Posts I like

More liked posts

Tag Results

113 posts tagged Rebecca Leib

We’re Having a Fundraiser! And we need YOU.

Mark your calendars, for at 8 pm, the eve of July 28th at 1744 N. Wilton Place will be a fundraiser of epic proportions! In fact, we want to make it even epic-er than ever, and to do that, we need your help!

Let us backtrack.  “Say Something Funny, Bitch” is a website that was started by Alisha Gaddis in 2010, to bring a group of strong, female voices to the online comedy community. Since then, SSFB has been bringing you articles that were funny, topical, touching, artistic and pictorial (yeah, photo essays, what of it?) and the site has been reposted by blogs like Comediva, Hello Giggles and some weird Australian pro-Paris Hilton pop culture blog.

Unfortunately, Tumblr is getting far too small to house our rapidly growing readership! What we are aspiring to do through this fundraiser is to build a brand new website so that we can keep bringing the world content that is brilliant, hilarious, brilliant, witty, awesome, innovative, feminist, brilliant and brilliant. 

We are looking to raise 800 dollars. That will be the TOTAL cost to build new and world-class website fit to house the musings of our writers: Alisha Gaddis, Bekah Tripp, Rebecca Leib, Laura Mannino, Jamie Brunton, Maggy Keegan, Kate Ruppert, Renee Gauthier, Jessica Glassberg and a plethora of other funny, rotating guest writers!  Please, if there is any service or object you could donate to our cause- anything from a coaching session to a haircut to a date to a drawing to your Beta copy of Tron to that gross wine your weird Uncle bought you for your birthday three years ago…we’d love to take it off your hands and put it in our raffle to hopefully help out our cause!

If you can’t totally no big deal.  In fact, we’re delighted you even read this far (really, we know how busy a handsome fellow or madam like you is!) Please come to the fundraiser, get the word out, or sit and reflect on the inherent irony of gleaning self-appreciation from a mass query (really, we’re just happy you’re reading).  If you do decide to donate a service or object and you have a business or want to advertise with us, we can put you on the poster and hand out cards at the event. Or pass this along to someone you think would be willing to help! Whatever it takes! 

If you can donate a service or object, contact TuesdayMeditations@gmail.com

Tuesday Meditations: My First Year

Hey all,

sorry I’ve been MIA.  You see, it’s really hard to post on this tumblr these days- tumblr”s all kinds of fucked up. So, I wrote something else for a different magazine,  called Slacklust.  Check it out here!

This week, I’m off to NYC and then to Taiwan.  After that, I’ll have ALL SORTS OF FUCKED UP CRAZY BULLSHIT TO TALK ABOUT.  PROMISE!

You’re welcome,

Rebecca

'I spent a lot of money on Mary Kay products today,' I said. In the bathtub. To my cat.

I guess I have a lot of thinking to do, and a lot of payote to do it with.

Rebecca Leib

Tuesday Meditations: A Women’s Right to Chews

Hey faithful readers-

In a scurve and dervish of weed-induced proportions, last night I accidentally ate a whole tub of my children’s bear-shaped muti-vitamin chewables.  Which means two things:

1. I’m feeling really fucking GREAT.

AND

2. The tub of vitamins cost me about 15 dollars, which means that at 250 vitabears per tub,  each little chewy mammal cost me about six cents per piece.  That’s a pretty expensive snack, and- after I sobered up- a responsibility that I did not take lightly. 

Which made me think. 

As I took another bong rip, I started thinking about all the things that I spend money on, and decided to talk to my financial advisor (Nubbins) about my expenditures.

Here is a list of what I spend money on, in order of how much I spend, per month:

Rent

Drugs

Alcohol

7/11 Coffee

Health Insurance

Groceries

Library overdue fees

Plan B

Paper (8.5 x 11)

RITE AID makeup

Paper (8.5 x 14)

Fancy perfumes

It’s a real wake-up call, folks. I mean,  Lottery tickets and kitty litter don’t even MAKE THE LIST. I guess I have a lot of thinking to do, and a lot of payote to do it with. 

