Baby Fat

I'm a pretty self-conscious person. (*cough*Asperger's*cough*)

In addition, any weight I gain goes straight to my belly, which sometimes makes me worry that I look pregnant. I try to camouflage it, but I still occasionally get offered a seat on the subway, particularly when I wear a certain top of mine that "has an empire-waist and floats away from the body" (Stacey from What Not To Wear LIES!!). It doesn't bother me too much — I'll do almost anything to get a seat on the subway, and I haven't reached the stage where anybody's asked me when I'm due yet — so I just kind of tolerate it.

However, as I was standing on the subway platform the other day, I noticed a man near me who looked way more pregnant than I do. Like, gut-hanging-over-the-waist-of-his-cargo-shorts "pregnant." Shoulders back, hands on his hips, almost like he was proud of it. It was not cute. And it did not inspire in me one of those "Right on, man! This is who I am whether you like it or not!" moments. I just kind of curled my lip in disgust.

Maybe this speaks to some deep-seated self-hatred of mine, but I think it's really just an aesthetic issue. And a splash of good old feminist rage. I mean, I make an effort to dress to flatter my non-standard body. Why does this guy just get to stand there showing off his expansive midsection with impunity? And why do I have to look at it? Why is it that women, who have a built-in alibi — pregnancy — for carrying extra tummy weight, are terrified and ashamed and insulted that someone might possibly assume they are "expecting," while guys don't even have such an excuse and don't seem to give a shit? Why am I — unwavering in my confidence that I have pretty eyes and cool hair, great legs, a really great ass, and a not-that-bad rack — fixated on disguising this one "imperfect" body part when I go out in public, while this guy is balding and wearing Tevas and doesn't seem to care? And why is he in my field of view?? I MUST ONLY LOOK AT PRETTY THINGS!!

After all, I may be fat, but you're ugly and I could lose weight.

Some Of My Best Pets Are Black!

hai guise its boo. im a littel confused. who iz this burt sir tiffy cat i keep heering abowt? evryones talknig abowt him being an american longhair. who cares wut breed he iz? and y does evryone think hes from kennel? dogs com from kennels not cats. wuts rong with u peeple? i meen if yor that bord y dont u just go play with sum string or somthnig n stop wastnig evrybodys time? jeez.

Pay It Forward

"I stay within MY budget, why can't the government stay within theirs?"

Well, let's consider this: Are you caring for a sick kid? Has your house ever been robbed? Did you ever lose a job? What if there's a storm and a tree crashes through your roof?

What if your insurance didn't cover any of it? Do you have all of that factored into your budget, too?

It's kind of hard to predict when an EMERGENCY is going to happen, or its extent, or how much it's going to cost. Medicare and Medicaid, defense programs, unemployment, and natural disaster funds cost money. You pay insurance to protect yourself and your assets. You pay your taxes to protect this country and its citizens.

You pay for the house you live in; if you don't, you get kicked out. You can pay for the country you live in, or you can leave.

Good luck finding lower tax rates in Europe.

I'm A Bitch And I'm Proud!

Guy with a bike knocking into me as he gets off the train: "You could have just stepped out, lady!"
Me: "And you could have not brought a bike on the train during rush hour, dick."

Me: "Excuse me, could I sit there?"
Woman holding a coffee and a cell phone with 3 tote bags taking up the seat next to her: "Sorry, I've got too much stuff."
Me: "Of course you do. And of course your stuff paid for that seat. Thanks a lot."

My commutes have become so much more enoyable now that I've actually started saying these things out loud...

Seriously?

Dr. Keith: Tragedy Of Mental Illness

Dear Dr. Keith,

Speaking as a legitimately crazy person myself, I can indisputably say that this tragedy is not "ultimately" a story about mental illness. It is ultimately a story about why a person with a mental illness had a gun.

Get a job,
BeccaGo

A Christmas Miracle

And now, some good news for the forthcoming holiday season...

GOP pledges to block all bills!

This part's my favorite:

"All 42 Senate Republicans signed a letter to Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid, D-Nevada, vowing to prevent a vote on 'any legislative item until the Senate has acted to fund the government and we have prevented the tax increase that is currently awaiting all American taxpayers.'"

How, exactly, do these imbeciles expect to FUND THE GOVERNMENT by CUTTING taxes? Where are these "funds" supposed to come from? Jesus??

Merry Christmas, assholes!!

The Man With The Implausibly High Rate Of Sexual Activity

I think I would have enjoyed The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo trilogy more if Blomkvist didn't fuck every single female character introduced.

Amen.

For those of you who haven't read it yet, there is nothing I could say that would add anything more to this post itself. This mom is a hero:

My son is gay.

Subway Etiquette Is Neither Etiquette Nor Even Exists. Discuss.

