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Becky the Nontoxinista

I’m Bringing Sexy Back

By May 10, 2017 Uncategorized
Close up of woman biting her lip with bright red lipstick

Oh man!  You guys ready?  Because I’m ’bout to get weird on y’all.  Like… freaky deaky.  You ready?  To give you an idea of where my head’s at, my goal for this post is to use the word ‘kinky’ at least five times.  Youngins best cover your eyes or see yourselves out of here…

So tonight there’s a full moon in Scorpio.  And do you know what that means?… Oh, you thought I might?  Yeah, I actually have no clue.  I’m not really into astrology.  I do love reading energy forecasts though.  Sometimes they’re so accurate they wig me the fuck out.  Anyway, so the full moon in Scorpio means it’s time to bring your sexy back.  Or at least that’s what she said.  (Haha!)  And I totally believe her.  Can’t you just feel that pent up sexual energy?  Ow ow!  Well it’s time to let it out, and this Scorpio full moon will help you…  You know,  if you’re a little nervous about getting… kinky.  


Really though, Scorpio’s energy is about intimacy, romance, and sex.  And not even necessarily with another person.  It’s about being comfortable in your own skin.  Loving yourself just as you are.  And when you really love yourself, you’re not afraid to explore uncharted territory… In bed.

Okay, so back in the day, when I used to hit the bars on the regular with friends, we would frequently go to one particular Chinese food restaurant after a long night of drinking.  We all always ordered the same thing… One night I went up to the counter, drunk as fuck, and placed my order, “Hi.  I’d like the 15B and coke.”  The man behind the counter looked at me then responded, “I don’t think you have enough money for that.”  Clearly confused, I assured him I had money and again said, “I want the 15B and coke.”  He paused, then repeated that he didn’t think I could afford it.  So now I’m drunk, hungry, and getting annoyed.  For the last time I repeated myself slowly, so as not to confuse this motherfucker…  “No.  I have money.  I would like to order the 15B and a Coca Cola.”  And then it was though the lights came on.  He looked at me and said, “Oooooh.  Coca Cola.  For that you have to use the vending machine.”  What the fuck!  Dude was definitely selling cocaine out of his restaurant.  Shady.  Lord knows what else was going on there.  I don’t even want to know.  And I definitely still ate the 15B.  Gross.

Anyway, what the hell was my point?  Oh, right… I said ‘in bed’ and it made me think of fortune cookies, which made me think of that story.  Wow.  My brain is all over the place.  Okay, so anyway… Fortune cookies… They come with, well, fortunes.  Duh.  Remember when you were younger, you’d play that stupid game with your fortunes?  Everyone would open their cookie and read it out loud to the group, and add ‘in bed’ to the end of the sentence.  It was usually good for a chuckle.  I promise you, I do have a point in all of this… It just may take me a bit to get to it.  Bare with  me…

So tonight I’ll be setting intentions with the full moon.  Normally for full moons your intentions should be to release that which is no longer serving your highest good in life.  During new moons you can set intentions for what it is that you’d like to manifest into your life.  But apparently, because of the current energies in the Universe, with this full moon we can do either.  Woohoo!  Okay, okay… I know I’m getting all types of weird over here.  So let me just show you.

I’ve decided for this full moon I’ll be focusing on sexuality, and these are the intentions I’ll  be setting:


I had to throw in that last one just for good measure.  I needed to make sure I was absolutely clear with the Universe what it is I’m talking about.  And just for giggles, you can go ahead and throw in the phrase ‘in bed’ at the end of each of my sentences… Or wherever happens to be your favorite place to fuck.  Kinky.  See, I told you I had a point to all the fortune cookie nonsense.  I mean, I suppose I could’ve just left it all out, but where’s the fun in that?  Anyway, moving on.  So tonight before bed, I’ll go outside, read my intentions, and then burn the paper.  Sounds a little like voodoo, huh?  I mean, I guess it kind of is.  But honestly, it’s a nice way for me to remind myself what I’m working towards in my life.  And apparently at the moment I’m working on bringing sexy back.