Oh yeah, while I’m thinking, here’s a list of songs about having sex in dance clubs:

Love In this Club/Usher, Featuring Young Jeezy

Get Low/Lil Jon

On the Floor/Jennifer Lopez, Featuring Pit Bull

Sex Beat/Gun Club

In Da Club/50 Cent

You Can Do It/Ice Cube

I Like That/Luciana

Don’t Play With Me (Run Girl)/Dave Banner

Sex Boy/ Germs

My Neck, My Back (Lick it)/KHIA

Laffy Taffy (Explicit)/D4L

You’re welcome,

Rebecca

(to get the playlist on Spotify, go here:  http://open.spotify.com/user/129452982/playlist/6cPxCM7yeS4UUMXh47iFKk)

Tusday Meditations: Finding Quality Strip Clubs (A Theory)

Hey gentle readers,

I just went to Jumbo’s Clown Room for my friends birthday, and broke some shit down for him, which I also plan on doing with y’all. We are talking about finding good strip clubs, and what strip clubs really take to be visitable, let alone pleasurable. 

You see, I’m no mathematician, but I AM a genius.  So, I devised a formula that I promptly and drunkenly wrote down and shared with everyone.  It goes a little something like this:

It’s pretty fucking simple-  B, or average numerical cup size (the 34 of a 34B)  plus the average alphabetical cup size, shown here as L, plus H, which is the average length of hair extensions.  L is shown on this scale, and is added in a graduation of tens based on ascending cup size.  When you get into double DD’s, you don’t multiply, but keep adding. For example, 

A Cup=10, B Cup=20, C Cup=30, D= 40 DDD=120

Of course, you have to use your own discretion when determining averages. 

But I digress. No wait- I don’t.  I’m just explaining. Let me continue…

All of this is multiplied by A, which is the ATM convenience fee, and divided by the average cost of a Coors Lite (CL). Then, add the number of times a Britney Spears song is played (VB), and you’ve got a sum. 

So, let’s say you went to a strip club with girls with an average of 34 B cup, 12 inch hair extensions, a 7 dollar ATM convenience fee and a six buck Coors Lite, and you had to endure three Britney Spears dance routines, your formula would look something like this:

(7(34+20+12)/6)+3=  80

I would not go back to this strip club.

A GOOD strip club will put you anywhere from 20-40, but a shit strip club will be in the 60-80 range. 

So beware, readers, and let’s start using this so none of us will be wasting precious titty time. 

You’re welcome from A PUBLISHED MATHEMATICIAN,

R.

‘The Male Bag’ by Colin Hughes

The one and only man on SSFB campus.  You have wrote in, often and vigorously, and Colin Hughes has answered. 

Ladies and B*tches….

QUESTION:


Are guys in comedy more or less f*cked up than guys in other vocations?


ANSWER:


As a comedian I think that this is a misnomer.

I spent nearly 6 years as a sales manager for a small company. There were times when I would wake up at 5am, be out of the house within a half hour and not return home until 7pm. At that point I would jump on my computer, plan the following day, do some paperwork, and eventually go to bed. I would do this 6, sometimes 7 days a week. At one point a coworker and I had each worked 30-some-odd-days in a row without having a day that was less than 10 hours.

We were crazy. At the same time though, Vitamin Water had just sold for billions, BILLIONS!!!! of dollars and if we played our cards right, with the stocks we had vested already, we could stand to make 4-5 million ourselves, if our company had sold for even a fraction of what Coke purchased Vitamin Water for. If we pushed hard enough today, we could retire tomorrow. Or so we thought.

Since then, we’ve both been fired, the company sold and nobody made a fucking penny. Not even the people still with the company.

Did we waste our time? Perhaps. Does this have anything to do with your question? Absolutely. Am I answering my own questions like Donald Rumsfeld? Yes, and I’m sorry. What I’m trying to say is that passion can make people a little crazy. The thing about making millions of dollars with our drink company was so far from the front of our mind when we were at our most insane. All we could think about was being the best sales reps and making the company the best beverage company ever.

Now take that same passion and apply it to a profession that is as naked as anything in the world. There is no marketing team to support you. No CEO to direct you. It’s just you and a microphone and some poop jokes. The “insanity” of stand-ups exist in all fields. All of them. Lawyers are driven to be the best they can, as are doctors, teachers, etc. The difference is that you didn’t grow up knowing stand-ups. If, however, you grew up knowing a sole-proprietor of some small company, think about that person. It’s the business equivalent of a comedian.

