Tuesday, August 5, 2014

~ I Like Those Titties

...Was exxxactly the reaction I was hoping for when I dressed myself today. (Disclaimer:  ...Now the other day because, I'm a shit blogger.)  So, thanks, three guys' sittin' in the car in the parking lot at Lowes. 

It was pretty awesome to be minding my own fuckin' business running benign errands like buying screen to re-screen my slider and to be put in a position where my choices were to stride over to you and start slappin' every one of your guffawin' faces (which, P.S.  your Mom, sister, wife or daughter would have totally sanctioned upon discovering your behavior towards some random ass DIY capable chick) or ignoring your crass ass comment. 

Today I chose the latter.  You may be wont to believe that I chose that course of action because;  A) It wasn't any big deal.  2)  It was just a joke.  Or III)  It was a no harm/no foul situation.  ...Or any of the other completely bullshit reasons one uses to justify being a, well, I'd say dick, but that would be doin' a disservice to dicks.   It wasn't.  It was because there were three of you and I knew I couldn't take ya all when things inevitably got contentious.  So, congratulations.   You used your time here on earth today to be an asshole to some skirt who had the audacity to need to leave her house to buy something, and have boobs. 

Now these were grown ass men.  Forties?  50's?  Old enough to know that, "I like those titties" (replete with laughter) is lame, rude and as I mentioned earlier, asshole-y.  I've always found it vexing how guys, especially ones old enough to, ya know, know better (otherwise known as: older than 5) and those with daughters (/mothers/sisters/grandmothers/wife/et al*) somehow delude themselves into thinking speaking/treating someone else's daughter in a "I like those titties" way is acceptable and appropriate. 

In fact, if I were a bettin' chick I'd wager tens of dollars that if any one of those guys heard some other guy(s), "I like those titties"-ing their wife/daughter/sister/etc., as she participated in mundane tasks-- like, getting out of her car,  it'd be ass kickin' time.   

Today it wasn't. 

But only because I displayed a judicial use of good judgment.  Not because it wouldn't have been an appropriate reaction.  As I told one of my besties, AnonD, "it wasn't a, I had to fight 3 men situation."  In the moment nobody on the face of this earth wanted to fight 3 men more than me. 

Which for those keeping score cards is when and where the line is crossed between a dumbass comment that one may find offensive, and one that no fuckin' bones about it is offensive.  

Pro Tip: 
If a woman's reaction to your 'flattering' comment is
contemplating committing a violent act on you? 
Consider your approach a fail. 

Yep.  Always...  WTF, guys?

Obviously, "I like those tittles" isn't the biggest problem in the world.  Hell, it's not even the biggest problem of my day...  The point is that considering the possibility of fisticuffs with several dudes, due to that kind of 'everyday' type of comment as the result of pointing out that what they've just done/said is fucked up, shouldn't be a normal part of a (any) skirt's day.  ...And look.  I'm a big chick.  I'm average man height.  I'm not one who tends towards being intimidated, or feeling vulnerable to a guy simply because he's a guy.  But imagine that if a grown ass girl who's cold cocked a Chicago Po-Po flat on his ass into some bushes feels intimidated and vulnerable, what your 13 year old daughter (who hasn't had a lifetime of similar experience to draw from), or 5'2" sister (who isn't in any position to, even if need be, tussle with a 6' 2" dude) must feel in similar situations?  And what her situational 'coping' tactics must be limited to when she knows that speaking up and calling straight up bullshit, bullshit, is never going to be seen as an opportunity to reassess how much of an asshole he/they're bein', and is always going to be taken as an invitation to escalate to a situation. 