Ladies!!!  Gentleman too, but LAAAAADIIIIIES!!!!  The time has come.  Let out the wild woman that’s hiding inside.  That thing you think about but have never admitted out loud… Do that.  Get kinky.  You know you want to.  And you and the lucky person you’re sleeping with can thank me later…  Yowza!  Now, go ‘head girl… Get your sexy on.

Justin Timberlake~SexyBack

Namaste, you sexy bitches.


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We Run This Mutha

By May 9, 2017 Uncategorized

Have you ever met someone that you immediately click with?  A person that instantly just gets you?  Someone that’s easy and fun to just be around?  That’s how I feel about Jenn.  We jive.  Although, we’ve known each other since high school, and have just recently become close friends.  Back in the day, we cheered together.  She used to toss me in the air.  It was a good time.  But we didn’t hang out much.  I was somewhat of a goody-two-shoes.  And she was…. not. Ha!  Post college we danced together.  That was also a good time.  But again, we didn’t really have much of a friendship outside the dance studio.  We did however, enjoy shaking our asses on stage together.  I have no idea where Jenn is, but if you pay attention, I bet you can figure out which one is me.

Hint:  I’m the ‘Becky’ that gets her ass smacked.

Fast forward a few more years, and our little girls go to the same alternative school, with a focus on self-directed learning.  The model fosters critical thinking, creativity, and growing up to become a total bad ass.  In a nutshell, parents who send their kids to this type of school are telling the ‘system’ to fuck off.

These girls right here… They ain’t gonna follow the rules.  Nope.  They’re going to be the ones that help to rewrite them.


Our girls becoming such great friends has given me and Jenn the best excuse to hang out constantly.  Last week Jenn randomly asked if I wanted to go to Foxwoods for a night.  Normally this isn’t something I’d really do.  Sounds like a money pit to me.  But Jenn could make hanging out in paper bag fun, so I figured why not?  Besides, it’s always nice having an excuse to get dolled up.


And to spend way too much money on more food than you could ever possibly eat.


We’re going to go ahead and blame this 2am room service order on the alcohol.  The excessively massive tip I gave them can be blamed on my stupidity.  Ha!  The hours leading up to this ridiculous purchase were a blast though, so it was worth the $80.

I’m pretty sure we spent approximately 30 minutes gambling.  The rest of the time we laughed our asses off at each other.  We spent more time crouched over, dying laughing in the bathroom than anyplace else.  I damn near pissed my pants.  Jenn is terrible at taking selfies.  And I’m pretty sure I might have a concussion from smashing my head into the mirror… It’s a long story. I’d pay good money to get my hands on the picture Jenn took of herself.  But then she’d probably kill me.  We finished off our overnight with a failed attempt at getting tattoos (whomp whomp) and then played music way too loud the whole ride home.  I’m pretty sure we looked wicked cool.  Her pimped out Cherokee puts my ’02 Caravan to shame.

When I hang with Jenn, I feel about as cool as these two bad ass females.  But Jenn… Jenn actually is this cool:

Beyonce~Run The World




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Don’t Give Up, I Won’t Give Up

By May 7, 2017 Uncategorized

Lately life sort of feels like a song I hate that’s stuck on repeat.  Anyone else feel that way or just me?  Please tell me I’m not the only one.  Brutal.  The last few weeks have felt… exhausting, in every sense of the word.  Am I right?  Oh man, the other day I woke up and I swear my angry eyebrow wrinkle was deeper than ever.  It looked as if I’d spent the entire night sleeping with a scowl on my face.  What the fuck?  I fell off the wagon, man.  Actually, I jumped.