If however you were talking about improvisors the question was formatted wrong because improv isn’t a vocation. It’s a vacation in every sense of the word. People are paying to have fun. The only difference is that everyone on the beach is looking at you and waiting for you to say something clever.

To ask YOUR Question to Colin- email saysomethingfunnybtch@gmail.com.  And read more Colin on twitter @colinhughesLA.

Tuesday Meditations: Purim Boner

Those of you who know me know I love a lot of things: RITE AID, Horses,  Indian Food, not pinterest, and tailgating, to NAME A FEW.  But you all must know that I also have a raging hard-on for PURIM. 

What’s Purim, you ask? 

Well, it’s a pretty small-time Jew holiday that celebrates how the Jews got away with doing their own holiday shit in an oppressive-ass Persian empire way back in fucking Bible Times. 

To read more, go here:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Purim#Purim_story

Or you could skip all that bullshit and I’ll break it down for you, right here, right now, on SSFB:

INTERIOR- SOME FUCKING CASTLE- ANCIENT IRAN:

King Ahasuerus of Persia had a big fucking feast to celebrate some victory and wanted his slutty Queen Vashti to dance naked for his court.  She said no fucking way, dude, so she gets the boot and King Ahasuerus brings in a stable of new broads so that he can have his fucking after-meal sex show.  One of these girls is Esther, a Jew.  The King picks her, falls in love with her and puts a ring on that shit. Esther is raised by her Uncle, Mordechai, who is also Esther’s uncle but ALSO OVERHEARS A BOGUS PLOT TO ASSASSINATE THE KING!  Never a dull moment in the book of Esther, bitches.  Anyhow, He immediately tells Esther about the plot, who reports that shit to King A.

In a separate but equally fucking bogus-ass incident,  Haman, a high advisor of the King,  goes dick publicly and makes all the Jews bow down to him and shit.  Mordechai won’t, and so Haman- tripping on goyish power- wants to punish all the Jews in the kingdom.  He cast lots or PURIM to determine the day of jewhilation. King A is like, kind of  dickless and goes along with Haman’s idea of his Jew-purge, but then Mordechai gets all depressed and Esther finally holds a big baller banquet where she reveals she’s no shiksa and asks King A to save her people and reveals that Haman was a power-hungry piece of shit.  King Ahasuerus is all like, “what the fuck?” And then Haman has to lead Mordechai around on a fine horse.

Eventually,  Haman is slain. Jews eat this cookie in grim remembrance.

There’s a lot of lessons we can learn from this riveting tale, but just in case you skimmed through my literary genius, I’ll break this shit down for you:

1. ALWAYS dance naked if given the opportunity.

2. Nepotism is the SHIT.

3. Cookies!

4. Never plot to kill your King publicly while wearing a cookie-shaped hat. 

5.  Fuck, I don’t know. This holiday is like a big fucking three ring Jew carnival, so can’t we all just get drunk and eat Hamantaschen in PEACE?

Now, if you’ll fucking excuse me, I have to go put on my slutty Vashti outfit, grab my gragger and get to TEMPLE.

You’re welcome,

Rebecca

SSFB B*tches doing more dope things.

Like starting a card line.

Together. 

You should go. 

I TAKE NO HYGENIC CUES FROM TWILIGHT CHARACTERS. UNLESS IT’S EDWARD.

Tuesday Meditations: HOLY FUCK, ROSS DRESS 4 LESS.

(a photo essay). 

Hey assholes,

Just letting you know I’m keeping busy writing mad poetry and breaking hearts. But in between doing those things, I’ve decided to expand my horizons. For example, I bought some fucking Tacate Lights instead of Coors Lites this week, and I also started using my turn signals while driving.

And as you all well fucking know, I’m also a woman of the WORLD. In the fine spirit of exploration, I  decided to explore my world past Wilton between Hollywood and Franklin, by going to the Ross Dress 4 Less located three blocks east and one block south.    I took my two friends named Chris with me, too, because there’s a Quizno’s nearby.

Here is what we found, as expressed in photographic likeness:

Neon is a big thing at the D4L.  From tank tops to tank bottoms, these hot colors are BURNING UP THE RUNWAYS* THIS SEASON!**

*Runways = metal racks

**Season = fiscal year

The brush section was vast, and included weird Disney-princess looking pinup-girl themed hairbrushes. 