I wish I were one of those quick with a comeback folks.  I'm not.  Which is why my options are narrowed to ignore/cause bodily damage (and go to jail).  I know violence isn't the answer.  Or so I am told.  But ignoring isn't the answer either.   Not for women, and honestly?  Not for men.  I loathe the term catcall--  it does a disservice to what's really at play here...  There's nothing kitty cute about a man/group of men making a chick feel like she's in potential peril (from either doing nothing, or doing something) because he/they happen to cotton to the looks of her lady parts.  "I like those tits" and all of the iterations most XX-ers reading this are all too familiar with, isn't a 'boys will be boys' thing. 

Boys Will Be Boys Things:
- Leaving toilet seat up
- Cultivating toe nails as weapons
- Nut tapping
- Fart amusement
- Differentiating Phillips and ...honestly I don't even fuckin' know, I just call 'em "Twosies" and "Foursies" screwdrivers
- Bets resulting in embarrassing tattoo pay-ups

It's a far less nebulous thing than boys bein' boys.  And it sure as shit isn't a display of how any man worth his salt comports himself.  It's verbal sexual intimidation. What it's not is flirting.  Or being complimentary.  It's being a USDA grade-A douchebag.  Regardless of how many Axe commercials ya've seen, douchebaggery is not a quality chicks are searchin' out.  For women, the it's bad for you/us is pretty obvious.  For men, sexual verbal intimidation of chicks is bad for all guys isn't as readily recognizable, generally, but in case ya hadn't noticed societies who treat their women poorly are shitholes.  Get a globe.  Fuck.  I'm so old.  ...At least I didn't suggest an encyclopedia (for you youngin's an encyclopedia is the paper version of what we used to look shit up before Ask Jeeves was born.)    ...  Do a lil' Googling on regions where women are treated (mostly-ish) with a sense of equality (aka: r-e-s-p-e-c-t) and you'll see places you'd (if you had to move to another country for 5 years) be ok with livin'.  Places where women aren't tend to rhyme with; La-molly-a  and Math-gan-a-stan.  Societies that don't treat their women well are places that aren't even good for men.  (I'm not saying women are better than men.  I'm saying men are better when/where women are shown the respect of decent treatment.  ...Ya know, like being able to run an errand without 3 leer-y guys verbally accostin' you over the existence of your hooters... )  ...Which I know, is big picture-ing, but on a macro level?  Do you really want the cute girl you're about to chat up to be fresh off a "I like those titties" incident as her last point of reference when a male stranger making contact was involved?  Is that good for your business?  No.  No, it's not.

Verbal Sexual Intimidation,
here's what you can do about it:
If you are guilty of "I like those titties"-ing someone --  Stop that shit.  Immediately.  Seriously.

If you know/have seen/are witnessing guys who "I like those titties" girls/women --  Tell them it's bush league bullshit.  Remind them how little they'd appreciate some dude yelling that at their mother. (aka: See sumthin' shitty, say sumthin' shitty.)

If you are looking for alternate ways to address obnoxious assholes insistant on alerting you to their enjoyment of your rack, check out these options:

This...   #YouOkSis 

...These passoutables;   (BBG Legal Notification:  I, BBG being of sound-ish mind do hereby call dibs on the invention of the word passoutables.  Copyright pending.)

...And (what I wish I'd have been quick enough to have retorted myself, and am definitely gonna remember for the inevitable next time)  "You sound like you have a small dick." 

And now, some P.S.'s...

P.S.  The * she's somebody's sister, mother, wife, 3rd cousin 2x removed reasoning for why a guy shouldn't "I like those tittes" girls is actual bullshit.  A woman ought to be free from such things because she is a human fuckin' being.  Period.  End of story.    

P.P.S.  For the Official Record, I love when guys make their presence known and that they dig what I'm workin' with.  I'm a big fan of a man complimenting and/or flirting with me.  Big fan.  I've had entire days made by a non-asshole-y compliment.  Hell, a few weeks back I encountered some random guy who completely busted a move to hold a door open for me and commented on how pretty I looked in my dress.  (BBG:  "Thank you--  you just became my day-maker!")  Now did I catch him takin' a gander at my hooters?  Yes.  They rarely go unnoticed.  The point is at no nanosecond during this unsolicited interaction did I have the urge to hit him.  And honestly?  "I like those titties"?  If a guy who has actually seen 'em says that to me?  I'm gonna get very, 'yeeeaaah, baby' real quick.  To write this post off as the musings of an overly sensitive prude-y/opposed-to-any-overture chick is erroneous. 