For the past month or so, I’ve been in a total slump.  Not working out.  Eating like shit.  Not sleeping.  Not meditating.  Nothing.  I’ve literally been my own worst enemy.  I’m not sure what’s going on, but it’s time for a change.  If my life was a tower made of a deck of cards, it’s as if I’m waiting for someone or something to come along and pull out one of the cards from the bottom, causing the whole thing to come crashing down.  Only then would I have permission to pick up the pieces and start building a new tower.  It feels almost as if I’m waiting for the Universe to throw me a bone.  Like I’m hoping for some sort of event to occur that would cause me to start actively making changes in my life.  Ya know?

But life doesn’t work like that.  I’ve had the ‘when’ attitude for a while.  I’ll start eating better when I have more time.  I’ll get up earlier to squeeze in a daily yoga practice when the kids start sleeping better.  I’ll organize our clothes and toys when I have a day without the kids here.  Get what I mean?  But having that attitude is getting me nowhere.  Honestly, change will happen in my life when I make it happen… By being the change.

So I’m starting now.  Actually, no I’m not.  I’m starting Tuesday.  Why?  Because I have a girls night planned for tomorrow and a hangover planned for Monday.  Ha!  So Tuesday it is.  But I’ve made up my mind.  And the first thing to go is this:


And also this:


Okay, wait… Let’s pump the brakes for a sec.  There’s no way in hell I’m giving up coffee.  But I’m giving up Dunks… Except maybe on weekends.  And Weekdays.  Gah!  I don’t know if I can do this one.  But I’m really going to pretend to try.

And since 90% of my fluid intake is coffee and wine, I obviously need to replace it with something, right?  I guess it should be this:



Seriously though.  It’s time for me to start being accountable for my own life.  I can’t just expect things to get better without putting in the work.  I’m so tired.  So fucking tired… But I need to stop using that as an excuse, because that’s exactly what it is.  And not nourishing my body is not helping anything.  I could create a list a mile long of the things that need to change, but I’ve realized the hard way that I need to start small.  My life is mine, right?  And my body is my temple.

You know, for a while I’ve sort of had moments where I feel like… what the fuck, man!  Fuck it.  I give up.  I’m done caring.  I’m done trying.  I’d prefer to sit on my couch, a hot fucking mess, and wait for someone or something to fix my problems.  I’m tired.  And I’m done.

Except I’m not done.  And I’m not giving up.  I don’t feel well.  And I think that’s what I’m most tired of.  I want to feel young, and energized, and beautiful, and full of life.  And I will.  Baby steps, right?  I got stamina.

The Greatest~Sia ft. Kendrick Lamar




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Oh my God, Becky…

By April 29, 2017 kitchen, Uncategorized

Let me just start by saying that this post is rated R… Or maybe NC-17.  Parental discretion is advised.  Soooo if you happen to be really young or innocent, I’d suggest going ahead and x’ing out of this window.  Mmmmkay?

I was born in 1981…  Before my name became somewhat of thing.  Not sure what ‘thing’ I’m talking about?  Then you’ve been living under a rock…  Just sayin’.  Anyway, when my mother was pregnant with me she had the name Rachael picked out.  But when I was born, my parents thought I looked like a ‘Becky,’ so they flipped the switch and decided to name me Rebecca.  I’d really like to say that I’m happy about this, but as time has passed, I’ve realized that Rachael would’ve been a much better name.  Don’t get me wrong, I think the name Rebecca is beautiful.  I really do!  I love it.  And I like the nickname Becky too.  It certainly fits me.  It’s… “cute.”  Right?  Thing is, a series of events has led to my dislike for my name.