My commute today was like a crash course in Subway Douchery

Example #1:
Guy in the F station playing the marimba. Not a guitar or a bucket, but a full-out xylophone about half the width of the platform.

Example #2:
Woman with a baby in a sling carrier gets on at Delancey St. No one offers her a seat.
(I finally did — she declined. But still...)

Example #3:
Woman with a little boy and what looks like a large suitcase gets on at Jay St. No one offers her a seat.
(Again, I did, and again, she declined, but like I said....)

Example #4:
Guy gets on at Astor Place with a bicycle and sits down smack in the middle of the row of seats with the bicycle perfectly centered in front of him. So not only can no one stand in the aisle in front of him because it's blocked by the bicycle, no one can sit next to him either without climbing over the bicycle to get to the empty seats. Oh, and did I mention? It is RUSH HOUR.

Which brings me to my next point: IF YOU HAVE A BICYCLE WITH YOU, WHY AREN'T YOU RIDING THE DAMN BICYCLE??

Thank you, that will be all for today.

Dear Assholes Blasting Music On The Street Loud Enough For Me To Hear With My Windows Closed And My Television On:

SHUT.

THE.

FUCK.

UP!!!

Don't MAKE me turn this into Do The Right Thing down there, you inconsiderate fucks...

Zero Grounds

I'm too lazy and pissy right now to re-type all of this and lay it out in proper blog format, but if you were curious as to my strongly-held opinions regarding Park51 — the infamous "Ground Zero Mosque" — you may observe them here, on this badly-done MS Paint reproduction of the forum in which I do all my serious political debating: Facebook.

[Click to magnify to normal reading size. Selected comments unrelated to the outcome have been removed.]

The link to the original story may be found here.

(Also, in case you were wondering, that's Miss Kazakhstan during the national costume portion of the Miss Universe pageant in my avatar.)

God Damn Glam Nation

I know I have been sorely lax in writing up my Adam Lambert concert experience, and to those of you who have been waiting, I apologize for that, but there is almost no way to condense into words what spending 3 hours doing elaborately dazzling make-up and dressing like a Vegas showgirl high on peyote; 6 and a half hours standing on line in the middle of Times Square in 90 degree weather surrounded by frothing fans and curious tourists taking my picture; 2 hours lost in a crush of chubby teenaged girls who are seeing the show for the sixth time and delusional, far-too-inappropriately-dressed middle-aged women trying to push their way past said teenagers up to the front of the stage; and only one glorious and over-far-too-fast hour mesmerized by the overwhelming spectacle that is Adam Lambert was like.

I can, however, describe to you how much I hate people. I'm pretty good at that.

After stampeding our way into the theater once the doors were finally opened, everyone rushes towards the stage to claim the perfect spot. And these chicks — because they were mainly girls and women — were flat-out, claws-out prepared to defend their hard-won territory. Ok, that's understandable; after all, we had spent half the day waiting in sweltering heat precisely to obtain such a prime piece of real estate.

But this one woman...

I have no idea who she was or why she chose me, but this 40-something woman in a floral blouse, carrying a purse and a cocktail, decides to stand directly next to me and engage me in conversation. Her opening line is:

"Will you look at all these little girls? They're babies! Who wants to look out into the crowd and see them?"

My immediate reaction is to think, "Who the hell thinks he'd rather see you?" but I push the thought aside and just try to ignore her. After all, I am here to enjoy myself.

Then she asks me if I can hold her spot while she gets another drink. Hold her spot? How the hell do you hold someone a spot on the floor of a general admission show? Especially at the show of someone like Adam Lambert, who inspires The-Beatles-and-Elvis-combined-level hysteria? Yeah, sure, whatever, lady. Just go.

Sure enough, several minutes later I hear from somewhere behind me, "Excuse me...'scuse me...sorry...excuse me..." and my new best friend has pushed her way back to my side. People are giving us nasty looks and I want to explain to them that, look, I am an innocent party to this shit. I, unlike some people uncomfortably near me, have been to a concert in the last 2 decades and understand the rules of standing-room-only ettiquette.

Unfortunately, she tries to chat with me again. I'm texting my mom, who is somewhere up in the balcony, sitting down. I try looking around for her and BFF is all, "Ooh! Who are you talking to?"

"My mom."

"Your mom's here, too? Cool! Where is she?"

"Up in the seat section," I tell her. I don't add, "Where any sensible middle-aged woman who is simply here to enjoy the show and doesn't harbor fantasies of seducing a gay man 20 years her junior should be."

"That's so cool! What's she saying?"

Listen, you nosy bitch... "She says there are some boys making out right in front of her and they're the only guys she's seen here so far."

"OOH! WHERE?!?"

Jesus Christ, woman. I do not want to be privy to your perverse voyeuristic fantasies. I mumble, "I don't know," and go back to texting again so she'll leave me alone.