P.P.P.S. (...Now I'm just tryin' to set a P.S. world record)  What was I wearin'?  What the fuck difference does it make?  I will say this;  I'm not so na├»ve as to think that clothes don't have the power to predicate how people treat you, they do.  Which is exactly why I didn't show up at Lowes sportin' a nippleless bra top and daisy dukes.  Even I'm sorry for that visual.  Ok, good sense and decorum kept that from happening, but honestly unless I've accessorized with an actual pole, slammin' soundtrack, some ping pong balls, a minimum drink requirement and a bouncer?  ...I wasn't dressed in a manner that one would reasonably expect to have to be dealin' with some assholes "I like those titties"-ing ya.  So what I was wearing doesn't really matter, now does it?  Fine.  Now that I've mentioned nippleless bras I feel like I should specify to avoid rumors gettin' started confusion;   A dress.  A lil' run of the mill summertime dress appropriate enough to pop into damn Lowes, and it literally revealed zero cleavage.


Wednesday, June 25, 2014

~ Vaccination: The Choice Is Yours

The choice to vaccinate, or not, is your choice.

But the choice matters more than you may think.  As the subject comes up health is often cited as the catalyst for not vaccinating.  Obviously, every parent's main job is to, as they are able, secure and maintain the health of their child.

While I'm certainly no expert on vaccinations, children or immunology, I am becoming an expert on the ramifications of the lack of vaccinations.  (Spoiler Alert)  The way things are going, at some point, with someone you love, you likely will be too. 

In my medium sized circle of friends I know;
2 people who have had organ transplants,
6 people who have cancer and are undergoing treatment,
1 who has undergone a bone marrow transplant in the past year. 
And one mother who has Lupus who due to meds being used to treat that (at the time, and unbeknownst to us) was immunosuppressed to the level of a bone marrow transplant patient.  A fact we discovered only after an infection that would have been an innocuous event in an otherwise healthy person, like me, that literally put her life on the line and has stolen a year + from her life.  To be clear, what happened to my Mom had nothing to do with anything avoidable by commonly used vaccinations.  ...Which probably begs the question, why they fuck am I yammerin' on about vaccinations? 

This time last year Mom was in the ICU for two weeks.  Everything humanly possible was done to keep a 'simple' infection from claiming her life by highly trained medical professionals with access to the most current protocols.  The fact that in 14 days it was not easily achieved tells ya something about what a dire situation it was.  Since then we've done everything possible to avoid bringing in some bug or virus in for a visit.  The severity of the nature of being immunosuppressed means that when her husband has a cold he takes up residency upstairs, linens require copious amounts of bleaching and surfaces are wiped down with bleach or medical grade disinfectants.  It means that those around her can not take any live virus vaccinations and safely be around her.  Encountering someone who has recently had one could prove to be deadly.  I, who has always taken a,  what doesn't kill me makes me stronger approach to germs, virus and bacteria have even started using the cleansing wipes on grocery store carts.  An act that would have been unheard of out of me a year ago.

If it sounds like we're practically on Bubble Boy precautions?  (The history of Bubble Boy:  the real Bubble Boy and the John Travoltalicious Bubble Boy made for tv movie)  It's because we are.  This is the first time I've shared much of a glimpse of a private health issue that, until now I've never felt was mine to share.  But I'm doing so now to give those who consider refusing vaccinations a decision that solely impacts themselves/minors under their control an idea of the scope of the impact of that decision.  You see our community has recently experienced outbreaks of both measles and mumps.

