Bevvy G

I didn’t go to the gym yesterday, but I did try on my outfit for an upcoming wedding, which required me putting on a pair of pantyhose (is there a worse word than that?) three different times, so I sure as hell got a workout in.

Three times– how in God’s name can you tell the front and back of those Godforsaken things? 

MamaG?

-Bev

There’s an NBA player whose last name is Jokic, and I don’t know if he’s good or bad or crazy, but I keep seeing the name on the news and on my Twitter ‘trending’ page, and all I can think of is… Is that pronounced jock itch?

Because I sure hope so.

-Beverly

Some of you may be wondering just how much of a shitshow Bevvy here actually is. You’re thinking to yourself, there have to be days where this woman is a successful adult, with a real job, clean underwear, a full gas tank, and some common sense, right?

And, yes, dear readers- you’re right! There are days that go by with absolutely no Bev-like catastrophes, and those days are great and fun and awesome and nice.

Yesterday… well, that wasn’t one of those days. You see, Bev needs some essentials from Target. Like we all do, right? Due to a really busy week and not feeling the best, ol’ crafty Bev here hops online and orders the items from THE INTERWEBS with my Target RedCard- quick-fast-and-in-a-hurry. Free shipping, and the items should be sitting on my doorstep in mere days! 

You’re a genius, Bev. Gosh, you are saving so much time (albeit, not saving much in the way of packing materials, but hey- win some, lose some, right?) And anytime you can save yourself a trip to Target, you’re more than likely also saving yourself some money, considering the complete and utter wallet-suck that Target is for literally all of us. 

*high-fives self*

I was really riding this high all the way through my lunch (which I can’t taste OR smell, btw), and it wasn’t until I checked my email later that day that I realized I was no genius. I’m just the same ol’ cotton-headed ninny muggins I’ve always been, because I sent my essentials to Maude. Who lives three states away.

Oh, Beverly.

So, Maude is now on the lookout for a Target box, addressed to me, containing face wash, body wash, and twelve boxes of Kleenex.

Oh, and Maude, being the actual nice person that she is, sent me a Valentine’s Day card today, telling me how awesome I am. Normally, I would send a thank you card for something like this.

This time, I’m sending a twelve-pack of facial tissue.

You’re welcome, Maude!

-Bev

P.S. Before you go thinking I’m a complete idiot, the last package I sent from Target was meant to go to Maude’s house for Margaret’s birthday. I would love to blame Margaret, but she’s ten. And way smarter and more responsible than I, as evidenced by her, “Oh my,” when I talked to her on the phone later last evening.

I know.

You know what the worst thing about the Patriots is?

Tom Brady’s smug ass? No.

Bill Belichick and his sweatshirt sleeves? No.

Pats. And the fact that people pronounce that in a way that rhymes with “hats” and not the way it should be said, which is to rhyme with “hates”, which is how we all feel about them, AmIWrong?

So there, Patriots fans. You might have a(nother) Super Bowl feather in your cap, but you don’t even know how to shorten your own nickname, OK?

*sticks tongue out at Patriots fans*

-Bev

P.S. I have a friend whose last name is “Schissel” and it is pronounced “chisel” and everyone has him in their phones as “Chizz” and I have him in mine as “Schis” and I wonder if it should be “Schiss” because this same rule would apply, but then I feel like my head is going to explode, and I’m going to pour myself a cocktail now. WHY AM I LIKE THIS?

P.P.S. Seriousy, think about this. Seahawks= Hawks. Vikings= Vikes. Buccaneers= Bucs. All. Pronounced. The. Same. As. In. The. Full. Name.

P.P.P.S. My Dolphin fan friends also call them the Fins. Down with the pronunciation, not down with the spelling. #Phins

P.T.S.D. You, after reading this post, and getting a real look into Bev’s mind.

In the last five minutes, I have:

*sneezed so hard I came within what had to have been a millimeter of a wall corner.

*opened a loaf of bread to grab a slice for a pre-gym snack, only to find it half-covered in mold. It’s possible I purchased that bread in 2016.¹

*They say bad things happen in threes, and I am essentially terrified to be walking around right now.

-Bev

¹This relates to another great Bev idea, which is another post: singles’ grocery store. You heard it here first- and don’t steal my idea, you bastards. Post with details on my store coming soon.

Bev calls in ‘sick’ Thursday and spends the day in her bed/on her couch, doing absolutely nothing.

Bev wakes up feeling like shit Sunday morning.

It never fails. It’s like God is trying to strike me down for lying. I mean, come on, God- taking a sick day is the behavior of mine that you really think deserves punishment?

Anyway, I just left the grocery store, where I spent $100 on Super Bowl food (tortellini salad and a bag of Cheddar and Sour Cream Ruffles because why not), a 12-pack of Silver Bullets, and two types of cold medicine. 

