I'm the Best Girlfriend Evar

Justin is always telling me what an awesome girlfriend I am, and asking me how it's possible that I became so amazing and awesome. It wasn't easy, let me tell you. But after he asked me enough I thought that I should probably put together a blog post so that other women may follow in my footsteps in an attempt to be amazingly awesome as well. It's worked really well for me so far, so it must be good, right?

1.) Make sure you have some kind of alcohol in your system at all times.

1a.) For those nights that you have a LOT of alcohol in your system (which should be most nights), make sure you either a.) break down and cry about something REALLY stupid, b.) get angry and start a fight over something REALLY stupid, or c.) get so inebriated that your boyfriend has to get you off the kitchen floor to go to bed. Having to take care of you makes him feel super manly and protective.

2.)Insist on going out to eat almost every night of the week and then complain about how fat you are. Men love getting the opportunity to reaffirm you and build your confidence up. You should complain about your body once every hour or so; more if you're eating.

3.) Belch, pretty much nonstop. Make sure to do so in the middle of a conversation, while watching a scary movie, or while talking with his grandmother on the phone. He will appreciate your willingness to be gassy in front of him cause it shows you're being 'real'.

4.) Do not cook anything. Ever, ever, ever. If you do slip up and cook dinner one night make sure that it tastes terrible. Your boyfriend be endeared to you because you are such a dumbass in the kitchen. That's super cute.

That is a real pancake I tried to make last year. The dog won't even eat it. 

5.) If he's a computer geek like my boyfriend, force him to download such artists as Avril Lavigne, Lady Gaga, and Miley Cyrus. Then sing to them LOUDLY while you are driving somewhere together. He loves to hear your singing voice and will probably fall more in love with you.

6.)  Speaking of driving, make him drive everywhere. He'll feel much more manly when he's chauffeuring driving you around town. Don't give him any gas money either, he'll feel like you're emasculating him.

7.) Instead of letting him play video games at night, insist on watching a romantic movie, or perhaps a movie from your childhood. I just bought The Last Unicorn on Blueray but I think I'll wait until the next time he wants to play Call of Duty to spring it on him. He'll love your spontaneity and girly soft side, even if he pretends not to.

8.) Shower two or three times a week at best. Your man loves your 'natural smell'. After two or three days you'll have natural smell in SPADES! Bonus points if you go for a week at a time.

9.) Bring home a 118lb dog with a brain the size of a walnut and all the commen sense that implies. Do a poor job of training him as a puppy and let your boyfriend handle him when you're out in public so that if your dog acts like an asshole the boyfriend can take the blame for it. Of course he'd never want you to look bad so this is totally cool with him.

Obviously the pick of the litter. 

10.) Don't shave your legs from September to April. Let those gams grow some hair. This will make your boyfriend feel manly and primal when he sees your silky leg fur blowing gently in the breeze. If your legs do not resemble small pine trees you are doing something wrong.

Good luck ladies! Please, if you follow this guide, send me your pictures / success stories! A system has to be proven to be accepted!

picture source
picture source

Guest Post - Goofy Girl

Today is a special day because today marks the second Guest Post blog. Our gracious guest host this time around is Goofy Girl from There is Grandeur in this View of Life. Goofy is my shoulda-been-neighbor from another state that has been here supporting and laughing at my posts when no one else will for quite some time. We've bonded over such things as:

Big feet

A penchant for dying our hair funky colors

Awesome dogs

.... and cheese. Glorious, glorious cheese.

Goofy has been living my dream of staying in London and traveling to Paris and Scotland and has a bunch of pictures you can go drool over if you're like me and dream of European vacations. Go check her out, send her some lovin'.

In case you missed it: Pat's Story  from Patrick Tillett

Up next time: Nikki from My Cyber House Rules

Without further ado, Goofy's Guest Post:

Now We're Even

Ever have one of those stories that just HAS TO BE told because it's too good to keep to yourself? This would be one of those stories.