A new tourism slogan I'm working on...
Yeah.  Outbreaks, plural.  The last update on measles I heard was 348 cases, and last night they reported 
mumps is up to 439.  So now in 20fucking14 we have to be fearful that some unvaccinated person we randomly encounter is playing host monkey for ol' school diseases that if not for the breech of herd immunology that we're seeing played out as a result of the swelling numbers of those choosing not to vaccinate would be things people were last concerned about when women wearin'  lil' white gloves was still a thing.  

This, of course is problematic for us.  Which makes it a, that sucks for you (us), problem.  It does.  (Suck)  If it doesn't yet suck for you?  Congratulations.  I'm ecstatic for you (and yours).  Sincerely.  I am.  It's my honest hope for you that cancer, leukemia, need for an organ or bone marrow transplant never land on your doorstep or of someone in your life.  But the fact is, that if you've been lucky enough to not be touched (directly, or as in my case, indirectly) by any of these health issues it's an amazingly fortunate anomaly that is almost guaranteed to have changed five years from now. 

Most people I know would never dream of havin' a cold and visiting a cancer patient.  Because they realize direct consequences of exposure to someone who is hosting an illness to the health compromised person.  We don't think of vaccinating as having that exact kind of direct effect to people, but we should.  The decision to vaccinate, or not isn't a decision that ends at the end of your fingertips.  It's impact quite literally extends to everyone in your community.   Today, that puts my Mom at particular peril with more than 780+ carrying mumps and measles around our community.  But make no mistake, tomorrow?  You'll know someone who 'communicable disease' wouldn't just mean a temp and a few days of feelin' shitty.   It's certainly your choice to wait until any of the plethora of communicable diseases which had been at near eradicated levels in our nation, continue to surge to realize how and why herd immunization is such a critical public health issue.  Or you can learn from our experience how easily you and yours can find yourselves in these shoes and choose more wisely. 

When the CDC (Centers For Disease Control and Prevention) starts tracking Mumps in 1968 there were 152,209 cases.  By the end of the 70's as inoculation rates increased actual cases dropped to under 10,000 per year.  By the mid-90's cases per year in America average sub 1,000.  Here we are at the half way point of the year (6/14), and in central Ohio alone we currently have nearly half that number of cases with 439.    ...Which again, sucks for us.

Until you realize that the apex of the mumps outbreak in my area was ground zero'd at The Ohio State University (+ a few other area colleges/universities before it spread in to the community at large).  The Ohio State University is a campus comprised of nearly 57,000 students. (OSU has 56,371 more students than the average for all colleges and universities.)  ...Many of whom have just left campus to return home to family and friends, all across the nation (world, really).  Returning to their favorite people to spread mumps even wider.  So, now the lack of vaccination kinda sucks for a much larger swath of Americans.  (Of course I mean for the health compromised folks I noted earlier, but also for babies too young to have started vaccinations who represent some of the most medically vulnerable among us.)  Particularly, I would imagine, for those who live in the states seeing the highest number of non-vaccination levels:

It's your choice.  And your choice has a direct correlation on the health of every household, not just your own.  That is where it stops being solely a personal decision with personal ramifications and becomes a public health matter with real world consequences for real world people.   
illustration: if only some get vaccinated, the virus spreads. if most get vaccinated, spreading is contained.
(Quick video) Info I'm recommending:

And this very interesting article:


Saturday, June 21, 2014

~ Pride

Is it wrong that I had pride today?  Having been raised and matriculated at Our Lady of Badass Catholic Kidz I know being prideful is frowned upon.  (Along with a few other things I occasionally dabble in [7 Deadly Sins - #1 and #3 are particular personal faves]).

But today's pride was Pride pride.  For today, dear friend, I created a new term.  A term that I expect will sweep the nation. 

In fairness, there's a strong possibility I'm simply co-opting an existing term.  There's also a strong probability that my alternate usage will, in meeting with the same fate of my attempted revival of the term 'snatch', not, in fact, sweep the nation.  I just like to keep it real.

