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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Two Footprints, Your Footprints in the Sand

By April 24, 2017 Uncategorized

I’ll never forget the day I found out my dad had cancer.  It was spring break, and I was sitting up in my bedroom at my parent’s house working on a twenty page research paper.  I was five pages in, and was actually really enjoying writing it… And it was good.  Not to toot my own horn, but it was A work.

It was my mother’s birthday, and my father had an appointment for his stomach because he was losing weight and was having trouble holding down any food.  He had been struggling for a while, but had done a really good job of hiding that he was sick.  You see, my father only had half a stomach because of a previous illness.  He knew something was wrong, and feared he was going to need a colostomy bag.  Never in a million years did any of us think he was going to get the diagnosis that he did.

My bedroom window was open, and I heard the car as it pulled into the driveway.  I immediately stopped typing and headed downstairs to see how my dad’s appointment went.  I walked into the kitchen from the hallway just as my father emerged through the backdoor.  I immediately knew that something was wrong.  He looked at me with tears in his eyes, then without saying anything, he quickly walked into our dining room, clearly avoiding me.  As my mother walked into the kitchen I anxiously asked, “How’d it go?”  She paused for a second, and then in one sentence my world came crashing down.  “Daddy has stomach cancer.”


I actually managed to finish that research paper… It was a few days late, and the last fifteen pages were terrible, but it got done.  Besides those first five pages, it was C work.  At best.  But my professor still gave me an A.  And she gave me an A on every other assignment after that one, even though I didn’t deserve it.  She knew I was an A student doing C work.  She also knew that my father was terminally ill.  Up to that point I had actually thought she was kind of a bitch.  Her class was tough and she was the opposite of approachable.  But after spring break she looked at me differently.  I knew that she could see my broken heart… As much as I tried to hold myself together, she saw right through it.  And she helped me out.  Because sometimes life sucks.

My father died on August 10, 2001.  He battled his cancer with courage and grace.  He always held onto his sense of humor, and did his best to make what were his darkest days easier for those around him.  It didn’t really feel like it back then, but now I can honestly say he’s my hero.  And I miss him like crazy.  I miss his big sparkly eyes and the way he snorted when he laughed.  I miss hearing him use copious amounts of curse words when he would talk on the phone with his friends.  And I miss his cooking.  Dinner was always so yummy.  I even miss how loudly he would snore when he fell asleep on the couch.  I miss everything about him.  He was a good father and a great man.

After he died, my friends and family tried to help lift me up.  But I was numb.  I was in shock.  It didn’t seem real… For months, it didn’t seem real.  I tried my best to act normal, but some days just getting out of bed felt like an impossible task.  I retreated inside myself, and stayed there.  Alone.  I was impossible to reach.  Difficult to help.  Despondent.  And depressed.  At my lowest of lows, I found myself at school, surrounded by people, yet completely by myself.  On one particularly difficult day I was desperate to get away.   I was drowning in my sorrows and feeling completely misunderstood.  I just needed to go home.  I needed my mom.  And my closest family and friends.  But I had $5.00 in the bank and an empty tank of gas.  I was stuck.

So I asked for help.  I made a tear-filled phone call to my friend, Lois, late at night.  We had had a long history of both helping and hurting each other.  But really, when push came to shove, both Lois and I have always known we can count on each other.  We had rescued one another before.  Shared beds, clothes, cars… I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if we shared our toothbrushes.  And on the night I called her, in an instant she was on her way.  She drove an hour and a half to come pick me up.  She helped me pack up my stuff.  And she was ready to fiercely defend my honor to those who no longer understood me.  Then she drove me an hour and a half back home.  She listened to me cry the whole way, and just let me be sad.  I’m not actually sure what I would’ve done if she hadn’t answered my call that night.  She saved me.  And I am eternally grateful.


It’s funny, I actually haven’t seen Lois in ages.  And we don’t speak often.  But I can say with 100% certainty that if I ever needed her help, she’d be there.  And the same goes for me.  But this post isn’t really about Lois.  It’s about having the courage to ask for and accept help.  It’s about knowing that there are so many people who are ready and willing to do whatever they can to lift you up when you’re feeling low.  And knowing that it doesn’t make you weak.  It makes you strong.

You know, it seems like when times get tough, we all wear this mask that looks something like courage.  But real courage is when you take that mask off, and show people what’s really happening inside of you.  I wish I knew that sixteen years ago.  At my deepest, darkest moments I had no choice but to ask for help.  But on all the other days I wore a mask.  Just like everyone else does.  I wish I hadn’t done that.  It probably would’ve spared me a lot of hurt.  And I probably would’ve healed a lot faster.  It’s one of the biggest lessons I’ve learned from the loss of my dad… Asking for help.  And knowing that letting others carry me isn’t weak.  It’s human.