On the night of October 31st, 2000 a group of friends & I had gathered at a house in a semi-remote part of the island where I live….and being that it was Halloween it became imperative that we do something decidedly spooky (or at least try). Collectively we had decided that wandering in the dark around the local Indian graveyard, just a 5 minute walk away through the woods, was our best bet. There were 6 of us: Molly & Nate (that's whose house were were at), Erik, Brandi, Brett (who was my fiance at the time, but is now just a dear friend), and Me. 

We set off down the road with double fisted beers in hand, laughing as we tried to scare each other.

"Oh my god! what's that?!"
"Shut up, that's not scary."
"No! really! there was something up there, didn't you see it?"
"Where?"
"Right there!"
"You know what that is?"
"Do tell."
"That'd be your horrible imagination running away from your inability to use it properly"

By the time we made it to the fence we had to climb over I found myself questioning what the hell I was thinking wearing an ankle length denim skirt, birkenstock clogs and an oversized sweater… did I mention the red & white striped thigh highs? Apparently my look that night was "big hot mess" topped off with a flame red bobbed wig. 

So...I guess that was indeed a costume, eh? (Pretty sure I was just lookin' to be comfy) Anyway… we all climbed over the fence and Brandi grabbed my hand and whispered "c'mon! Let's hide and scare the shit out of them!" I was game, we took off.

About a minute into the woods Brandi & I found these large logs that we could lay down beside to hide us as we waited for the big "RAWWWRRR!!!" Only, as we lay there, under the cloudless sky, and the perfectly full moon (how often does THAT happen on Halloween?!) I realized there was NOTHING scary about this night. The moon shone so brightly that at 9pm I could have been sitting in these woods reading a book without any extra light needed… and it was kinda warm… WTF? We soon heard the rest of the group heading our way, and prepared ourselves for the half assed scare… but being greeted by "why are you two laying in the dirt?" kinda killed that. I think we all realized pretty fast that there would be no scares that night… or so we thought.

Giving up on wandering the woods we all headed back to the main road, climbed the fence, and began the walk back to Nate & Molly's house. Soon enough, just like in grade school, it was the girls walking together, and the boys a few steps behind in a row. Silently we picked up our pace and tried to make the gap between "us" & "them" a bit bigger. The whispers began…

"we could hide just after the bend in the road and scare the shit out of them…"
"YES!"
"ok, but we'll have to start running…."
"Count of three?"
We all agreed with giggles and took off running. Molly on the far right, Brandi in the center, and Me on the left…

Molly looked back as we were running and noticed the guys were chasing us and let out a whispered yell of "to the right! the bushes on the right!" Brandi apparently needed someone to say "your other right!" as she crossed over in front of me and headed towards the woods on the left. 

In what felt like slow motion, but all happened in a nano second, I tried to grab her and stop her… and she landed directly on the barbed wire fence that lined the left side of the road and let out a scream followed by a moan.

Molly and I stood on either side of her and tried to lift her up, but Brandi was doubled over and dead weight. I felt my leg begin to sting, and wondered just how badly I had gashed myself when trying to "save" her (btw it was a pretty bad gash that created a 7 inch  "(" along side of one of the tattoos on my leg)… but put the thought out of my head since I was more worried about the fact that our friend had just impaled herself on a thick barbed wire fence through her gut. I got down on my knees and looked at her face, I asked her if she was okay…… she let out a laugh, and then raised her hand… WITH THE BEER STILL IN IT… and took a sip.

"BRANDI!!! Put down the fucking beer! Dumb ass!" I yelled.

"Wait, it's almost gone…" she said as she took another sip.

Molly and I exchanged glances, kicked Brandi in the butt, literally, and she dropped the beer. We both grabbed her by the belt loops and yanked her upright. She didn't have a mark on her…the thick part of the waistband of her jeans is what landed on the barbed wire, and I was the only one bleeding that night. The guys were all standing there watching the spectacle and laughing… but then they sort of realized how serious it could have been and individually asked Brandi if she was okay. 