Me: "Crazy drunk lady down here thinks I'm her best friend."
Mom: "HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Thanks for the sympathy, Ma.

Crazy drunk lady is now telling me, all conspiratorially, that we're not gonna let ANYONE get in front of us! No way! We can take these teenagers! At this point I am now visibly ignoring her, but she ignores the cues and keeps talking. [ED. NOTE: I almost just typed "stalking" — Freudian slip.]

Meanwhile, there's a 15- or 16-year-old girl on the other side of me yelling to her friend, who is somehow a row of people behind us. "Do you guys want to stand together?" I ask, sliding aside a few inches to let the friend through. "Really? Oh my God, that is so nice of you! Thank you so much!" They are so ridiculously grateful for this small act of kindness that I feel like I just handed them both a winning Powerball ticket.

But then this bitch has to ruin it. "Hey! Why are you letting them in front of you? I thought we weren't gonna do that!"

We? Who is this "we" you speak of, you hag?

The friends are looking back at us with strange expressions now, so I lean forward and whisper, "It's ok. I don't even know who she is."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Oh my God, we thought she knew you! That's so weird."

You're telling me, kid.

The show still hasn't started yet when I notice a little Indian-looking girl with braces standing next to an older man who appears to be her father, a little behind me to the right. She looks about 13 and is about 5'3". She's standing on tiptoe to see the stage. "Can you see from there?" I ask her. "Do you want to move up?" She lights up like I just told her she's going to Disneyworld and turns to her dad, all excited, to see if it's ok. "I'll take good care of her," I promise, and move aside to let her through. She keeps repeating, "Thank you! Thank you so much!" and she looks so happy, I feel like I've been given the Nobel Peace Prize.

So of course, this witch next to me has to ruin it again. "What are you doing?" she scolds me. Then she says to the little kid, "It's a good thing you're short!" What the fuck, lady? She's like, 12! I'm practically cocooning this poor child with my own body to keep my promise to her father, and I whisper to her, too, "It's ok, just ignore her." The two friends look back at us and snicker knowingly.

And again, after all this shit, she then asks me to hold her spot for her while she goes to the ladies room.

Are you fucking kidding me?

The place has gotten much more crowded and I think, there is no way she's gonna find her way back up here if she leaves, so I say, "Sure! No problem," and wave her away.

Thank God. Problem solved.

But no.

Unbelievably, about 20 minutes later, right in the middle of Orianthi's set, I hear grumbling behind me and shouts of "Hey! What are you doing?" and I hear a familiar voice repeating, "Sorry! I'm up there with the girl in the hat!"

Oh, no. You did NOT just insinuate that I have any role in this fucking mess. "No, you are NOT!" I yell back at her. "You are NOT with me! I DO NOT FUCKING KNOW YOU!"

Amazingly, this does not deter her nor impede her determined advance. She actually gets right up next to me again, and PUTS HER FUCKING ARM AROUND ME, like we are fucking partners in crime, and says, completely fucking obliviously, "Hey! I'm back!"

Are you FUCKING kidding me?

I am furious. "Look, lady," I fume at her, "I don't know you. WE ARE NOT FRIENDS! I DO NOT KNOW YOU! And I know Adam is all about love and positivity and shit, but if you do not stop pushing me, I swear to God, I'm gonna start throwing punches."

I'm almost positive I heard someone applaud.

Thank you, Cleveland!

I Give Up, Too

Perhaps I'm being lazy by not actually writing anything and just posting a link, but just as Mr. Stewart lets Representative Weiner "do the screaming for" him in this video, so I will let Mr. Stewart express my utter rage and stupefaction over these actions for me — I couldn't put it any more perfectly myself.

I Give Up

Get Your Facts Straight/Gay/Whatever

Dear Prop 8 Supporters/Sore Losers/Bigoted Imbeciles:

Stop with your stupid "gay activist judge/government interference" arguments already. Prop 8 WAS government interference by "moral" activists and it was overturned because it was UNCONSTITUTIONAL. You know, like, against the law? Like not letting black people sit where they want on the bus?

"BUT THE PEOPLE VOTED!!!" Yeah! And you know what else happened when people voted and it got overruled? George W. Bush. The Florida Supreme Court ruled that its ballot recount was unconstitutional, and Al Gore lost the 2000 presidential election, even though he had won the popular vote. Remember that?

Try thinking of it this way: If enough people voted "yes" to take away your guns, even though it was illegal, would you be ok with it? Or would you riot?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

Get over it,
BeccaGo

Hassling Hasselbeck

According to The Daily News, Elisabeth Hasselbeck believes that "a lot of older lesbians would have turned out straight...if they could only land a man."

Well, I believe that a lot of former Survivor contestants wouldn't have become hosts of 'The View'...if they could only land a Playboy pictorial.