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I See Your True Colors

By April 20, 2017 Uncategorized

You know it’s okay to show people what’s happening inside of you, right?  Most of us are really bad at it, and good at the opposite… Hiding.  Right?  We push our emotions down and away.  Deep inside of us where no one can see or know about them.  We’ve mastered the art of acting like we’re fine, even when we’re not.  We should stop doing that.  Our young children even do it.  Sometimes I witness it happening with my daughter and it literally tears me up inside.

As I arrived at work yesterday, Ceci skittered off down the sidewalk in front of me and ran into the lobby a couple hundred feet ahead of me.  I didn’t worry about it, as she’s quite at home at my work, and knows not to take off.  When I entered the lobby she was there, waiting for me, sitting on a bench.  I showed the person at the front desk my membership card then walked towards the elevator with Ceci by my side.  I glanced over at her and noticed that the look on her face wasn’t happy.  Something was wrong.  Right as I turned to ask her what was going on, she stopped, collapsed to the floor, and began to cry.  I squatted down, hugged her and asked what was going on.  “I don’t want to talk about it,” was all I was able to get out of her.  So I just sat and hugged her until she was ready to get up and move on.  She was still upset as we finally made our way upstairs.  She didn’t want to play with the other kids, and politely asked if she could hang out by herself on a bean bag with an iPad.  I said yes then left her to go teach my classes.

A short while later, the supervisor working the front desk informed me that Ceci had told her she needed to talk to me… That she had done something bad and was feeling upset about it.  I sat down next to her and asked what was going on.  I could see on her face that she was trying like hell to hold herself together.  She asked me not to get mad, so I pinky promised I wouldn’t, then she began her confession… When we had walked in the building, Ceci decided to stand off to the side of the front desk.  Another woman with a similar build as mine had walked in ahead of me.  Ceci, thinking this other woman was me, jumped out at her and grabbed her membership card out of her hand.  Ceci had wanted to be the one to go up to the desk to check in, but the way she was attempting to achieve that goal was fresh.  The other woman, understandably startled, turned to Ceci and yelled, “No!” at her.  Ceci was absolutely mortified.  I can just picture the look she must have had on her face, the lump in her throat, and the feeling she had in her belly.  She felt terrible about what she had done, and was incredibly concerned about what this other woman thought of her.  I took a moment to explain to Ceci that it was just a misunderstanding, and that she didn’t need to feel badly about it.  I wasn’t upset with her, and I was certain that the other person had already forgotten all about it.  I could tell Ceci didn’t really believe me, and that she was still really upset, but she got herself up and went off to play with the other kids.

Later that day I decided to revisit the conversation to see how Ceci was feeling about it.  And there was that look… The one I imagined on her face when she got scolded by a stranger.  Those negative emotions were still sitting inside of her.  Lingering.  She had tears in her eyes as she said to me, “Mama, can we just not talk about it?  It makes me feel like I need to cry, and I really don’t want to.”  So I let it be.  But now I’m sitting here thinking about how those emotions are stuck inside of her.  And how often that happens.  And how the cumulative effect of holding in her feelings will impact her life.


It wasn’t until recently that I came to the realization that there’s a lot of old emotions hiding inside of me.  Hiding inside of all of us.  And unless we address them, they just sit there, and prevent us from getting to wherever it is that we’re trying to go.  Ya know?  No?  Yeah, me neither.  I have no clue where I’m going, or what I’m trying to say.  I’m totally lost. Ha!  But I know I want to get there… Wherever ‘there’ is.  Except ‘there’ is actually ‘here.’  Right?  Under all the stuff that’s preventing us from being the best versions of ourselves.  It’s already inside of us.  It just gets all fucked up by all the hurts we experience in life.  Some of which… Actually, probably most of which we can’t even remember.

If you look at a person though, and I mean really look at them, you can see it all.  It’s right there for everyone to see…  In our eyes.  The gateway to our hearts.  Right?  Maybe that’s why we’re all so bad at holding eye contact with each other.  Because it can be too hard to see all the hurt that so many of us are holding inside.  And the thing is, until it all comes pouring out, and I mean literally pouring out, in the form of tears, you won’t become the version of you that your soul intends.  We all just need to fucking cry.