We continued on our walk to Nate & Molly's, and as we were just rounding the corner by the giant barn at the Ag Hall (Agricultural Hall) we collectively decided that Brandi needed to make it up to all of us for the stupid scare, and told her that unless she went through the barn up ahead, alone, she wouldn't be allowed back in the house, and no more beer.

Brandi stood there and looked ahead at the barn. I gotta be honest, at night, regardless of full moon and warmish weather, that is one freaky foreboding looking' building. It was pitch black inside, and I knew that Brandi would be scared….

"You guys, really?!" she whimpered.

"YES" we all replied and pointed in the direction of the barn. It seemed only fair for some reason. 

The nice person in me suggested she just "take off running" and Molly agreed. We convinced her to start here on the road and just run at full speed all the way through the barn (it's HUGE btw) and back. So Brandi finished her last beer, re-tied her shoe laces, and prepared herself as we stood around her in a "Children Of The Corn" style semi-circle eggin' her on….

Brandi closed her eyes tight and took off like a shot in a perfect straight line for the opening.. and as she drew closer we almost couldn't see her anymore…. it was like the darkness ahead had swallowed her…. then there was this really loud *KaThUnK* noise that just silenced us. I think we all lost our breath in that instant. We were about to yell out for her till we heard a distant whimper from the barn……..

"you guuuuuuys?" It was Brandi.

Her voice still in the distance…."You guys, the doors to the barn aren't open…. they're painted black."

It took a good 10 minutes to get us all up from the ground due to laughing so hard our legs stopped functioning. Brandi slowly walked back to us and just stood there with her arms crossed staring at us rolling around in the dirt with tears of laughter in our eyes. 

"We good? We even?" she asked.

Our only answer was more laughter.

The Tequila Story

If you're a drinker, then chances are you have your very own "The tequila story." Everyone I know does. Justin got drunk on tequila at a company Christmas party and ended up breaking his thumb. He doesn't know how. My mom told us that dad got drunk on tequila over a vacation and sat in the bathtub laughing manically to himself  and telling her he was in the mafia. My story does not involve breaking bones or sitting in bathtubs. It involves puke. Lots and lots of puke.

We went on our first cruise as a family four months before I turned 21. Now I wasn't a big drinker but I had definitely done some drinking in my time, and I was super disappointed that I couldn't legally get schwasted around my parents, sisters, and grandma in a tropical location. The boat we were on had 18 bars and a dance club that was 18 stories up with a 360 degree view.

I begged my dad to slip me drinks the whole week, and he did comply here and there with a daiquiri or margarita. But I wanted more. I begged him to have a 'father/daughter' drunkfest with me. We were on vacation! Finally, on the last night on the boat, he gave in. There was the pesky problem of me not being 21 though, and we weren't sure that I could get served even with his consent. So what do we do?

I go up to Grandma's room and get her ship I.D. You see, back in 2005, Princess Cruise lines did not include a picture I.D. on their ship cards, or a date of birth. They simply branded the card "A" for adult in the bottom right hand side of the card and you were set to drown yourself in booze if you wanted to. With that, I became Alice.

The first two bars we checked out I stuck with the easy stuff - two 16oz daiquiris. At the third bar I got a beer. At the fourth bar I got another beer. I was pretty good at this point. It's then that dad says:

"You want to put some hair on your chest?"

"Sure"

"We'd like two shots of tequila please."

Not just any tequila, either. He ordered 1800. And when the guy set them down in front of us they were double shots, in those extra large shot glasses. Let it be known I had never had tequila before. I was nervous. Dad ordered more beer as a chaser and down the hatch went the tequila. I laughed afterward - what the hell was he talking about?

"That shit was smooth!"

"Oh yeah? Want to do another?"