I TAKE NO HYGENIC CUES FROM TWILIGHT CHARACTERS. UNLESS IT’S EDWARD.

GET OUT OF MY HEAD, D4L.

These I need.

More neon.  I just call mini-socks as I see ‘em, folks. 

Also, Tunics!

ROSS DRESS 4 LESS: Comprehensively providing the worst licorice in one convenient place!

I almost bought this fedoraed Easter Chick with eggs in its back,  but I didn’t have 39.95! : (

Don’t worry, gentle readers. I made do!

D4L had no electronics section, but they DID boast a whole 1/2 aisle filled with dog and/or child clothes. 

And a bra graveyard!

If you visit the D4L perfume aisle,  you’re going to need a rigorous hose-down and possibly a tetanus shot. 

And….scene.

All the while, I thought to myself:  who would buy this stuff…?

Oh. 

With my two friends named Chris safely draining their checking accounts buying ABSOLUTE NECESSITIES,  I decided I felt okay leaving ROSS DRESS 4 LESS empty-handed.  After all, I have a lot of shit to spend my money on, like booze and also booze. 

Needless to say, I ventured out of my comfort zone, and learned some valuable lessons about love, trust and friendship along the way.

You’re Welcome,

Rebecca

"Say I Love You, and often. Nobody complains about getting too many compliments or love affirmations. NOBODY."

PLAYLIST:

Runaway/Kanye West, Pusha T 9:07 (the shit)

How Long/Mr. Airplane Man 3:50

Siberain Breaks/ MGMT 12:10

The Distance Between Us/The Present Moment 2:56

Mystery of Life/Eels 4:22

Skinny Love/Birdy 3:21

Old Fashioned Love Song/Three Dog Night 3:24

Cruel To Be Kind/Nick Lowe 3:29

Advice and Playlist to go with it. 

There is more where that came from. 

http://saysomethingfunnybitch.tumblr.com/post/17643919133/tuesday-meditations-2-my-big-dumb-heart

Tuesday Meditations (2): My Big Dumb Heart.

Today I finished my work and my requisite P90X and got high as fuck to write my own meditation.  So, after you enjoy the fruit of my admirer, you can enjoy this entry from YOURS TRULY.  You see, I’ve gotten two types of request for my Valentine’s Day Edition this year: music and advice.  

Music, because I have bomb-ass musical tastes, and advice because I’m a fucking GURU when it comes to pretty much everything else. 

So, I combined the music and advice to make a crazyass playlist punctuated by some romantic advice  to make a crazy-ass playlist punctuated by some romantic advice I’ve learned through my years of breaking hearts and taking names.*

*dating.

I call it MY BIG, DUMB HEART playlist. It can be broken up into mini-mixes, though this isn’t recommended.  It’s about 5.5 hours long.

In other words, it’ll take you from Berkeley to Los Angeles.

10:20 AM/Spoon 2:10

Telstar/The Ventures 2:38

Barracuda/Heart 4:24  (sexy.)

Feel It All Around/Washed Out 3:48

I Follow Rivers/Lykke Li 3:48

Busby Berkeley Dreams/The Magnetic Fields 5:06

White Hot/Black Flag 5:06

Bad Girls/MIA 3:48 (this song is the shit)

Cool It Down/The Velvet Underground 3:06

Spanish Sun/The Chesterfield Kings 3:23

 1. Enjoy Yourself. Someday-years from now, probably- you’ll be married or divorced or single and look back on all of those people you kissed and you’ll hate yourself for wigging out through the whole process of beginnings.  Fucking RELAX.  Enjoy weird bra fumblings and first blowjobs.  