Today's random adventures put me in proximity of a former local radio celebrity.  As the only other person in the room I didn't consider myself eavesdropping as there literally was no way I couldn't have heard the conversation.  The former uber popular, I'm talkin' back in the day she was the queen of the (radio) market, made mention that she after being married for x years she came out and started livin' her authentic life.  They also were discussing the Pride ta-doin's this weekend in BBGmetropolis.

Because I've never met a stranger, or put much stock into resisting one of the life mantras I hold so dear;  I do what I want, I quickly found myself sideling up to display my nails.  My manicure was, and yes I am embarrassed to admit this, a joke manicure created solely for my own personal amusement.  I know.  That's ridiculous.  Know what else?  Suck it.  A few weeks ago an ol' friend, (codename) Oscar, posted a series of photos chronicling ROYGBIV.    A few weeks ago I also read that applying white polish as an undercoat vs. traditional base coat (which I never use) was the way to go because it provides a true-er foundation for whateverthehell shade you chose to top it with.  Which totally made sense, so I gave it a whirl.  ...Then things became problematic.  In the I can't decide which color to use in this wee nail-y color science experiment, kinda problem.  So.  As anyone who does what they want as much as possible I'm not a complete asshole I took inspiration from Oscar's ROYGBIV-ing and spelled it out with polish.  My pragmatic side told me it was a comprehensive way to evaluate the tip with a wide spectrum of colors.  My, I'm 13 side told me it was hifuckinglarious.

Made even more so by the fact that I purposefully made it read correctly when I look at it, not when displayed to others.  Now, in fairness?  That I did do because I'm an ass.  Because I suffer from tooliteralism (click to diagnose yourself) I consider ROYGBIV a name, rather than the mnemonic it is, therefore I spaced mine out to read Roy space G space Biv.  If you're asking yourself if I realize I'm a hot mess?  The answer is also, yes.  Behold:

Don't judge me.  It's a 2wk old mani.

I crash the conversation show my nails, to what seems like the delight and slight amusement of the four random chatters.  I may have been overly anxious to share my new found knowledge.  Yep.  Here it is 2014 and I've just discovered that Roy G. Biv is the rainbow flag.  I knew the rainbow flag was a thing.  I knew Roy G. Biv was a thing.  I did not know they were the same thing.    I'm not proud of this fact.  I'm simply sayin' it's so.  Once I found out Pride (Grand Marshal'd by George Takei) was this weekend I decided to overlook the almost two week wear 'n tear and hold onto it as an ally for a few more days.  The problem is I loathe the word ally.  'I'm a gay ally.'  ...I am.  But the word.  Ugh.  First of all when I spell it, it becomes this big ally vs. alley? debate, that listen, I've got other shit goin' on--  I just don't need.  Therefore it's a term, although accurate, I don't engage in.  If I'm being honest?  I almost took it (nail polish) off because the thought of, 'if someone notices and asks you about it you might in some context have to say ally.'  A concept that was almost too much.  But I reconsidered and decided a demonstrative, albeit, a lil' batshit crazy display of solidarity was the proper message to put out into the world.  Even if I was in danger of being faced with the a-word.  I'm selfless like that.

Once the swell of Ooooooh's and Aaaaaaaaah's subsided the former DJ asked if I was "family"?  In what, admittedly makes me a freak, since 10 minutes ago had no idea of the Roy G. Biv/rainbow connection (Kermit shout out!), I immediately knew that "family" means gay (/on the LBGTQ spectrum).  'Cause I'm cool like that.  My answer, and the birth of the new term I'm gifting to the world;   "No.  But I'm family friendly."