I did.

Things start to get blurry at this point. I remember snippets of the night. I remember walking around to three or four more bars (continuing to get double shots at each). I remember sitting by the pool for a while chatting. I remember laying out on the deck chairs (even though it was well past dark and probably chilly) talking and getting all drunk emotional. I remember dad making me walk a straight line and being shocked at how well I did it (I have no idea how I did this; he was probably too shit-faced himself to really see me.)

I remember being back inside at one point at yet another bar and walking through the dining room to get to the bathroom and how everything literally looked like this:

In all, I had two 16oz mixed drinks, five beers, and eight double shots of tequila. If you do the math, that's approximately sixteen ounces of tequila.

As all good things do, the night had to come to an end. He dropped me off in the room I shared with my sister Rachel and I crawled in to bed. In my clothes.

Here's the thing. Since it was our last night on board we had to pack all of our bags up earlier that evening and set them outside to be stored with only the outfit we were going to wear off the ship left behind. I was wearing the only outfit I had to disembark in.

The next thing I remember was sitting straight up in bed, staring at the wall, and then opening my mouth.

There was absolutely zero effort on my part to projectile vomit - all over myself a bit, but somehow all that tequila and stomach acid managed to land in the (brand-new just-bought Puma) duffel bag I was carrying off the boat.

Contents of said bag:

My digital camera
Rachel's digital camera
My four month old video camera
A $50 cookbook that was signed by our waiters (one of which was named Bruno and totally got his flirt on with me), the cooks, and the Maître De.
Our toothbrushes
Rachel's bathing suit that she had apparently forgotten to pack

The fun didn't end there. I had to crawl on my hands and knees to get to the bathroom and the toilet.

I made it as far as the threshold before I projectile vomited all over the floor.

 I was able to get into the bathroom and get my face over the toilet before the third wave hit. I swear to GOD it was all Mexican food in my puke. There were tomatoes, chiles, peppers, and frijoles in the mix even though I had not eaten anything Mexican all week. SOMEHOW, somehow, in my intoxicated state, I got a towel off the rack and did my very best to clean the puke up off the floor before crawling back to my bed and passing out again. I did not remember to clean the bag up.

The next morning the phone rang quite a few times before my parents came down to see why were weren't up. I heard the door open, and I distinctly remember my dad's voice.

"Oh.....Jesus."

It isn't possible for me to accurately describe how horrific our 8 x 8' room smelled. Imagine yak's stomach acid mixed with rotten tomatoes and decaying dead bodies. That would probably get you close. I could barely function, and I was still drunk. My brand new Puma bag and the toothbrushes unfortunately had to go in the trash. So much for trying to freshen up that tossed tequila-cookie breath! I don't recall what I did to clean the cameras and video camera but they did make it home (and I later spent an hour in the garage with a q-tip cleaning vomit out of their crevices).

Hey, remember when I said that I slept in the only outfit I had to wear the next day? Oh yeah. Guess what I smelled like? Remember this picture?

It was at least 10 times worse than that. As we filed off the ship we had to show our passports at a counter. I knew that I smelled like a goat's stomach after a full day of eating rotten garbage so I quickly just flipped my I.D. onto the counter and took a big (what I hoped would not be noticeable) step away. Guy looks up at me.

"WHAT, ARE YOU JUST GONNA LEAVE WITHOUT YOUR PASSPORT???"

WTF DUDE? Is this really a yelling offense?? I'm trying to spare you from your own trip to puke city after you smell me. I take a big step back to the counter, mumble something unintelligible, grab my I.D. and scuttle away like an abused little drunkard.

We had to go into a gigantic warehouse and wait while dudes brought out everyone's luggage. Then we waited in large groups to be herded to the next location. When I found my bag I immediately hauled it as far away as I could and sat on it with my head ripping apart. People still came near. I'd see noses wrinkling, people looking around in dismay for the source of that ripe stench.

