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Thursday, August 25, 2016

~ Lettuce Entertain Me

I resist a lot of urges.  Mostly in the name of staying out of jail, the ER and/or the morgue.  Sometimes in the quest to achieve proper adult-ing, or not lookin' a complete fuckin' fool at any given moment.  As the saying goes, the struggle is real, yo.

Yesterday I was faced with such a decision.  Go with my natural inclination, or use reasonable judgement? 

As I meandered the produce section I momentarily vacillated between romaine, for Caesar salad, or iceberg for a wedge.  For the gazillion-th week in a row I chose iceberg because, bacon.  I started reaching for a head when I stopped, pulled my BBGhand back and silently started asking myself if I should buy the Stewie lettuce?







Or, like a real grown up select lettuce not based on its cartoon doppleganger-ness. 


(Ok.  Because, bacon.  Annnnd salad shrimp.)




(As you've probably already surmised) I tote ta lee bought the Stewie lettuce.  I felt a lil' like a modern day member of the Donner party as I lopped off a piece of Stewie's head for my nourishment.  Maybe tomorrow, grownupping.  Maybe tomorrow.


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Tuesday, August 23, 2016

~ The Life & Times Of Uncle John

Our 1st day together, Uncle John at 14 wks
For close to sixteen years my sidekick was a 15 lb. schnauzer.  The first time we met I knew he was supposed to be with me.  I was holding this 14 week old lil' fluff ball and the next thing I knew he got super squirmy and fell into a barrel of bunnies on display. 




I remember looking down on him among a herd o' rabbits thinking, you break him you buy him.  He wasn't broken, but his independent spirit of knowing where he wanted to be and making it so, made me think he was for me.  To tell you the truth it was one of the things I liked most about him.  He didn't feel particularly needy.  He'd love to be cuddled up with ya, if he wanted to be cuddled up, and when he didn't wanna be bothered with that noise he'd get up and go where he wanted to be.  I respected that.

Bring your dog to work 2000
From the time he came home with me he, with the exception of work, (photo-y ahem) mostly, came along with me as if he was package deal.  After having met him here in BBGville, a friend living on a lake in Akron, actually invited him not me up for the weekend.  "Can Uncle John come up x date?", she and her hubby asked.   ...well, yeah, ya know, if I can come too.  Which I loved, actually.  I loved that he was considered a good houseguest enough that people didn't hate that that big brown girl was bringin' her dog all the damn time.


Dog is my co-pilot
He really got around.  I always loved having people ask after him, which after having him whilst working in three separate offices during that span (in addition to friends who knew him under other circumstances) made for a good number of inquisitive human friends.  He didn't know a stranger, and was a pretty mellow pooch.   

Uncle John was loved and treasured every day.  Even when he was being an ass.  He lived a life with entirely too many toys, the freedom to be on any bed, sofa or chair of his choosing and a never ending supply of blueberries, carrots and celery treats.  Scritchy-scratches and head pats were in abundance daily.  As were ridiculous, one-sided conversations that often involved swear-y words peppered in just for fun.  



I knew Uncle John dying would be terrible.  Mostly because that
ass punked me on numerous occasions, like, waking up to this sight.
I, naturally started the process of freaking the fuck out, he lifted his
head and looked at me like, psych, bitch. 

The illustrious, Uncle John was named for the Grateful Dead song, Uncle John's Band.  It's been a year since he died, I haven't listened to it since. 


Uncle John watching his 'big screen'



Uncle John and his friend, George
Before Uncle John became part of my life (I never liked the term 'owner', as someone who if they would have been born in an earlier era would have been owned, it just never sat right with me.  Nor did parent.  The phrasing I preferred was, 'person'.  I was Uncle John's person.  The part of the operation with opposable thumbs and driving privileges.) several in my family thought a dog was a baaaaad idea.  Like, actual scoffing happened.  And, granted, based on my history with keeping plants, and myself alive, both being somewhat sketchy, I can see why.  
He was my first grownup pet.  So, 'are you sure that's a good idea?' was a valid question I heard more frequently than I would have liked.  Not to sound cocky, but it was one of the best ideas I've ever had.  Every good day was made better by his presence and every shitty one was made more bearable.  Somehow he had a full belly, toys, treats and a dry, warm/cool place to be without effort or care one, and yet I was the one who had the better end of the deal in the situation.  (...And I'm the one who had to clean up his doodles.) 