Transatlanticism/Death Cab for Cutie 7:55

You Know My Name (Look Up The Number) 4:19 

Wait For Your Love/Mr. Airplane Man 3:58

Just What I Needed/The Cars 3:43

No Exchange/Minutemen 1:51

Tomorrow Never Knows/The Beatles 2:57  (but you know, tomorrow sometimes knows)

Come Back From San Francisco/The Magnetic Fields 2:48

Start Choppin’/Dinosaur Jr. 5:40

I Feel Good/Puerto Rico Flowers 4:42

A Drop In Time/Mercury Rev 4:20

2. Don’t Text when you feel crazy.  Seriously.

When My Boy Walks Down The Street/The Magnetic Fields 2:38

Morning Bell/Radiohead 4:35

Let Me Serenade You/Three Dog Night 3:05

What Do I get?/Buzzcocks 2:56 

I Want To Be The Boy To Warm Your Mother’s Heart/The White Stripes 3:16

3. Say What You Want.  As a Midwestern woman, I was taught the fine arts of modesty and placating others. I’m slowly trying to unravel some of this in myself and getting a lot of my needs met simply by asking.  And if you ask and don’t receive? Fuck it: you had the balls enough to ask, and people will respect the shit out of you for that.


The Gift/The Velvet Underground 8:16 (Awesome)

4. Establish sexual compatibility early and often.  Yeah, anticipation is fun, BUT ALSO AND SO IS FUCKING. 

Green Eyes/ Husker Du 3:02 (I’m going to get drunk at my wedding and sing this)

All Good People/ Good Luck 3:29

Tonight the Streets Are Ours/Richard Hawley 3:43

Recollections of Wraith/Shabazz Palaces 3:35

Drivin’ My Life Away/Eddie Rabbit 3:11

Fido, Your Leash Is Too Long/The Magnetic Fields 2:33

Eric’s Trip/ Sonic Youth 3:48

Heartbeat/Childish Gambino 4:29

Bring Out The Clouds/Craft 6:20

Please Be Patient With Me/Wilco 3:17

Fake Plastic Trees/Radiohead 4:53 

5. Be wary of those who “don’t like labels.” Sure, labels don’t define us or our relationships, but they’re an important element in expressing your respect for what you’ve built with your partner.  If the person you’re with can’t do this, they don’t like you enough or are fearful of the future enough for it to be a fucking problem. 

Wouldn’t It Be Nice/The Beach Boys 2:32

Two Princes/Spin Doctors 4:17 (Yeah, this is happening)

Shake A Leg/ACDC 4:05

California Queen/Wolfmother 3:55

Little Secrets/Passion Pit 3:59

Change Clothes/DJ Danger Mouse 4:04 

Wild Ones/Flo Rida 3:54 (Someday I’ll make a full mix about fornicating in public club areas. Until then…)

Two-Headed Boy/Neutral Milk Hotel 4:26

My Window/The Residents 4:19 

Why I Love You/Jay-Z, Kanye West 3:21 (anthem of 2011)

6. Say I Love You, and often.  Nobody complains about getting too many compliments or love affirmations.  NOBODY.

Runaway/Kanye West, Pusha T 9:07 (the shit)

How Long/Mr. Airplane Man 3:50

Siberain Breaks/ MGMT 12:10

The Distance Between Us/The Present Moment 2:56

Mystery of Life/Eels 4:22

Skinny Love/Birdy 3:21

Old Fashioned Love Song/Three Dog Night 3:24

Cruel To Be Kind/Nick Lowe 3:29

7. Logic and Passion. A good relationship exists in both, much to my dumbass, logic-loving dismay. Distrust relationships that err on one or the other.


Fight Test/The Flaming Lips 4:16

Need You Now/Cut Copy 6:09

In Accordance to Natural Law/Bikini Kill :29

I’m The One/Black Flag 2:45

Modern World/Jonathan Richman and The Modern Lovers 3:16

Howlin’ For You/The Black Keys 3:12

Troublemaker/Shannon and the Clams 2:50

I Can’t Do Anything/X Ray Spex 3:00 (there’s a lot of truth in song titles)

Leader of the Pack/The Shangri-La’s 2:52 (best first line ever)

Every Day/Buddy Holly 2:11

I Don’t Want to Grow Up/Tom Waits 2:31

8. Don’t Play Games. Games are for spies and babies in ball pits.  You are neither unless you worship “The Rules.” If that’s the case, stop fucking reading my shit, please. 

You Got It/Roy Orbison 3:30

They Don’t Know About Us/Tracy Ullman 2:59 (Paul McCartney!)