MORTIFICATION.

Finally we moved out into the parking lot where it was a shark infested water frenzy to hail a taxi cab. When a big van pulled up I jumped in and immediately went straight to the back seat. I had pulled a hoodie out of my bag, hoping that it would at least help cover up the smell until I could change. The driver of the van sniffing loudly and looking all around him and then in the rear-view confirmed that it did not.

We had driven to Florida in my dad's RV. The feeling of riding in one, if you never have, can be compared IMO to the feeling of being on a boat. It is never a good idea to try to attain sea legs when you are hung over as all mighty hell in a hand basket. So I sat at the table with a wastebasket between my legs, intermittently dry heaving and retching for the next 19 hours it took us to get home - sitting across from my GRANDMA. Who just rode along like she had no idea her granddaughter had spent all night getting blackout drink with her I.D. and was now barfing up more Mexican she had never eaten.

If that doesn't scream Leave It to Beaver Family Vacation I don't know what does.

It's been six years since then and the smell of tequila alone is enough to turn my face green. My first and last tequila story; thank God it's good enough to tell the kids whenever I get around to wanting to have some.

My Mom Says I Curse Too Much on My Blog

She says the cursing might offend some people, and someday if an employer reads my blog I might not get hired (or I could get fired).

To address the offensive part: I gave some thought to this, and I tried to clean up my mouth type a little, but I just can't help it. I like expletives. They're so colorful, so definitive, bold, unflinching.... and crude. I do use curse words in my every day vocabulary, but not quite as much as I do in my blog. Why? I'm not sure, but I know I like to use them to really drive home certain points. I did however change the blog settings to "over 18" or "questionable adult content" or whatever it actually says so that people are forewarned. And for you, dear reader, if cursing offends you, this blog is probably not for you. But if you're a foul mouthed son of a bitch like me, we should have some fun! Whhheeeeeeee!!

And for the employer part: This actually concerned me a little more. I'm sure it wouldn't take very long for any employer or future employer to figure out who I am and read my blog and I think they could very easily get the wrong idea about me from my blog. This blog is my 'party' side, my 'fun, crude, rude, tell it like it is' side. I have another side, and that is Business Cake Betch. I can flip between Party Cake Bitch and Business Cake Betch with the drop of a hat. I can walk like, talk like, look like, and be a consummate professional. I'm educated, well read, can easily hold a friendly business-appropriate conversation with anyone, and I know what is and isn't appropriate in the workplace. I've gotten every job I've ever applied for except for one (but I had absolutely no qualifications for it). Justin told me the first time he met me (at work) he thought I was a consultant of some sort. The point I'm trying to make here is that Party Cake Betch knows where her time and place is.

And you know what? I don't know if I want to work for someone who can't appreciate a little crudeness and humor in an appropriate venue, so there.

Here is a pictorial explanation of the spread between Business Cake Betch and Party Cake Betch. I'd like to explain it using this glorious mullet because, of course, mullets are business in the front and party in the back. Just like me!

Okay, this is Business Cake Betch. No cursing, clean, well dressed, gotten plenty of sleep, bright, and chipper. Ready for a business meeting, talking with clients, or giving a speech. No flashy clothes, nothing that stands out in any way. I can't offend people, I don't look trendy, and I basically blend in with all the other suits.

This is for days that I know I'll only be in the office, or if I'm in a more relaxed atmosphere where people are allowed to be a little more individual. Might go for the cute curly hair, and I'd add some nice jewelry that otherwise might be too "flashy". I feel comfortable rolling my sleeves up and I've probably got some cute heels on instead of nondescript neutral shoes.

Most companies I've worked for let you wear jeans on Fridays. By Friday I've probably lost a lot of sleep and so I've slept on my hair and had to do it in such a way that it isn't obvious that I have bed head. I'll usually put on a more casual short sleeved shirt, and might even do some bright jewelry so I don't feel invisible.

