Bevvy G

My personal trainer during my boxing session last night: “I want your arms and shoulders to be sore tomorrow.”

Me, taking a shower this morning:

-Bev

Trader Joe’s clerk: “Do you want me to leave this (heavy item) out and put the rest in a single bag, or double bag everything?”

Bev: “Double bag everything, please.”

Clerk: “It’s Earth Day, so we’re just encouraging people to…”

Bev: “Oh.”

*walks out with double bags*

-BG

After a restless night last night¹, my Thursday started out with a shitload of Diet Coke and even more dry shampoo (what’s the next step up from a shitload?)

From there, it led into a seemingly endless morning, where I actually pondered whether I had taken the final dose of the Zithromax I’m taking for a never-ending cold, or the first of the Xanax I’ve recently been prescribed for turbulent flights (and maybe a few turbulent nights?).

Fast forward to getting home from work, when I dropped a boneless, skinless chicken breast on the floor- but not before I (briefly) caught it in between my pant leg and the front panel of my dishwasher. #SkidMarks

So, ya know what? Now I’m eating a brownie and drinking rosé in my bed.

And in the words of our dear Rihanna, cheers to the freakin’ weekend.

May our nights be filled with dreams of fully-stocked vacation suitcases, and our days with appropriate prescriptions and foodless floors.

-Bev

¹I dreamt I was on a road trip in Florida and forgot my ENTIRE suitcase at my aunt Polly and uncle Bob’s house in Mayberry- if you know me well, you know this is essentially my worst nightmare. I can’t bear the thought of not having the right makeup brush, or forgetting a necklace for an outfit, so forgetting my whole bag just had me in an absolute fit for about eight hours. 

I just wanted to add a few details to my post from last night. I didn’t do so last night because a) that post was long as shit… b) I was falling asleep… c) I am lazy.

A few amendments/additions/clarifications:

*when I say “small-town” bar crawl, I really mean, “tiny-city” bar crawl. I mean, to most people, a 20K population is a small town. Not to Bev. Mayberry’s population was 253 in 2013, and its residents are dying by the week, guys. And we all know ain’t nobody movin’ to Mayberry. OK, I guess there are a lot of tweakers moving in, but you catch my drift. This 20,000-person “small town” is probably going to have a stoplight and a gas station. In a Mayberrian’s standards, this is a city.

It just is.

*I would like to officially state here that my last name is pronounced Gold-in-steen. Like, it rhymes with ethylene, not turpentine. I only used the word ethylene because of ethylene glycol (the scientific name for antifreeze) because I am obsessed with murder shows (as you know) and I will always have a special place in my heart for ethylene glycol- not literally (hopefully), but you get it. I have a story about this, but I know that I will forget to share it here. Can one of my loyal readers remind me to share my ethylene glycol story next week? Edith? Loretta? Keith? MamaG?

Jesus, I actually just typed this sentence?

Can one of my loyal readers remind me to share my ethylene glycol story next week?

STILL SINGLE, FOLKS.

-Bev

P.S.- you know what town I bet IS small? This one:

(this was a comment on a Facebook status Karen posted about our trip)

Thanks, Carla! We will certainly be headed a mile or so south of K-4, and I have high, HIGH hopes for this “burger place and beer joint” you speak of. I’m sure it ain’t no Henning House, but then I bet you wouldn’t know, would you, Carla?

P.P.S.- I think it’d be a good idea to stay abreast of Bev’s Instagram activity this weekend, guys. #JustSayin

I’ve been absent. Blend up some technical difficulties on my post from last Friday (which was then never published), with unexpected (non-drinking induced) vomitus in the middle of the night on Sunday, with an insane amount of errands/tasks completed this week before heading out of town this weekend, and I just really haven’t had the time guys.

I mean, I know you’re thinking, “Oh, Bev, you’re sooooo busy.” But listen, have you ever left work at 3:20, picked up a half dozen boob cupcakes, made it to your personal trainer for a 30-minute session by 4:15, gotten your nails done, made two appetizers, and then arrived at a 7:00 pm BBQ five minutes early before? Yeah. Shove it. And that doesn’t even take into account the perfectly-timed Old Navy and Target returns before and after babysitting on Tuesday night, or the grocery run during my lunch hour on Wednesday. Bev works well under presh, y’all. Works well under presh. Doesn’t blog well under presh. Anyway, let’s get on with it.

I’m here. I’m just straight crushing life, as you can see read above (#BoobCupcakes), and I have a little story for you, my only favorite fan base!

I am heading out tomorrow on a wonderful road trip. It’s one of those trips I’ve been waiting for for months, and it’s finally (almost) here! This isn’t just any road trip, guys. It’s a small-town bar crawl road trip. It’s a be alone in the car for five hours road trip. It’s a get yourself that fatty latte, Bevvy road trip. It’s a(n) I’ve recently discovered the treasure of audiobooks roadtrip. It was supposed to be a take Friday off, get up at your leisure, hit the gym, shower, and get on the road on your own time road trip. (that plan has been slightly altered by the unexpected vomitus [see above] and the Monday sick day, but leaving the office early will suffice).