 

Every day was a fun new adventure and Uncle John was spry until his last moments.  Nothing had made me think anything was wrong, or that the day would end differently than any of the past 5,800+ had.  About 2am we went to bed, Uncle John scampered up the stairs, as I walked in the room he kinda staggered as he neared the bed and then he coughed up blood and made a terrible painful sound.  I picked him up and blood continued to come from his doggy nose.  I instantaneously and instinctively knew he was dying, and I knew there was nothing I could do at 2am that would change or help the situation.  I could see that things were unfolding fast enough that getting to the vet wasn't an option.  Nor was calling someone to come over.  So there we were, sitting in a dark room, me rocking him, telling him what a good boy he'd been, how much I'd enjoyed our time together and how much he was loved and would be missed while giving him kisses and crying. 

After the sun came up I called my Mom and her hubby, and AnonD.  AnonD took Uncle John to have his doggy body taken care of, for which I remain thankful.  I still haven't taken possession of Uncle John's ashes.  He stays at their house.  Not because I don't care enough to bring him home, but because it seems too painful to bring him home.  (He's with Rocky, Ace and Gus, AnonD's dogs who have passed.) 

Yesterday when I woke up I thought to myself, this is the last day Uncle John was with me.  They've been, for various reasons, some pretty shitty 365 days.  I've hated each one because he's gone, and I've been thankful on each one that he had a life that only had had 5 bad minutes at the end.  We should all be so lucky.  And so missed.








Other Uncle John Posts:


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Friday, August 19, 2016

~ The Curious Case of Cocks & Cars

I'm helping my bestie, AnonD with their (Mr. AnonD) new house rehab and moving.  By 'helping' I mean doing absolutely nothing.  In the literal, not figurative sense.  (I wanted to help with the fire place painting.  I can paint.  I was already sitting on a stool.  I felt very confident that I could whosh-wosh for a while and be helpful.  I was wrong.  The kibosh was put down on that plan before I could really even completely float the idea out loud*.)

What's actually transpiring is that she's doing things, and I'm shadowing her with a tumbler of ice water and said stool.  Essentially I'm the Official Gabber In Chief of the project.

In the name of progress we headed over to the storage unit temporarily housing some odd's 'n ins.  I'm checkin' out the new 'hood I'll need to be familiar with once they get settled, takin' in the sights, noticing the weird (we passed a blue house, which had blue curtains. Or as it is now known, 'the blueberry house').  I'm riding shotgun, head on a swivel when I spy an ol' school Toyota MR2.  The sighting prompts me to go a diggin' in my pocket for my phone.  I ask AnonD if anyone is behind us 'cause I wanna snap something.  There's not.  I do.  And I'm like, 'maaaaaaan, it's 2016.  Ya don't see an MR2 everyday!'   Like, I had just spied a centaur made of a unicorn intermittently shitting cotton candy and peeing cherry Slurpee standing by a rainbow motioning me over.  Like, I was giddy, y'all.

(Toyota MR2 Info Ya Probably Don't Care About.)

AnonD's response?  Obviously, mocking laughter, and the querry,
"How do you not have a dick?"  

(Fact:  I do not have a dick.  But it's often been said I've got balls.)

Now, I'm not a gearhead as such.  My practical knowledge about cars ends with powering out of curves turning the key and filling the tank.  I used to love watching Top Gear.  (The v.BBC used to be my fave.  This year TG 'Merica won out.  [we'll try again next season, Matt LeBlanc])  Plus I've been to two car shows (one oldies, and one all Italian vehicles) and once to the annual BBGVille Auto Show.  Not exactly the resume of someone likely to be made so giddy by seein' a particular set of four wheels that they're compelled to take a picture. 

The thing she doesn't know is that the MR-2 was only the latest set of wheels to grab my attention. 


When I was a wee lass my Dad had an orange MG.  'Had'.  ...Until I was about six and fully outgrew the option of occupying the 'back seat'.  (Sorry, Dad.)  So last week it was this that I found picture worthy:   







Sometimes the subject is obvious. 

Sometimes it's not.

Exhibit A:




If, 'sweet ass Tesla' is what you're thinking you're missing the true gem of the picture.  I see a Tesla 'round these parts almost every day.  But look behind the Tesla, stopped at the light, across the street, second lane over.  That?  That's an El Camino in all its early days of cross breeding cars glory.





I'm a real sucker for the hard to find playing (trading?  [someone with a dick would probably know that]) cards like this Datsun 280z(ed, for BBGW UK-ish readers) not easily found since 1996 when they stopped rolling off the line.











And this ol' Dodge Omni (or Plymouth Horizon) which wrapped up production in 1990.














...Honestly?  What the fuck else am I to do when I see a ladybugmobile?  (cllllllliiiiick)
















Or the other car in question is busy taking pictures of me




Or when you suspect an Uma is stalking you at Target?