In first grade I had to complete a family tree as an assignment for class.  The project also included a sheet I had to fill out about myself.  One question asked the meaning of my name.  I brought the assignment home, gathered pictures for the family tree and filled out all of the pertinent information about my family.  I then moved onto the page that was all about me.  When I got to the question about my name’s meaning, I asked my mom for help.  We actually had a book of baby names and meanings, so we flipped through it looking for my name… Do you want to know what it said?  One word:


Really?… My name means virgin cow?  Awesome.  I mean, I think maybe that’s sacred in some religions?  But let’s be real.  I’d really prefer that my name not mean ‘cow,’ and a virgin one at that!  Prude.  Am I right?!  Of course I am!  You know how I know?  Because I searched every fucking baby name website looking for the meaning of ‘Rebecca’ and none came back with the meaning ‘heifer.’  I guess somewhere along the line, someone with pull decided to change the meaning of my name.  Thing is, the new meaning is just as bad!  What is it?  I’m so glad you asked.  Again, just one word:


Okay, I don’t know about you, but this is the image that comes to my mind…

Woman with hands tied to bedpost

Kinky.  Haha!  On some sites it said, “One that ties or binds.”  When you really think about that, it could be a nice definition, right?  But given the history of the name Becky, all I can think about is sex.

First there was Sir Mix A Lot:

Now let’s be clear… It is entirely obvious that the girl at the beginning of this video is referring to her friend as Becky.  The girl with the big butt… We don’t know her name.  But that doesn’t really seem to matter.  Y’all just love to remind me that my name is in this fucking terrible song.  Thanks for that, by the way.  I’m glad my butt makes y-y-y-you so horny.

Then came this gem:

Really?… I mean, really?  Ugh.  Okay, so now guys refer to blow jobs as Beckys.  I. Can’t.  Even.  Deal.  Couldn’t he have picked the name Lisa?  Or Ashley?  Or Samantha?  Really anything but Becky…  Nope.  Becky it is.  That one’s fun.  Hey gentlemen, here’s an idea, how ’bout you call a blow job what it is… A BLOW JOB.  Head.  Nob.  A mean bean.  Fellatio.  Oral sex.  Couldn’t any of those suffice?  Nope.  Just had to go ahead and ruin my name.  Eye roll.

And then of course there’s this:

Oh, Beyonce.  I really have nothing but love for you.  You are a beautiful, talented, strong-ass woman.  But now, because of you, Becky with the good hair is a ‘basic bitch’ that fucked your husband.  Why?…  Why did you have to use the name Becky?

But… at least we can all agree…  I do have good hair, right?


Okay, so in sum, Becky is “a basic bitchy virgin cow with good hair, that likes to give blow jobs and has a nice ass.”  It doesn’t get much worse than that.  Big sigh.

Listen… I don’t care what y’all do between the sheets… Or on your kitchen counter… At the beach… In your car… Wherever, really.  I also don’t care how or who you do it with.  But if y’all could just go ahead and leave my name out of it, that would be greeeeaaaat.  Unless of course you’re lucky enough to be getting down with a real-life Becky.  In that case…  HOLLAH!

~Namaste, Bitches~

Rachael… Formerly known as Becky

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Give it to Me, I’m Worth It

By April 27, 2017 Uncategorized

Ask anyone who knows me.  There are two things about me that are undeniably true… I’m not much of a risk-taker, and I’m not a big spender.  Hmmm, well maybe those aren’t entirely true.  I did have a stage in college when I was more than willing to spend hundreds of dollars on designer jeans and bags.  I had more Seven and Citizens jeans than I could count.  Actually, I still have two pairs.  They’re great ‘ass-jeans.’  Those can be hard to find.  Ha!  But I racked up a massive amount of credit card debt, and realized the hard way that cool jeans don’t make you cool.  Especially when they make you broke.  These days I have a hard time convincing myself to spend $20 on a pair of yoga pants at Old Navy.  I will however, drop $13 on a jar of cashew butter at Whole Foods without so much as batting an eye.  But the risk-taking thing is definitely true.

Okay, it’s a half truth… There was that time I decided to cut off all my hair.  Big mistake.  HUGE.  (In my head that sounded just like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman… Just so you know.)


What the fuck was I thinking?  Oh my God, I still remember that day.  I immediately regretted it.  As soon as I saw that first chunk of hair fall to the floor, I wanted to cry.  After, I drove directly to CVS and bought an absurd amount of headbands, hair clips, and styling products.  Do you have any idea how long it takes to grow out hair?  It literally took years.  Never again.  Ever.

