i should've gone into advertising

Local commercials crack me right up. Every town has them, and apparently, they are funny every where you live. If you are over eighteen, click here for an joke about a commercial local to Ohio.

Here in Portland, we’ve got some real doozies. There’s that old guy who will eat his hat if he can’t beat other car dealer’s prices. Whatever. Like you won’t just come in a dollar under.

Then there’s the car dealer who thinks that an accent and a wild animal will make me think his cars are better. Not to mention the dealership with the "big back yard." I just want to buy a car, not watch your cowboy show.

Or that guy with the beard whose wife has gotten skinnier as the ads have progressed. Not making fun of her, I’m actually happy for her, she probably saw herself on TV and got motivated (maybe I should find a commercial to star in). Anyway, he says that if he can’t beat other mattress prices, he’ll give you your mattress for free. I wonder how many mattresses he’s really handed out sans payment.

Then, we’ve got the terrifically multi-tasking Bill Shonnely peddling appliances and announcing basketball. Who’d’ve thought the Shonz had it in him.

This morning though, I nearly fell off my couch when ol’ Jer-Bear told me that if I bought a mattress from him, he’d give me a bear. Actually, there was quite a bit of local talent lying around his mattress store shouting that they would all give me a bear. Well Jer, I’ll be right in! How ever could I resist such an offer! I was going to buy my mattress somewhere else, but you’re giving out carnie bears!

(For the next reference, I apologize in advance for anyone not living in the greater Portland area in the mid-eighties)

I only wish that I could still get a Tom Peterson haircut with my next appliance purchase.



arrivederci, rebecca marie

mmmm stinky booty

Someday I'll have the time to write a funny story again, I'm nearly sure of it, but in the meantime.....

Why does Pirate's Booty taste so good when it stinks soooo bad?

Also, if the roof of your mouth happens to be burned from a hot tea fiasco, the booty rips it up nearly as bad as the cap'n, just a safety tip.

Oh, another "also" for your trouble, too much booty is toooooo much booty. Oy.



arrivederci, rebecca marie

not for the faint of heart

Well Ladies and Gentlemen, with no further ado, I humbly submit to you proof of the drowned rat that Mario found in April's toily.



arrivederci, rebecca marie

thank you, Jesus

I would be remiss if I did not dedicate today's entry to my Saviour. Those of you lucky enough to know me in the real world know that my very first love is Jesus Christ. I'm not going to re-tell the resurection story here, but I would encourage you all to read it for yourselves. When Jesus willingly died on the cross, the most painful and humiliating execution of the time, He saved us all from our bondage to sin. I praise God for His Son and the gift of eternal life. I would be grateful for the opportunity to talk about my faith with anyone reading this entry. Feel free to email me at rebecca-marie@hotmail.com.

Galatians 2:20

I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live; yet not I, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me.



because He lives.... rebecca marie

brad goodman was really on to something - or - "i do what i feel like"

Often we humans do stupid crap without much using our brains first. Like, wear a white t-shirt to a Mexican restaurant. Pretty much you’re begging to spill salsa. Or that weird “I think I’ll lick my finger then touch this here iron,” thing that we do. We know the iron is hot, that’s how it works, by heating up. I’m also fond of watching people lick 9-volt batteries. Yeah, it still does the same thing it did when you were 12, brainiac.

Some of it can be avoided with pre-planning, like the white shirt. Some by common sense, like the iron scenario. But some of it practically can not be avoided. Like the 9-volt battery scenario. The outcome of this situation can only be prevented if you come equipped with impulse control. Some of us just are not that lucky.

Personally, I have a small measure of impulse control, not much, but I do. I don’t have to chew tin foil. I remember that it feels horrid, as well as pleasantly intriguing, against my fillings. I don’t need to experience it again. I do however succumb quite easily to what I refer to as “hot tator tot syndrome.” Lets see, this morsel of food is too hot for my fairly desensitized finger tips, so I think I’ll throw it into my much more sensitive mouth so that I can do that weird half chewing, half awkward breathing thing. See? Some impulse control. Not complete impulse control, just some.