Family friendly.  Finally.  A supportive term I can live with.  What used to stand to denote that a movie/tv show would be boob and George Carlin 7words free kid appropriate shall henceforth be recognized as the go-to phrase to mean, "I want EVERY American to have the same privileges being a grown ass straight American provides. Period.  End.  Of.  Fucking.  Story." 

It wasn't until the moment had passed that I felt what I can only describe as Pride-y pride at the invention (fine.  Straight up co-opting.) of the term.  An off the cuff and somewhat smartassy retort turned out to be a better contribution to solidarity albeit far less hi-larious than my fabulous unintentional turned intentional mani. 

To mark 'family friendly' being an official thing I have started #FamilyFriendly. (I'm at the super creative handle @TheBigBrownGirl)  Feel free to share (or here in the comments) how/when/why you've shown your support for equality for all.   The best way we, as family friends can make things right for our LBGTQ peeps is to flex our muscle to show that we also demand equality on their behalf.     

"In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends." 
~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

 Related Post:    My Big Fat Gay Manifesto



Tuesday, February 18, 2014

~ That One Time I Met Bob Costas

Once upon a time, I had a serendipitous path crossing with the one, the only, the pink eye sensation, Bob Costas.  It was weird.  Deeeelightfully, weird. 

At the time I worked at a downtown hotel as a concierge.  I wandered across the street to the convention center and its super sketchy (at the time) food court with my co-worker and bestie, AnonD. 

We were doin' what girls do.  Mock. Ridicule.  Gossip.  Solve the problems of the world.  Recount the prior night's drunken debauchery.  As we sat there I looked up from my greasy ass (which for clarification, I do not use as a pejorative) slice of pizza and noticed a man I recognized, ambling towards us making his was through the sticky table-y maze as I found myself surprised by the words popping outta my mouth, "Hi, Bob.  Could I have an autograph?"  

AnonD, who between work and social tomfoolery knew practically everyone I knew (and vice versa) at the time sat looking bewildered as to A)  Who this mysterious 'Bob' was that I seemed to know, and she didn't.  And II)  Why the fuck I would be asking for someone she thinks I must know's autograph. 

Ridiculousness escalated as the esteemed Mr. Costas broke stride and stopped by our table for a wee chat.   Why are you here?  Are you enjoyin' the city?  And other mundane minutiae Midwesterners ask randomly encountered celebrities.  Bob uber politely provided answers to each of my queries.  (He was in town to do a piece on a local inventor who had devised some basketball training hoop.  I have no idea why that sticks in my brain, yet I can't accurately tell you what I had for dinner last night.  Or how old my dog is.)  He was so kind, in fact, that before he took off to continue this trek through the convention center, he asked me for a pen to bestow me with a pre-selfie days eternal reminder of our meeting. 

What the very genial former Later With Bob Costas (NBC) host didn't know was that I don't enjoy carrying a purse.  I will.  I have several that for various reasons make me happy.  But general rule?  That's what your bra is for.  Classy?  Not particularly.  Super secure and consistently convenient?  Oh, hellz yeah.  But I digress.  Suffice it to say the over the shoulder boulder holder has its purse-y limitations.  One of which is writing utensils.

Now this is the point where I've already weighed out my options, and have apparently decided that getting up walking to one of the food vendors and begging for a pen was too much effort.  Or so I gathered when, "oh, never mind, I don't even have a pen", came tumbling out of my pie hole. 

The only less appropriate phrasing could have been;  'I'm only interested in commemorating our random ass meeting if it requires zero effort on my part.  So, with that said, I'm out.  But, really nice meetin' ya.'  Yes.  I just took pride in being slightly better than my evidently, awful natural inclinations

Meanwhile, AnonD, who is responsible enough to consistently carry a purse is;  1)  searching furiously for a writing device.  B)  still perplexed who this Bob Costas is, why she doesn't know him and why I'm now declining his autograph.

The next thing I know Mr. Costas hoofs it to the nearest food outlet and has successfully acquired a pen.  As he returns, pen in his second coming of the worlds oldest teenager hand, he asks if I have something to write on.  While just really a very nice man, Bob Costas does not read a situation well... 