Lovefool/The Cardigans 3:14

Come Talk To Me/Bon Iver 6:20

Hey/The Pixies 3:31

The Shit You Hate/Bomb The Music Industry! 5:54

One Eye/Nightbirds 1:03

Los Angeles/X 2:24 (getting closer to LA…can you feel it?)

You See Me/Childish Gambino 3:15

Gotta Have It/Jay Z, Kanye West 2:21

Down on Bended Knee/Boys II Men 2:59 (May I have this dance?)

I Will/The Beatles 1:46 (The song they’ll play at my wedding for the brief moments that I am still sober)

It’s Only Time/The Magnetic Fields 4:26 (end this shit with a little romance, please).

And you’re home. 

Remember, I love you all. But especially You, EJS.

You’re Welcome,

Rebecca

Want this mix? Get this shit on spotify under “My Big Dumb Heart.” Yeah, I know I like the Magnetic Fields a fucking lot,  and I’m indulgent as fuck, but I’m being romantic, so deal with it. 
.

Tuesday Meditations (1): I Have A Secret Admirer.

Okay, now I’m not a big Valentine’s Day person, but there’s a lot of Data and requests being thrown my way. So, I submit not ONE, but TWO Valentine’s Day editions of Tuesday Meditations this year!

TUESDAY MEDIATION 1

Last night, I came home buzzed as fuck from a Tiki bar and found this: 

He/She also wrote today’s meditation for me.  Which is strange- considering I also have my OWN Meditation on the docket.  So, you’ll get to read his and then you’ll get to read mine, the real stuff, the orig.  Enjoy. 

"Hello Bitches,

It’s Tuesday and what’s worse than Tuesday besides Monday?  The fact that it is also Valentine’s Day.  And I know if you’re reading this, (why do I say if?  You are: we both know it), then you are chomping at the bit to vicariously express your Valentine’s day rage vicariously through my internet musings/rantings.

But guess what?  No way, not today!  You’re not going to ride my coattails to hilarious cathartic ranting. Because get this… I have a secret admirer!  That’s right!  So if you are a nay-sayer who hates the big “V Day Explosion” that’s because you don’t have a secret admirer and you don’t have a secret admirer because you’re not as fricking amazing as I am.  (And I have the rite-aid rewards points to prove it.  And note:  rite-aid rewards points is testimony to my awesomeness that will hold up in court, bitches.)  Want further proof?  I’m writing this.  And you’re reading it. Nuff said. (But I’ll continue writing because I am extremely generous towards you on this day of love.)

You:  “But, but, but Rebecca, Valentine’s Day is a manufactured holiday made up by evil greeting card companies!”

 Me: “No it’s not. And stop stuttering.”  It’s a day to show someone you love your affections for them in a tangible way.  And if you don’t know someone in your life who loves you enough to buy you red wrapped chocolates at the 99 cent store.  Then I truly and deeply feel sorry for you.  You need to be more awesome.  You: “But, but, but How can I be more awesome?”  Me:  “I will teach you and seriously quit with the stuttering it is not as cute as you think.”  Don’t worry, I’m here to help.  You can start being awesome by reading more of my musings, seeing my shows, and liking my photo journalism expedition into Paris Hilton’s bathroom.

Maybe one day after reading enough of my thoughts you will be witty sharming adorable and hilarious enough to gain your own secret admirer. It’ll probably be a few years though, just to warn you.

What is a secret admirer though, really?  It’s someone who is in love enough with you to leave on your doorstep a candy box, or roses, or a special gift (used books wrapped in red tissue paper).  But not in enough love with you to admit to you who he is.  (And probably not enough to admit it to himself either.)

All in all a secret admirer is pretty pathetic and passive aggressive.  But then again, those have been the cornerstones of many of my previous relationships.  So why not stick this one out.  Beside, I like to hold on to the silver lining—the best thing about a secret admirer: the anonymity of it all.  While I know it is most likely a fellow comic making his way in this world, heading down the same path I’m travelling.  He leaves it unsigned, anonymous, he gives me the greatest gift of all: that I can pretend this gift came from Michael Stagliano.

And that’s what valentine’s day is all about: self-delusion.

Happy Valentine’s Day everybody!”

Not even a “You’re Welcome??!” Jesus.  What kind of admirer is THIS?!! 

Hope I live to see another day,

Rebecca

Loading posts...