But more than that? It’s a Karen May road trip.

Huh? 

Yeah. You all haven’t been introduced to Karen yet, but let me tell ya. She’s a real doozy. You see, without Karen, there is no Bev. Hear me out!

As many (all) of you know, Beverly Goldenstein is not my real name. I write here under an alias in order to protect my identity and be able to keep my shitty day job. And Beverly Goldenstein is not something I take lightly (this should be obvious), and certainly not something I just came up with one drunken night in a gay bar in Middle America. OK, that last part isn’t true. I totally came up with Beverly Goldenstein one drunken night in a gay bar in Middle America. Well, actually, Karen did. And here goes the story of the very origin of this here Bevvy G:

It was a drunken night in a gay bar in Middle America (one of many). I was sitting at the bar with my good friend. My crony was sucking down the cranberry vodkas, while I was most likely enjoying ‘Beer Bust’ where you pay eleven dollars, get a stamp on the inside of your wrist, and drink as much beer as you want until bar close. Beer Bust is something I hope you all get to experience at some point in your lives, but that’s neither here nor there. The two of us are just sitting there, shooting the shit as you do with your close friends, when we saw a pair of abandoned sunglasses on the bar. We were immediately attracted to said sunglasses, and not because they were the latest pair of Chanels. Quite opposite. They were the biggest, but best, ugliest, most amazing sunglasses we’d ever seen, and of course, I immediately put them on. We couldn’t stop laughing, and decided to give ourselves names for whenever either of us were wearing the glasses. Aliases, guys. Alter egos. Evil twins? My friend immediately came up with Beverly Goldenstein for me before I quickly deemed her Karen May. I obviously pocketed the sunglasses, and would bring them out every now and again so that my friend and I could immediately transform into Bev and Karen. There are many things you need to know about Karen, but my favorite thing is that whenever Karen morphs into Karen, she always introduces herself as, “Karen. Karen May.” And let me tell ya what, when Beverly Goldenstein is GodKnowsHowManyPitchersDeep in Beer Bust, that shit is funny. Really funny.

So there it is. The reason for the season. Where it all began. The roots. 

It’s been at least five years since I’ve seen Karen, and we couldn’t be more excited to be staying at a Days Inn in a town of 20,000. I have boob cupcakes for Karen for her 50th birthday. I have another hotel happy hour ready to be set up. I have my robe packed. Our hotel has a hot tub. There’s a restaurant in town with the word “chickenette” in its name. It’s gonna be good, guys.

But mostly, I’m just excited to see Karen. Karen May.

-Beverly Goldenstein

Guys. It’s April 5th. On May 5th, Bev flies to Cancun for a long Mexican weekend. I feel like we should make a “Bevsico¹ Bingo” card. Now taking suggestions as to what may or may not happen while I’m there. Anywhere from Bev drowns in her personal swim-out pool to Bev meets her knight in shining Juan-or and never returns… let’s get this shit started.

Also, Nan… you may have to slip MamaG a Xanax or two. Plan accordingly.

-Bev

¹OK, I feel like I have to explain the spelling of the play on words of Bev and Mexico, and why my new word doesn’t include an x, because at first glance, it kind of feels like it should… but it’s because the ‘x’ sounds is a combination of the ‘k’ (or hard c) and ‘s’ sound, and it wouldn’t work here, OK? Just like the ‘s’ doesn’t work in the word Jaxson. Think about it. Jaxon does the same thing, guys. I could go on here, but I wish not to offend. I probably didn’t need to explain that to anyone, because no one else obsesses over this weird word shit like I do… or do they? (someone? anyone?)

It’s my last day of spring break, and you’re probably thinking that I’m out, trying to find the bottom of bottomless mimosas. Actually, I’m in my PJs on my couch, waiting for it to be at least slightly dark so I can go to bed.

And now you’re probably thinking that I’m so tired from an epic three days in the Windy City, celebrating a college friend’s wedding with some of my favorite people. Actually, I’m so tired because I had a dream nightmare that I got a cat last night. His name was Peter, he was that weird orangey-gold cat color, he was cagey/terrifying, he kept trying to touch me, and I don’t think I got more than twenty minutes of straight sleep all night.

So, Lord, please allow me to get some sleep tonight.

For Pete’s sake.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

-Bev

It’s 3:00 in the morning now, but by the time you read this, Bev will (hopefully) be having breakfast with a good friend in Chicago, then being dropped off at her hotel for a long winter’s nap before heading out for the evening. I am not bringing my computer with me, as I a) don’t want to worry about it, b) don’t think I’ll have time to blog anyway, and c) may not be able to read until Sunday morning.

Wish me luck in one of my favorite American cities, celebrating the nuptials of a dear college friend, as well as a belated 34th birthday for Bevvy here. I may even squeeze in a Chicago architecture boat tour. (What I’m telling you here is that I might puke off a boat in the next three days)

Be sure to follow along on Bev’s Instagram (see sidebar) and if you do happen to see activity here before Monday, I’m posting from my phone, and that could be… interesting. 

-Bev