Pop Quiz:  Does the dumbass girl without a pen, who's already called off the autographing opportunity and is clearly ill prepared, have a piece of paper? 

(If you answered, 'no'?  Give yourself a gold star.  If you
answered, 'fuck no', give yourself 2.  Congratulations, you!) 

I'm starting to realize that I'm likely the worst person Bob Costas is meeting that day the universe didn't want me to have Bob Costas' autograph as I confess that I do not, in fact, have a piece of paper.  Again, I'm left giving Bob Costas a verbal wave-off with a, I'm-practically-begging-you-to-stop-wasting-your-time-on-this "really, I'm sorry, it's ok, noooooo, don't worry about it, it was good meeting you, enjoy your visit."  

...Which is exactly when AnonD discovered an old receipt floating around her purse: 

Circa 1992

As we finished our lunch I filled AnonD in on who Bob Costas was (is) and why he's one of the coolest cats around.  A half an hour later, or so, as we stopped giggling started back to work, is when she learned exactly how cool Mr. Costas is when we heard our names called from across the cavernous lobby near the exit, "see you 'later*', BBG, AnonD".   (Insert Bob Costas wave here)

Anyone who gets his own autographing pen. (And returned it to the vendor)  Doddles whilst stranger girls scramble for paper and recalls names more than :30 seconds later??  That's one very decent guy.   And cool ass cat.


* In homage to his show, Later with Bob Costas.  Not because either AnonD or I were floozy's.   There were no actual Bob Costas plans involved in the making of this story.


Tuesday, January 21, 2014

~The Tale Of The Hedgehog

In what may actually be the first time I've ever mentioned 'the hedgehog and haven't meant Ron Jeremy my ultimate tale of dumbassery...  (Which as you can imagine, is sayin' a lot.) 

I give you this:

A month or so ago I was Facebook-y involved in a conversation with a couple of friends (LEM et Ree Ree Bun) who I've known since middle and high school, respectively.  One of those chats that starts as one subject and morphs into an entirely different somewhat insane topic.  ...Which is when the subject of opossums popped up. 

Now, I don't wanna brag I don't wanna boast (Yeah, toast!!) give you the impression that I'm into opossums.  But I'm kinda into opossums they've played a big weird role in my life. 

A million years ago when LEM, Ree and I were drinking Bartles & James outta our Dairy Queen cups and listening to the Violent Femmes for the 837th time driving around the rural outskirts of our ancestral home, tempting fate by venturing out to a place called, Cry Baby Bridge.  A place locally rumored to be haunted by the wails of a mother who for some the fuck reason or another had drowned her kid(s).  I'm sketchy on the details, but suffice it to say as sixteen year olds with still-hot-from-being-laminated drivers licenses and a sweet ass ride called, Ginger, it was, I assure you, the height of hometown adventure.  

Not the BBGmobile (aka: Ginger) but as close as I could locate on the interweb. 
And yes.  Yes I did feel compelled to give it racing stripes for historical accuracy.

One night on a dark country road drunken ride (Dear Anyone Reading This~   It is not my intention to put a positive and peppy spin on drunk driving.  On the contrary, I frequently say, "I'm lucky to be alive" and often these, I-didn't-use-better-judgment moments are precisely what I mean.  This is simply a testament to keepin' it real and historically accurate.) we rounded a bend in the road to encounter an across-the-road stretchin' line of creepy ass glowing opossum peepers staring us down with complete and utter impunity.  If 'come at me bro' had been a thing back then, and of course if opossums had the power of speech the mom opossum leading her pack would have 100% hissed it at us.  They held us at bay for (?) 10 minutes in a Opposable Thumbs vs. Prehensile Tail standoff, that we didn't know we'd live to tell the tale of as we sat cut off from humanity huddled in a Chevette.  In the dark.  In the country. 

