Sunday, March 6, 2011

Alter Personalities: The Evolution of Betty Cracker

Everyone has some form of mental disorder but I choose to break it down into 3 stupid simple categories. Entitled Whimper Mcvictimy, Krazy with a Kapitol K, and Rock and Roll Crazy. Life would be a lot less stressful if people would just accept and embrace their particular brand of crazy; then again it wouldn't be quite so entertaining and magazine sales would plummet. Charlie Sheen has been the best thing that ever happened to the media since Michael Jackson died and OJ actually got convicted for something.

I personally have such an over abundance of personality that I had to split mine off into alters. It's a lot to contain in just one little ol skull and it's much more simple for people to just deal with one personality at a time. People feel more comfortable with predictability, so as long all the personalitites aren't having a party at the same time it makes for a pleasant, uncomplicated evening.

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Betty Cracker is your typical 1950s housewife. Her hobbies include cooking, cleaning and making her man happy. She cooks in heels, vacuums with pearls on and believes a woman should always have back up sets of plates and silverware in case her husband comes home with a client that must be entertained. She is the perfect hostess with her wit and sensibilities. When Betty is running the show, the house is filled with the tastebudgasmic aroma of cooking food, the house is immaculate and her hair is always perfect. The cocktail hour starts at 5 pm and she meets her man at the door, nary a whore red hair out of place with a "How was your day, dear?" and an old fashioned (the drink, get your minds out of the gutter.) Nothing can rock her world...except for perhaps her husband.
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Then There's Tequila Nunez and Vodka Mary, the twins.
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The twins, well, they are rockstars. The party starts when they walk in the room. Not a drink nor a set of good boobs is safe when these two come out to play. They are prone to taking shots and climbing up on table tops and bars to dance while wearing Betty's four inch heels. They are fun and funny. They are stand up comedians with degrees in potty humor and are incapable of taking anything seriously. Slightly more classy and slightly less orange than the Jersey Shore crew, they promise not to vomit on Betty's carpet. They are still stuck in 1997 and can proove it by busting out into the Macarena upon request. They have standards, however. 1.) They do not drink screw top carbonated "wine" 2.) They reserve the right to randomly yell "OPAH!" and throw plastic cups on the ground while mimicking the sound of breaking glass whether Uzo is present or not 3.) Even when completely inebriated, they still will not eat guacomole because a.)it's gross and b.) it makes Sara want to vomit and Betty's soul dies a little.



Sara is kind of uptight and a perfectionist. She's competetive. She's always been responsible and goal oriented. She started college before she was finished with high school, she was offered art scholarships to go to college but turned down art school in favor of nursing because it was more practical and scrubs are comfortable. She over analyzes things to death and tends to stress out over what ifs. She has a certain OCD way of doing things and would prefer people get out of her way while she's doing it. Whatever "it" is. In short, she has a stick up her ass and it's a good thing her alters take over more often than not. If not for them, she'd probably still be *gasp* blonde. *insert violent wretching*.


Occasionally there are alters with smaller supporting roles, like Tempermental Tammy who completely loses her shit when her dog chews up her contact case and Naughty Nina who dresses up like Betty Cracker and drives to Dallas. The fact that there are others needn't concern you....the fact that they are all coparenting? Totally safe, all of them combined are significantly less crazy than the majority of those reading this particular blog.
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Wednesday, February 23, 2011

"You're only as old as you feel". I call bullshit. That was my first thought as I rolled out of bed today, looked at my alarm clock and realized that this, my one day off, was sleeping in. At what point did 8 a.m. become sleeping in? I remember days when 8 a.m. was strolling in the front door to go to the bed not getting out of it. At what point did having a day off make me feel all warm and fuzzy, NOT because I don't have to go into work but because I can do my weekly day off deep clean of the house, dye my white trash roots AND try out a new labor intensive recipe to feed my family for dinner. WHAT.THE.FUCK.

Then I began pondering what else has changed and tried to pinpoint the historic timeline in which I went from young and carefree to old. This past weekend was a busy one. I had 3 parties to attend and a friend's house to paint. I woke up monday morning with my everything hurting, tired, wishing I could sleep in (until 8 a.m.) and thinking I needed a day off to recover from the weekend AND clean my house. College days of yor, we partied every night, well into the morning and an hour of sleep was a solid. Cleaning the house consisted of throwing beer cans and fast food wrappers in the trash and was not a chore I was super stoked about endeavoring upon.

At what point did Spanx become a mandatory buy? At what point did I get more excited about purchasing it's all encompassing fascade of making my ass defy gravity than buying some lacy, see through slutty lingerie from Victoria's Not So Secret? At what point did my ass STOP defying gravity? And what the crap is this cellulite bullshit?! I HAVE A BMI OF 23. 23. I am more physically fit and slimmer than I was in college (nay highschool for that matter) and I get not only an ass that does not defy gravity but I also get cellulite? Really? And speaking of bodies, at what point did pooping become the highlight and greatest relief of the day? Why does the world seem so much brighter after a cup of hot green tea and the morning constitutional?

I actually found myself grocery shopping the other day and watching a group of loud assed, vapid, IQ of a brick (sorry to insult you, brick) community college skank bots in their Juicy shorts (you know, the ones where their ass cheeks peek through the boottom) and knee high uggs and thinking "Damn kids, what is the world coming to? If this is the future, we are SCREWED" The look of horror on my face was not related to the circa Jersey Shore trainwreck before me but that the statement actually ran through my head and was genuine. Then THE SAME DAY I caught myself making statements to my children such as "SHUT THE DOOR! I AM NOT PAYING GOOD MONEY TO HEAT THE OUTSIDE!" "WERE YOU BORN IN A BARN? NO!" "ACT YOUR AGE, NOT YOUR SHOE SIZE!" "LET'S PLAY 'QUIET GAME'!" Someone, please shoot me now.

There are some things that have not changed. While I now find myself buying "skin firming" moisturizer and eye cream, I also still have to buy acne cack. Now, seriously, what is that? I don't get to keep my gravity defying ass, I don't get to keep my youthful energy but I DO get to keep zits and pothole pores? Fuck you, mother nature.

So, you're as old as you feel? Ok then. I'm 21 with an epic hangover. The end.