(It's my own vehicle-y version of PokemonGo-ing.)  Things deemed unworthy?  The Rolls from Friday, the Bentley I was behind at a light yesterday and the Lambo I eyeballed last week a block from BBG HQ.  But I sure as shit captured the misfit toy(ota) I spied (sans a back window, in a downpour).  Priorities.



So, yeah, I have a secret, it's not a cock.  Shhhhhhhh.  It's a secret car capturing compulsion.






Quasi Related Posts:


(* I am deeply appreciative of how cognizant AnonD is
of keeping me alive, and using better sense than I can always manage to exercise on my own.) 


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Thursday, August 11, 2016

~ This Week In Good Reads


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Monday, August 8, 2016

~ Sew. This Is Happening.

I want to make this absolutely clear;  I do NOT know how to sew.

I can't read a pattern, or tell you what a dart* is.  I've never had an interest in sewing or a class.  In fact, I once had to throw away a dress because I couldn't get the two buttons I needed to reattach to do their fuckin' jobs appropriately.  As has been mentioned here before, I am not a hobby person (a weird ass 'n rambly post veering into the subjects of [naturally,] divorce and Tears For Fears).  I participate in no crafting of any sort.  Unless ya count that I paint my own nails every week or so. 

However, behold this fuckin' top I made:

JC Penney, are you seein' this *pay
attention to the pocket* action pose?

Honestly?  I don't even know what made me think I could sew sumthin'.  I suppose it was a combination of seeing clothes and just not being happy with some aspect;  ...I'd like the style hate the pattern or color.  Or, I kinda like that top, but I'd be totally sold if it had a square neckline.  And mostly, (because I don't like to carry a purse) 'I wish that dress had a damn pocket.'  One day I decided life is too short to not have things go your way, especially when you probably can do somethin' about that shit.  I figured if I could drive a vehicle and a forklift, I could drive a motherfucking sewing machine.  (A peddle and an engine is a peddle and an engine, rinse and repeat.)

Being one of those, if I put my mind to it, it's practically already done, sorts, I naturally started by making a potholder dress. 

I marched my ass to my local Jo-Ann store (Jo-Ann Store shout out.  BBGDisclosure:  They [nationwide] used to be my customer.  [Hi, JoanM!]  #AlwaysLoyal) picked a fabric that made me happy.  And it was on.  While I had zero experience, or even rudimentary knowledge, I set out on my, as I referred to it, figurin' it the fuck out 'science experiment' with the mindset of building (as opposed to sewing).  Building, putting things together, spatial orientations, how things work relative to the other pieces/components is how my mind is inclined, whether it be building somethin' tangible, or buildin' in the abstract and/or personal realm.   


  • That one time I decided I could build a table.  (Yea, bitches, a table.)
Wait.  Am I the Big Brown Mimi
(from the ol' Drew Carey Show)?
Once upon a time there was a dress that had become one of my faves.  It had a bow (as a closing mechanism on the shoulder).  It makes me feel like a present when I wear it.  What the fuck more could you ask from a garment?  I used it as a rough guideline, and ta-da:








(Pillowcase dress video)


Obviously, it's not a masterpiece of a frock.  Martha Stewart ain't gonna give me a medal or anything.  Hell.  It might fall apart tomorrow.  But I have a dress today, that I didn't have yesterday.  That I made with my own two damn hands, and the audacity to manage my life under the I-do-what-I-want rules   I feel festive in it.  And, admittedly, like a big ass toddler, which (Fact:) I, sadly don't feel as bad about as I should. (shrugs)   


Top attempt numero uno
The dress begat the notion that I could make a top too.  Once I created the top I remembered that if I hadn't have been a dumbass I would have made it with pockets.  Hence the black and white circle top, new and infuckingproved with pockets! 


The latest sewing miracle is this fine ass pair of jammy shorts.  (I don't wear pajama's for sleeping purposes, so due to my tooliteralism I don't feel right even calling 'em 'pajamas'.  I believe in bein' free when ya sleep.  Hotel, hospital and visiting others being the exceptions.)  I more, although probably less followed this [short video] recipe and sprinkled in some of my own personal tastes, like adding elastic and making the fanciful ruffling on the bottom of the leg. 


Who am I to think I can elastic?


Today's lesson?  Don't let the fact that you don't know how to do something keep you from
trying that shit. 




(BBGLegalDisclaimerThis helpful as hell tip does not apply to sword swallowing, fire eating, lion taming, running a band saw, or any other activity where an 'opps' would easily foreseeably result in death, hospitalization and/or legal action.  Bippity-boppity-boo.  I renounce culpability in any unfortunate events you may experience based on this recommendation.)  


Word.





----------------------------------
* Dart
Don't say ya never learned
anything whilst visiting 'da World




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