And then there was that girls trip to the Cape with my friends.  Actually, there were a couple girls trips to the Cape…  I’ll spare you the inappropriate details.  Not because I’m not willing to share them, but more because I can’t fucking remember.  They were those kinds of trips.  Even so, I was on the more reserved side.  I mean, I’d rip butts and drink beers, but never really went much further than that.  There might have been a time or two that I smoked weed… And then licked Dorito crumbs off the kitchen table, but we don’t need to talk about that.


Good Lord!  Baaaahahahaha! I’m literally dying laughing looking at this.  Those were the fucking days.  Okay, so let’s just say that generally speakingI’m not much of a risk-taker, and I’m on the less frivolous side.  Deal?  Not today though.  Today I was totally frivolous and would classify my actions as ‘edgy.’  Girls who are edgy are fucking cool.  Today I feel like a total bad ass.  But, you know who’s even more bad ass than me?  Ceci.

For months now Cecilia has been asking to get her hair colored pink.  I put it off for a really long time, but today we finally did our girl day at the spa.  I told Ceci she couldn’t color all of her hair, but that she could get a ‘Balayage.’  That’s a word that just entered my vocabulary this week.  Sounds fancy, eh?  It is.  So obviously I decided I needed a Balayage too.  Duh.  Ceci got pink.  I decided on purple.  When I called to make the appointment, I asked how much it was going to cost.  When they told me, if I was an emoji, I’d be this one:


Say whaaaaat?!  Question:  How in the ever-living fuck do high maintenance women afford to keep up with this type of shit?  For real.  I threw in a haircut for Ceci and an eyebrow wax for me, just for good measure.  Add in the tip and we’re looking at half my month’s salary.  Not even exaggerating.  Lucky for us, this spa is at my work so I get a discount.  Annnd Mike wheels and deals, so he trades his Audio/Visual/DJ services for swag.  I basically paid for today with Monopoly money… But I still had to throw in $130 of real, actual money.  It felt… naughty.  Haha.  Whatever.  Ceci and I had a fucking blast.  And we look goooooood.


Ceci is so much cooler than me.  Just look at the expression on her face.  We’re so fucked when she starts dating.  I don’t even want to think about it.  But that’s neither here nor there.  What I was going to say is, next time, I’m totally getting pink.  I mean, I have purple hair.  That makes me cool as ice… But with my dark brown hair it’s not really dramatic.  Ceci went balls to the walls.  And when we were finished, she couldn’t wait to show it off to anyone that was willing to look in her direction.  She owns her beauty.  Like a fucking boss.

It’s funny… Life is sort of like the swinging of a pendulum.  In my early twenties I’d spend money I didn’t even have on things I didn’t need.  And I’d take risks… On occasion, some that weren’t very smart.  But by my early thirties the pendulum had swung in the opposite direction.  I wouldn’t spend any money on me.  No nice clothes or bags.  No makeup.  No haircuts or colors.  No manis or pedis.  Nothing.  Literally nothing.  Folks trying to be nice would say I was doing the whole ‘natural beauty’ thing.  But really I was doing the ‘I don’t want to spend any money’ thing.  I also wouldn’t ever leave home.  I had Cecilia when I was 31, and sweatpants on the couch with puzzles or PBS kids became the definition of my life.  But when you live life like that, and it doesn’t feel happy, it’s time for a change.  I’m so over it.

So now the pendulum is finding itself somewhere in the middle.  I’m a young, fun, beautiful, intelligent, strong-ass woman.  I don’t need fancy clothes, hair or makeup to define me.  I define me.  But I am so worth it.  You know?  Getting my hair colored doesn’t actually make me bad ass.  I am bad ass.  The purple Balayage… Well, that was just fun.  And I love the way it looks.  So yeah… I’m fucking worth it.  You are too.

Fifth Harmony~Worth It




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