter)

*bleached my kitchen x14.

*gone to the post office, returned 2-3 items, cleaned out my car (inside and out), gotten gas, wandered World Market, Barnes and Noble (taking pictures of Whole30 recipes I like from the cookbook on the sly and then not buying it- probably highly illegal), Target, and the grocery store. Guys, I’m spending my free time at the grocery store. I mean, I am seriously avoiding my home like The Plague. You know, The Plague that the mice in my apartment are probably carrying.

*thrown a potato at my gym bag.

-Bev

I threw. a potato. at my gym bag. (shoutout to Fawn for the “throw something at it” strategy after the original Mickey ten days ago. That Fawn. She smart, y’all.)