Right now, I'm really questioning whether or not my brother-in-law Byron has impulse control, and here’s why. The other day, Janni Laine noticed a small wound under his eye. When she asked him what happened, this is what he told her……

“Well, I was shaving, see? And I got a wee speck of shaving cream up under my eye. Instead of just reaching up with my finger tip and swiping it away, I just shaved it off.”

Impulse. Control. Thank God for it.



arrivederci, rebecca marie

p.s. if you don't know who brad goodman is, you haven't watched nearly enough of the simpsons. go now, educate yourself. (also, thanks bill for the awesome simpsons link.)

i've resorted to reruns

Click here, or here, or even here if you'd rather. However you look at it, that's all I've got for you today.

Also, now would be the appropriate time for you all to begin feeling sorry for me for my current work load. Perhaps a bit of pouting on my behalf as well. Also, is that how "behalf" is spelled? I don't seem to have the time to find out. Thank you for your time.

arrivederci, rebecca marie

it's rebecca marie appreciation day!

I just got my favorite e-mail of March. "Rebecca Marie! March isn't over yet! How do you know you won't get a better one in the next ten days?" you are probably asking yourself.

Here's how I know. Superflywebpimp sent me an email with his rendition of moi attached.

Have you ever wondered what defines "basically awesome?" Wonder no more. For your viewing pleasure I proudly present; "rebecca marie, the visionary at work" by superflywebpimp.



arrivederci, rebecca marie

find all of your answers here

Often I’m asked to give advice to friends. Seriously, like every day. “Rebecca Marie, I think that guy over there is smokin’ hot, how should I approach him?” “Rebecca Marie, I’ve got a haircut scheduled for Friday, what should I do?” “Rebecca Marie, I need a raise, how should I ask?” “Rebecca Marie, I’ve been fighting quite a bit with my husband, any suggestions of what I can do to gain back peace and harmony?” You get the idea.

Well, being the giver that I am, I’ve decided to start posting some of my advice here. There is no reason for these nearly divine interactions to be limited to the asker and myself. Sometimes, I’m just certain that the question being asked applies to many people, so a lot of my faithful readers may benefit from my wisdom. Please email me at rebecca-marie@hotmail.com if you are seeking advice, as I plan on this being a continued feature. I’ll pick at least one question a week to answer, more if need be. I’m just a giver that way.

So, with no further ado, I give you my first official advice blog;

Dear Rebecca Marie,

I came across your blog online, and you just seem so insightful! When I read your entry about your very own superiority, I got chills! It was like reading my own thoughts, only so much more eloquently than I ever could have expressed them. That’s why I feel comfortable asking you for help with this dilemma. I’m a college student, and I live in a dorm room with 3 other girls. I feel like I am so much better than them! When they tell me stories, I think they are stupid. When they show me pictures of their boyfriends, I think they are so ugly. I often wonder how much higher my GPA is than theirs. Is this normal Rebecca Marie? Or do I have delusions of grandeur? Please Help!

Sincerely,
Am I better than them? Ashland, Oregon

Dear Am I better,

No. Clearly No. If you were better than them, you wouldn’t be wondering. You would walk the halls confident of your very own superiority instead of just wondering about it. Unfortunately, as you are already well into womanhood (unless you are one of those freaks who starts college at 13) you have already formed a rock solid opinion of yourself that can’t be changed now. No amount of internal rambling will help. If I were you I would pack up, quit school and move back home immediately. Burger King is always hiring smiling faces. Good luck with all of that.

arrivederci, rebecca marie

there is a lot of graffiti on my train of thought

I’ve received so many emails in the last week asking me if I would be so kind as to describe to my faithful readers just how I come up with the amusing entries that I post. Actually, that’s not true. I’ve not received any more than five emails asking, I didn’t actually count, but it was around five.

I’m sort of getting embarrassed now. I only received one email asking me. But, as I value that one email, oh so much, I will grace the sender with a response.

I’m going to give you a sampling of how my mind operates. From 1:45 till 1:48, I kept track of all of the miscelaneous thoughts that entered the brain that is the hub of Rebecca Marie. Let’s have a look, shall we?