I mean, I cry all the time.  Shit, I just cried listening to the song I picked to go along with this post.  I’m a hot fucking mess.  I’ve put in some serious time over the last two years releasing the sadness and hurts inside of me.  Yoga everyday.  Guided meditations at bedtime.  Energy clearing.  Shielding.  Grounding.  A whole bunch of shit that us energy weirdos do.  And I still have more stuff inside of me that needs to come out.  And I’m pretty sure the reason why is that even though I’m addressing it, I’m still hiding it.  Ya know?  I cry in bed, in my car, and in the shower.  I show no one.  No one.  Well until now, I guess.  Fuck it.  I think true healing happens when you can fearlessly show the world all of who you are.  We all have so many emotions stuck inside.  And they’re all beautiful.  Even the ones that don’t feel so good.  They’re part of what makes being a human so special.  And besides, if you can find the courage to show people your true colors, you get to come out the other side lighter and happier.  Healed.

True Colors~Justin Timberlake & Anna Kendrick



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It’s A Revolution

By April 20, 2017 Uncategorized

Sometimes I feel like I’m so fucking close to that place… The place I’m supposed to be.  Whatever it is that my soul had intended for me before I came into this life.  I feel so close.  And it’s amazing.  I have these moments where I’m out of this world happy for no reason.  Or actually, for every reason.  It’s hard to explain.  Like today, as I was driving home from work, out of nowhere I was high on life.  Nothing happened to make me feel that way.  I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular.  It’s just this flowing feeling that sort of takes over.  Almost a buzzing… Like that awesome feeling you get right before you sneeze, but exponentially better.  And I can’t help but smile.  I rolled down my window and smelled the air.  Looked at the sky.  The trees.  The flowers.  The rabbit that ran across the road in front of me.  And my daughter sleeping in the back seat from my rear view mirror.  Then I offered my gratitude to the Universe.  I love those moments.  I think it’s called “oneness.”  Or at least it’s how I think oneness would feel.  Like an effortless love of everything… Including myself.

But those moments don’t last.  They come and visit me briefly then move on.  And I return to my former self.  A version of me that’s struggling just like everyone else.  But I’m one of the lucky ones.  I get glimpses of what life is supposed to feel like.  Most don’t, or at least not yet.  Most of you probably have no idea what I’m even talking about.  Yeah, yeah… I’m crazy.  I’m okay with that.  I’ll be the crazy one that talks about ascension.  No big deal.

Those moments though… They change me.  Ever so slightly.  Each time I get a glimpse of true, unconditional self love, a tiny piece of it stays with me.  And you know what one of the best things about self love is?  It makes it easier to love others.  All others… Like, literally everyone. Weird right?  And in those moments, everything makes sense.  There’s no room for fear, or hate, or intolerance.  Because everything is just as it’s supposed to be.  As fucked up as that may sound, everything is just as it should be.  Life is crazy, man!  It’s a fucking trip, right?  I mean,  this is where you live:


You’re a human being living on a spinning ball that’s revolving around a star.  Whaaaaaat??!  Puts things in perspective, eh?  I think we all need to lighten up a little bit… Stop taking shit so seriously.  Besides, if you believe that emotions are contagious, which by the way I do, than being all doom and gloom is counterproductive.  Right?  If you want to be surrounded by peace, and love, and light, then you have to be peaceful, loving, and full of light.  Let it shine out of you, to lift others up.  Ya know?  It’s so fucking simple, yet simultaneously seemingly impossible.  But we all hold that knowing inside of us.  And we’ve all experienced it’s power.  Most of us just haven’t identified it for what it is.

Just take a second and think about those moments…  The ones where people use terms like, “We were vibing,” or, “The room felt electric.”  That shit is real.  What you’re feeling and absorbing is other people’s happiness.  Feels good, right?  Maybe you felt it at your graduation, or at a concert, or some other type of celebration… But we’ve all felt it before.  We’ve also all experienced the opposite.  When tragedy strikes, or loved ones are lost, our sadness, grief, fear, and anger impact those around us as well.  When you think about the power of our collective emotions it’s pretty amazing.  We totally have a choice which direction this world will go.  And we’re living in the craziest of times.  But some of us…  A lot of us… are choosing love.  It’s a revolution of sorts.  A contagion.  But a good kind… Besides, aren’t you guys exhausted by all the negativity?  I mean, I get it.  I do!  The world is kind of a scary place these days.  But, honestly… It’s fucking tiring.  Y’all are inadvertently dragging each other down when we need to be lifting each other up.  The answer is inside of you.  Just love yourself.  That’s all.  No big deal, right?  You can totally do it.  I can too.  I have faith in us.

Now grab your glow sticks.  Let’s jam.





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