I also believe that stupid opinions like this wouldn't even be aired or considered...if only dim-witted, ignorant bimbos weren't hosts of a fatuous, asinine talk show.

Voice Mail Fail

My office voicemail system may be the most counterintuitive piece of technology I've ever encountered. Presented below is the process through which I have to go just to listen to a damn message:

"Welcome to [system name]. For help at any time, press *8."

First of all, what would I possibly need help for at this point? I haven't done anything yet! And "*8"? What, the traditional "0" just wasn't unneccessarily complicated enough for you?

"Please enter extension, followed by the pound sign. Please enter password, followed by the pound sign."

Ok, that's pretty universal. No complaints.

"Mailbox of Rebecca Godan."

Uh, I'm pretty sure I'm already aware of who I am...

"To record messages, press 1."

What? Why would I need to do this? This is my first option?

"To get messages, press 2."

Standard...almost.

"Voice call from [caller]. Received at 10:28, Wednesday, July 28th. 12 seconds. Extension [caller's extension]."

Gee, after all that detailed information, who needs to hear the actual message, AMIRITE?! No shit it's a voice call — this is my VOICEmail. AND WHY DO I NEED TO KNOW THE PRECISE LENGTH OF THE CALL WHEN I CAN JUST LISTEN TO IT MYSELF??

"To listen to this message, press 0. To delete, press *D."

Now you decide to go with "0"? When every single other voicemail system in the world goes with "1"? What, you just wanted to feel special? And "*D"? Are you kidding me? You've become so elaborate now that you need to use 2 keys and a letter? Plus, WHY WOULD I WANT TO DELETE THE MESSAGE IF I HAVEN'T EVEN HEARD IT YET?!?

All this superfluous junk to wade through, just to listen to "Hi Rebecca, it's Lucy. Call me."

Boys and girls, it's the accumulation of little things like this that makes people bring rifles to work...

Things That Make Me Absolutely Furious

Every single person waiting on this line with me.

I'm Melting...

It is over 100 degrees in NYC today.

OVER.
100.
DEGREES.

This is completely unacceptable.

I think weather should play by schoolyard rules, like basketball, and stop once it hits 100. Can we vote on this somewhere?

Go Team!!!

Ok, seriously, I can't take any more of this shit.

One of my "friends" on Facebook just posted this as his profile picture:

...next to the status:

"1st Term Failure. That's what I HOPED for and it looks like it came true!!"

Seriously?

SERIOUSLY?!?

Gee, dude, that's great that you're happy about an ecological disaster! So psyched that you proved your point!!!

I mean, come on. I thought Bush was a Category 5 dickwad, but I never thought — nevertheless DECLARED IN A PUBLIC FORUM — "Yes! The Ninth Ward is devastated! WOOHOO!!! W. FUCKED UP!!!"

Are people really this fucking obtuse? Are scientists working on a cure for this sort of stupidity yet?

UPDATE: This exchange just occurred a few comments down:

"Real American": And...how long we going to blame Bush. I've heard people trying to blame Bush for this oil disaster. It's a typical Obama supporter cop out....just blame Bush. Face it, out fearless leader is clueless and certainly has not delivered on his promises. Back door meetings, a NON-TRANSPARENT GOVERNMENT, debt beyond belief, a healthcare system that is sure to tank....shall I go on?????

Rebecca Godan: I'm not blaming Bush for the oil spill. That's just as ignorant an opinion as saying Obama's the one responsible for a national debt that's been growing out of control since the Reagan administration. And I'm not saying Obama's perfect. I'm saying his mishandling of the oil spill is equivalent to Bush's mishandling of Katrina. Don't pretend "your side" was never inept and ineffectual in the face of disaster. I mean, I thought Bush was a Category 5 dickwad, but I never thought "Yes! The Ninth Ward is devastated! So glad W. fucked up!" That attitude doesn't solve shit.

BeccaGo: Bravely fighting the losing battle...

UPDATE 2: And for those of you interested in torturing yourselves, here's the whole damn transcript:
File Under: Why Do I Bother?

Like There's Not Enough Of The Real Ones Down In The Subways...

That goddamn inflatable rat the union picketers are always using is in front of my building today. I hate that fucking thing. So of course, I had to go out on my lunch break and harass them about it...

Me: "Just out of curiosity, how much does it cost to rent the rat?"
Union guy: "Actually, it's ours."
Me: "Seriously? You OWN the rat? How much did you pay for that thing?"
Union guy, yelling over his shoulder: "Hey, Joey — how much for da rat?"
Joey: "About 8 grand."
Me: "Eight GRAND? Are you kidding me?"
Union guy: "Nope, 8 grand. And lemme tell you, it's paid for itself several times over."

I have no idea how a fucking inflatable rat generates income, but I'd still like to harpoon the damn thing. Too bad there's never any hunting spears around when you need 'em...