I wonder what my fish’s bloodworm food smells like. How come I have voice mail on my phone, I swear I never walked away from it. I wonder how old those cough drops are. When did my lightbulb burn out. How many file folders can I cut through at once. I wish my stapler would run out of staples so that I could fill it back up. That boy who just walked down the hall smells like outside. I like the lead that you put in mechanical pencils. Why did the tator tot make that noise when Napoleon bit into it. On that note that I wrote over there is that an e or an o. I like The Three Amigos, I should go to eBay and buy it. I wish I had some pretzels to bite the salt off of. That candle sure smells good. I prefer the old stamps that you lick. I wish I had hair things here to put my piggie tails in. My lips are dry. Oh, there’s my lip balm. Why did Seann Hammond not notice that there were two post-it notes when he stuck that on my monitor. Probably because two is a theme with him. Two ns in Seann, two ms in Hammond. He’d probably like the way I double up on my ls. My phone sure is dusty. I wonder if there are any new mug shots on The Smoking Gun.

I swear, that is three minutes of thought. Somebody help me. Wait, no, don’t. I do enjoy my very own insanity.



arrivederci, rebecca marie

p.s. they say confession is good for the soul (whoever they are). no one sent me an email like that at all. i think everyone is afraid to find out how my mind works. can't say i blame them.

nothing rhymes with rebecca marie

I've always wished tha I had a name like Wade, or Bart. They could write on their creations "Made by Wade" or "Art by Bart."



arrivederci, rebecca marie

don't wrastle with the weather

I'm still quite behind at work, so I just thought I'd show you my morning rather than tell you my morning.....

Yes, I know, you are ever so dissapointed. Sorry. Give me enough money to pay off my house and I'll sit home and write stories for you all day. Until that happens, this is what I can offer (someday, I may even make a drawing that looks like me again! won't you just be lucky lucky!).

Rebecca Marie and Breanna in their sweeeeet casts had they decided to continue walking on the icy track at 5:00 a.m.



Rebecca Marie and Breanna delighting in their very own cleverness at having decided to go get coffee instead.



We are awesome.

arrivederci, rebecca marie

ever striving for independent wealth

Dear Faithful Reader,

I would rather be coming up with something interesting for you to read than working. However, I have to get the old Jobbie McJob done in order to collect my paycheck sans guilt.

To satisfy my desire to write and create art which would also satisfy your desire to read my brilliant words and view said art, I decided to write you this little love letter and make you a quick picture.

How nice. Everyone is now happy.



arrivederci, rebecca marie

multiple personality disorder

I know that you have all been wondering what I would look like if I were a lego person. Well, you are in luck. I've decided that I'm tired of answering, "hey, Rebecca Marie! What would you look like if you were a lego person?" with, "None of your business."

So, at long last.... here you go!



arrivederci, rebecca marie

my very own superiority

So, I’m right. I’m not thinking of something specific. Just making a statement in general. I am right. I don’t say this with undue pride or vanity at all. I’m just stating fact. Someone once said “If I’d wanted your opinion, I would have given it to you.” They are basically my hero, cause that’s pretty much how I feel.

To help you all out, I thought I’d take the time to rate some things. This is me being generous, just so that you know. My temptation is to just tell you all how you feel about things, for example; you are annoyed by people who wear navy blue and black together (unless they are woven together in the same fabric, of course). But, rather than tell you how you feel about things, I will rate some things for you. Most rating systems are quite subjective, and if I rate things for you, it will allow just a wee bit of your own opinion to remain in tact.

You should all memorize these things, as they are, in fact, how you feel about things, as I am right.

On a scale of one to ten… (see? generosity. I didn’t say THE scale, I said A scale. subjectivity, use it well)

Coffee – 2

Coffee with a lot of junk in it – 8.5

Stinky people – 3 (only because you can complain about them)

Seinfeld – 10

Mayonnaise – 0

Las Vegas – 12

Hamburgers - 4

Urban Legends – 9.5

Me First and the Gimme Gimmes – 10

Breaking up – minus 72

Bubbles – 6

Complaining – 8

Post-it Notes – 4

Candles – 8

Okay, there you have it. A basic guide to how you feel about things. I may create a more extensive list for you, if I have time. But pretty much, now you have a good start.



arrivederci, rebecca marie

bloggedy blog blog

I'm feeling too blue and out of sorts to blog today. Blech.



arrivederci, rebecca marie

daily trivia by rebecca marie

Who got all brave and stuff and put FIVE pairs of black shoes into a bag for Goodwill?