Yay! It's the weekend! I can stop talking like a smart, witty, graceful politician and be that girl at the bar that drinks beer, eats nachos, and burps! I can wear jeans that have some holes or have been dyed, and I can wear a t-shirt. And I can DRINK!

Then there is the Cake Betch has had a rough week or needs an excuse to drink. It's also the Cake Betch you generally get on my blog. The outrageous party say anything Cake Betch you all know and (hopefully?) love.

Any employer that doesn't want to hire ME obviously doesn't know what he or she is missing! And any employer that DOES want to hire me after reading my blog... CONTACT ME! I think we could get along fabulously.

My Tuesdays and Thursdays are Killing Me

I am ridiculously stressed out about the month-long exam I have to complete to get into the Vis Comm program at OSU. Only 18 people get in every year and about 75 to 100 apply. I have to get in. I don't want to be any older than 30 when I'm back out in the 'real' world. I need this so bad I can taste it. Because of that I am severely stressed out. Everyone all quarter talked about how difficult the exam was, how they spent the entire month on it, bla bla bla. I've had it for 12 days (I think) and I've made progress, but I don't feel like I'm doing anything amazing or novel, which is what they're looking for. One part that is stressing me out the most - I have to explain how to change a tire on a car with no text, only drawings.

I realize I'm out of control, and I'm being ridiculous, but I can't help it. I think about the exam on the hour every hour I'm awake, and if I'm not working on it my stress level rises because I feel like I'm running out of time. When I do work on it I stress out because I feel like it has to be no less than perfect, and perfect is a pretty subjective thing when you're dealing with design.

So in order to make sure I have enough time to get this exam done, I kept to my schedule from this quarter which means I leave work at 12:30, get home at 1:00, and have the rest of the night to work on stuff for the exam. The last three weeks have been spent working on this tire problem, and this is basically how the day proceeds at one:


I get home and am optimistic, fresh, ready to draw.

I draw for about an hour. Realize that my ideas aren't very sweet and I'm not really coming up with anything new. I have to make this process make sense in a very small amount of space.

Okay, so things aren't going quite as swimmingly as I thought. That circle isn't very good, that part is confusing, how the fuck do I express with a drawing "in order to change a tire, you need these things:"?

Two or three hours have passed. I haven't made much progress and I'm still hung up on a few illustrations that just aren't performing like I want them to. I think, "This is the best I can do", then I think, "If I draw this ten more times, will it be better?" And I know the answer is yes. But I really, REALLY, don't want to draw it ten more times.


It's around this time I start inserting activities to break up the stress, to try to get back to ground zero. Anyone on my Facebook can testify to the fact that I generally don't update my status that often - except for Tuesdays and Thursdays, when I start updating statuses and commenting on other people's stuff like I've OD'ed on caffeine and have absolutely nothing else to do with myself. I can't help it. I need a distraction.

Usually this fails to help me. Looming right behind me is that fucking tire changing problem. Staring at the back of my head, waiting for me to remember that I need to work on it and recommence freaking out. Eventually I get back to it.

At this point (around 8:00pm) I'm pretty well fucked. Nothing makes sense, I've already started drinking, I've eaten everything in sight (Tara eats her feelings) and have cleaned, used the bathroom, fixed my makeup, opened and closed blinds, and paced around the room more than any sane person should.


At this point I'm coiled so tightly the slightest little problem could send me into a nuclear style melt down. I'm old so my eyes have been strained from six and a half hours of drawing and looking at the computer and not only can I not see straight, I can barely draw. My eyes are literally bloodshot and focusing independently of one another. 


There is only one thing left to do in order to be able to sleep after this:

It is what it is.


I should mention today is Thursday. And it's 8:40. That should be all the more explanation you need as to why my MS Paint drawings are a little more sloppy than they normally are and nothing has been proof-read. 

The one upside is I know I'm going to be sleeping pretty soundly tonight.