Is it me, or is the cold medicine aisle, like, really overwhelming? Drowsy, non-drowsy, congestion, sore throat, muscle aches, headaches. Dear God, if you don’t have a headache when you enter that aisle, you sure do when you leave it. I also have a bit of PTSD from a high school experience where MamaG sent me with some “non-drowsy” cold medicine to take before my volleyball practice. It was either Comtrex or Sudafed, but I secretly wonder if it was OxyContin, because I don’t remember volleyball practice. That is literally two hours of my life that I have zero recollection of, and this was when I was like fifteen, so that wasn’t just a normally Saturday night yet.

Anyway, I left the store today with some Zicam and some Tylenol Cold or something. After a quick check with cousin Timmy that taking these two meds together won’t kill me, I’m one dose in, and not feeling any different at all. Thanks, Zicam and Tylenol Cold! Later today, I’ll switch over to medicating with those Silver Bullets I mentioned above, and you know what? I bet they work better than this crap.

Stay tuned.

Oh, and go Falcons. I would love nothing more than to see them deflate Brady’s balls on live TV in a few hours.

-Bev

Happy Anniversary, Bev! I don’t know what I would do without you in my life for the last two years. Cheers to forever! 

This gives us all a reason to drink tonight, guys. (so does the fact that I am up at 4:15 am , completing a grad school assignment, and preparing for a big meeting after work today… just make it through the next 12-13 hours, Bevvy.)

Love,
Bev

P.S.- Get yourself a breakfast burrito to celebrate this momentous occasion, you minx. 

*That’s a bag update, if you didn’t know.

I can’t find the unicorn bag. Linda can’t find the unicorn bag. I can now find it in the cognac and smoky blue colors on Target online, but I just don’t love them the way I know I would love it in black. 

The good news is, before I saw the unicorn bag, I had already ordered three bags from Target.com, so those three are sitting in my living room now, waiting for me to choose a fav and return the other two.

You may be wondering why I have such an urgent need for a new bag (and ‘urgent’ could certainly be argued against here, but I’ll save that argument for MamaG), so I’ll tell you. 

I need a work bag. This is different than a purse. Work bag holds all kinds of wondrous shit, from books and reports that I may need to transport to and from work and home, a random assortment of writing utensils, usually my lunch, tissues, etc.¹ It really is an essential to Bev’s daily life, and there’s a bit of an issue with my current work bag.

That problem being that over Thanksgiving break, cousin Bessie and I got real drunk in our college town, and when we were hungover driving home to Mayberry, we stopped at Chick-fil-A (duh), and I grabbed at least eleven different sauces to go with my chicken strips (duh). Like, they were just sitting behind the counter, and the guy wasn’t saying anything, so I was shoving an assortment of Chick-fil-A sauces² into my bag like a crackhead. Needless to say, I didn’t need all the sauces for my meal, and a few of them stayed in my bag. Where, you guessed it, we had an incident. A ranch dressing incident to be specifici. Not sure object was the puncture perpetrator this time (read Bev’s Bio for other times I’ve been in similar situations), but as I was carrying my bag one day last week, I kept getting a whiff of what I thought was pickles. No. Errant ranch (which, apparently, smells like pickles?). Not a huge disaster or anything, but it’s time for a new bag. I can’t be out in the streets smelling like pickles, guys.

1:37 mark… kills me every time.

YouTube Credit: Movieclips

-Bev

¹I actually went through my bag (*note, it’s sometimes used for travel), and here’s a real list of the contents… in order of their peculiarity: ID badge and swipe card for work, portable charger (whose usefulness is becoming suspect), headphones, errant ponytail holders, Motrin, pencils and pens, Dramamine, Crystal Light packets, my three-year-old bottle of Ativan, three gold bangle bracelets, a tube of Body Glide, and some kind of Nerf gun accessory. What. the. fresh. hell. Bev?

²Remind me to tell you the time my old roommate, Alice, and I went to Chick-fil-A (also hungover0 and sat in the parking lot, contemplating whether or not Polynesia was a country, for like 10 minutes.

Bev loves a good pun. Whether she’s the giver or the taker, she takes more delight in the word play than the average bear. You can read some of her past puns here, here, and here.

However, Bev’s best pun to date came in a recent conversation on Bev’s group chat with cousins Bessie, Gertrude, and Keith. You see, it’s a long story, but Bev was recently kind of roped into spearheading a fundraiser at work for Syrian refugees. Fearing a complete and utter bust of a fundraiser as far as money goes, Bev called in some family and friends to contribute to the pot. Being the kind, generous, caring people they are, Bev’s family and friends came out in droves. (shoutout to donators, by the way- for reals- expectations: exceeded)

Things were going swimmingly until a few people put something about Syria in the memo of their PayPal and Venmo payments, and now possibly half of my family tree is on the no fly list- including me, as all of their donations were headed my way. During this debacle, Bev was communicating with the cousins on this particular group text about not putting any ‘buzz words’ in their memos, and ol’ cousin Gert just set Bev up for the perfect alley oop, and Bev dunked that pun of a bitch home (HOLY SHIT DO YOU SEE WHAT I DID THERE?)…

My work here is pun.

-Bev

P.S.- I’m not sure if all of the things posted here actually qualify as puns, but the definition of pun involves ‘word play’ and ‘play on words’ and I am most definitely playing with words here.