The answer is me.



arrivederci, rebecca marie

p.s. two pairs are the same and i still have a spare. it's a sickness.

it doesn't rhyme with delores

I'm really hoping you've seen one particular episode of Seinfeld. I need to borrow from it for this post.

Remember when Jerry was dating the woman whose name he could not remember? He tried to trick her into telling him what it was by asking if she was ever teased about it as a child. Her response was "Of course! What do you expect when your name rhymes with a part of the female anatomy!" Well, her name was Delores, you do the math. Henceforth, in this post, when I need to say a certain embarrassing word, I'm going to say Delores. With me? All right.

I had braces for a very long time. Five years, two months, and two days, specifically. This means that I spent an awful lot of time at the orthodontist. One layer deeper, and this means that so did Wade. See, we went to private school and we carpooled. When one of us had an after school activity of any kind, we were all hostage to the event. Therefore, Wade accompanied me to my ortho visits.

My orthodontist had a large window seat across all of his stations, so that parents could watch the appointment, and one day, Wade decided to go back with me and witness my torture. Here's where things got interesting.

Do you know what your uvula is? Most of my family calls it a goozle. It's the little bit of flabby pink skin that hangs down in the back of your throat. Well, I've a hole in mine. That's right. A hole. Shine a flashlight down my throat and it makes a righteous shadow on my throat. It's pretty cool, actually.

(i know this is long, but keep reading, i swear the payoff is good)

Wade was more than a wee bit taken with the girl who was working on my braces, and he decided that life would not continue if he did not come up with a way to speak to her. So, he shuffled through the contents of his brain, and this is what he came up with;

"Did you know that Rebecca Marie has a hole in her Delores?"

All the poor girl could do was blink owlishly at him. Wade took a few moments to recover from the shock of his very own words and tried again.

"Uhm, did you notice that Rebecca Marie has a hole in her uvula?"

His skills at picking up chicks greatly improved in the coming years, praise the Lord.



arrivederci, rebecca marie

poorly poorly

So last week, I decided to get sick. Aaaaaall the sick. There was no more sick left over for anyone else. Turns out not to have been the best decision of all time ever. Not even in the top ten.

It started last Sunday when I decided to get under a blanket, just for five minutes or so, just to get warm before I did my usual get ready for the week run around. Mind you, at this point, I felt pretty much fine. I mean, maybe there was a cold coming 'round, but doubtful. Probably I just needed to get warm. I'd say, oh, about fifteen minutes later, I knew I was in a bad way. I was shivering, practically to the point of convulsion, and the thought of going for the thermometer was nearly more than I could bear. Well, I buoyed my strength and made the seven minute walk to the bathroom and much to my chagrin, my fever was 101.8.

I figured it was wrong, since by that point I was seeing mirages in my living room from the excessive heat (I'm sure a gremlin turned the heat up when I was resting my nine pound eyelids), and surely I'd seen wrong. So, I placed the thermometer under my pasty tongue once more, and waited for the one hundred and ten decibel level screech to sound again, telling me it was time to re-read my temperature. 102.6. Yeah. Bad decision. Why did I decide to get sick again? Off to bed with me.

Come around six o'clock the following day, I woke up to the ringing phone. I was able to pick up by the twenty-second ring, and it was my mother. "I'm taking you to the hospital," she screeched into my ear. Probably she only said it, but it took a while for the words to stop bouncing off of the inside of my forehead, so it really seemed screechie to me.

Anyway, long story short (better make it short, it took four hours at the hospital, and I'll not bother with those lousy details, other than to say that it was Satan's own waiting room), I got the drugs that I needed, and all of the acidophilus required to combat the, er, undesired results of the antibiotics. It's Saturday now, and I'd say I'm at a roaring seventy percent of my former self, which loosely translates to seven hundred percent improvement. Go me.

The most embarrassing (well, embarrassing if you are anyone but me) part of it all? Wearing a pad when you're not in your "moon time" because you pee every time you cough, as you are apparently delirious with the fever. That is basically awesome.

Who'd've thunk bronchitis could be so danged fun. And here I always thought it was just a bad cough.



arrivederci, rebecca marie