That nocturnal nature-y memory was what was being bandied about when I abruptly told LEM and Ree to "excuse me.  I'll be right back." as I started to wander upstairs to the kitchen to take a photo of the opossum I have sitting on the side of the sink.  The ceramic opossum that I spied and purchased in a dollar store and has been sitting at my sink for easily the past 20 years.  For perspective sake, I'm not a tchotchke sitting on ever surface girl.  Mainly because more stuff = more cleaning and why the fuck would I wanna set myself up for that?  I'm far too lazy to have to clean 67 things around my counter, so you know this opossum figurine holds a certain level of importance to me.  In fact, it's given me an internal giggle about that night pretty much every time it's caught my eye during otherwise mundane dish wash-y tasks. 

It became even more meaningful to me (if possible) a few years back after a Very Special daytime opossum siting that had one challenging me to a life and death duel for who would reign supreme over man and animal kind causing a slight delay to my arrival at work one morning. 

Unlike my previous opossum-y adventure, I felt my life was in less danger because this time it was personal it was on my city/suburban turf, I had the benefit of sun, and a big ass SUV.  This all should have made for a substantially less my-heart-is-gonna-beat-outta-my-chest commune with the beady eye'd, half monkey/half albino rat creature.  But it did not.  Primarily because this opossum seemed extra mean as it exited a drainage hole (I'm sure they have a real name.  I do not know what it is.) ambled across the street and into my path as it carried a pack of opossum babies clingin' to it's body.   It was a very tense interaction, that by the time I made it to the office evolved into a scenario which involved 23 sketchy opossum babies hangin' from it, and that the obstinate opossum parent had actually flipped me off during our exchange.  (It still warms my heart that one of my co-workers for several [super deeeelightful to me] hours believed that a marsupial flipped me the bird.  ...'Merica, I don't even have the words to convey how much I love you.)

As I entered the kitchen I found myself slightly giddy over snapping a photo to share with LEM and Ree.  I knew they'd love seein' that I still had the kitchen opossum.  Click.  Returned to post the shot...  Which is exactly when I realized I'm a dumbass.  Not only amHave been every damn day for approximately two solid decades.  It's the precise moment I recognized that my prized opossum is, in fact, a muther fuckin' hedgehog.  Honestly?  I was so angered by my discovery that having to clean it up was the only thing that prevented me from marching back to the kitchen, picking it up and smashing it on the floor and into a million pieces.  I'd been hoodwinked by a headgehog! 

P.S. I now must refer to it as Fauxpossum.

I realize that for many folks this would mark the end of a cracked out opossum saga.  Thankfully, I'm not many folks...

Because I enjoy being overly dramatic about random shit, which I always find odd as I'm so likely to downplay actual gasp worthy situations of course I shared my I'm-a-dumbass story with a few people, including my Mom.

On Christmas morn' as I gathered with family opening presents I unwrapped, well, let's just cut to the chase--


Oprah has her favorite things, I have mine. 
(Given to me by Mom's hubby.)

I have no idea what dark corner of the interweb one visits to find a spectacularly crazy opossum with babies figurine, but I am eternally grateful that Mom's husband did.  I also have no idea why a manufacturer actually makes an opossum with babies figurine, but I'm thankful that they do.  To say I'm overjoyed with it would be an understatement. 

If anyone has a weird history with hedgehogs and would like a previously owned hoggy homage, please feel free to email me ( 


...And now for the Paul Harvey-y rest of the story? 

I started this post a week or so ago, got busy, had time to consider the ridiculousness of this post, that this made me look a fool it probably wasn't that entertaining of a story worthy of a share and like many a post before didn't bother to finish it

And that was that. 


Today when I spied this sign from the universe meme that seemed to be prompting me to bring the tale of the hedgehog to a proper full circle:


Hedgehog Bonus:
Ron Jeremy-Wrecking Ball

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