Thursday, July 29, 2010

~One Of These Things Is NOT Like The Other...

As you may already know, I get a kick outta catalogues, even if I have no interest in their offerings. I'm not even the catalogue buyin' sort. But the shiny pics hawking this, that and the fuckin' other always get my attention.

So, imagine my surprise as I'm lookin' through a catalogue called Carol Wright. (Which, by the way she ain't...) How I got on this mailing list, I'll never know. It's brick a brack and as seen on tv stuff and junk geared to old ladies, as far as I can tell... While I'm not young, I ain't that fuckin' old, but whatever. So there I am perusing the offerings...

I'm flippin' through the pages...

...And flippin'

...And flippin'

...And flippin'

...And whaaaaaaaaaat the fuckidy fuck?!?

Surprise! Vibrators or dildo's, honestly, I've never known what the difference is. And cock rings. Yep. No notice. No warning. No 'hey granny, you're about to experience a MI', nuthin'.

Now, I'm no Prudie McPrudester, but I'm guessin', no, I know a lot of people out in the world are. I would think a goodly percentage of the target market of this catalogue, for fucks sake, are. Seems like there'd be some sort of transition from crickets chirpin' to the brownchicken, browncow music of a 70's porn, no?

And then right back to granny sundries...

I think it's just the weirdest thing. I've even shown this to a few people just to see if if was just me who found this amazin'. And yes, I've handed them this booklet and said, "one of these is not like the other, go". All three have had the same face I must have had when I first stumbled on it. The face of complete and utter, what the fuck?!? So, apparently, it isn't just me who finds this odd. And funny. Hope you do to.


~Tuesday: It Was A Good Day...

...'Cause I didn't even have to use my A.K. I got to say it was a good day...

Yep. Just so you don't think my entire world is country, a lil' Ice Cube random reference. But maybe not so random.

Tuesday was the day all got worked out with my godkids. Thankfully, I will not have to (at least today) put into play, "scenario A", which included; latex gloves, a wood chipper and those lil' hazmat-y oompa loopa suits. Yeah. You think I'm kiddin'. Several months ago, I was chatting with Nana & Papa about that kooky DNA testing that will trace your roots back to Adam and Eve, apparently, and I blurted out, "I'm not doin' that". When asked why I told them because, "I don't know when I'm gonna have to commit a crime". Just 'cause I haven't yet, doesn't mean the wrong person isn't gonna cross me some day and I'm going to have to kill their ass, ya know? Everyone poo-poo'd me, but Papa, who I miss sooooo much, gave me a knowing wink.

All is 97% locked up with that situation and the kids seem over the moon at the result, as am I.

It was odd seeing the offending party at the courthouse. (My 1st courthouse experience!) I, obviously resisted the urge to punch or spit on him, but I couldn't help doin' some other stuff.

Funnily enough, the lady who signs ya in, shortly after we arrived, and I had a wee chat. I, randomly toss out a, "I love your suit" as she returned to her pod. This caused a meeting of the girl admiration club and she said that she loved my dress. (Thanks Double D for selecting it!) As we chatted, along with LB2's sister TL, she made some unsolicited observations about me. She said she noticed right as I stepped off the elevator that I was the confident sort and that I was the protector. I don't know how true the first is, always, or ever, but it was funny how where most peeps see a Charlotte dress (Sex In The City reference, boys. Your wife/girlfriend/sister will clue you in.), strappy sandals and a smile, that gal spied my inner mama bear.

I know from my rantings about things that come close to making my head explode, a la my recent soapbox about driving and other things, it may seem like I'm easy to anger, but really that's all just minor hoosafudge that 10 minutes later I've probably forgotten about. It takes some work on someone else's part to really tick me off, when it comes to something with me.

But fuck with someone I love and I will get very asshole-y, very quickly and very likely forever. Just like one of Grizzly Adam's furry friends.

It was because of this that when the offending party traversed my path I couldn't back up to give him any extra room to pass by. He looked like the sorry for an excuse of a man that he is and I eyeballed him as he walked by. He tried to give me a half smile that quickly went away. Making my godkids unhappy and causing them troubles is noooooo way to make nice with me hoss. He did just what you're supposed to do when in the presence of a mama bear, he lowered his gaze and skulked away. Fuckin' douchebag asshole.

Post proceedings were fantastic as we returned home to inform the kidz of the outcome. They were overjoyed and there were a couple of happy tears in the room. And a sly celebratory cocktail enjoyed by the grownups. Followed by a quick lunch with LB2, her hubby, the kids, her sister, TL and their parents, where I had my very first ever corn dog, thanks godkid J.

At lunch my MiniMe goddaughter challenged me to a game of hangman. Unfortunately for her, I am really, really bad at hangman. When in the far the too fuck long it took, I finally cracked the puzzle the answer was, "I Love Aunt BBG". And she managed to win a couple of prizes outta one of those claw games from the change from her grandma and TL's purses, one of them being this fine blue bear she gave me that I promptly named after her. I thought it was right as she named her "sockamonkey" after me.

(A.Bear and Uncle John)

As we returned from lunch, with all three kiddies in my ride, I heard, "uh...Aunt BBG, I'm gonna lose my ice cream", as I glance into the side mirror in time to see godson J's double dip cone being held by a small hand out of the window as it careened on to the asphalt below. And of course, dripped down the back passenger door. I was all, "well, accidents happen, I'm sorry you lost your ice cream, when we get home get some water and splash it until it dissolves away". No biggie. I mean, pretty much as long as we're all still alive, I consider a whole lotta stuff no biggie. Once they arrived home LB2's hubby insisted that godson J grab a bucket and some soap to fix the problem, so I got a new free car wash! It was 100% unnecessary, but I love that he takes teaching godson J to be a (good) man and fix what you mess seriously. And the fact that he did it in such a loving way pleases me even more. I am thankful he's in godson J's life.

It was a good day. Made even better when I spied this:

Begging the question, am I blessed or jinxed that I seem to be stalked by pink cars?!?


Sunday, July 25, 2010

~Return Of The Crazy Ass Corn & More

Clearing out the camera, so these are in no particular order, but here's what life has been about recently...

Some of my favorite flops:

Dear Cotton Candy,

I love you. Yesterday, today and always. You are one of my favorite things in life. So fluffy and sweet in all of your yummy goodness. I wish I could have a bed made of you so in the middle of the night I could just open my mouth and gobble you up. Double D mocked me for the fact that at the Rib & Jazz Fest I chose you over ribs to fill the space in my belly. Thank you for your sticky wonderfulness.

File under: And the view was spectacular as we listened to hoodoosoulband band at the Rib & Jazz Fest.

...This was slightly before I gave some police officer the fuckin' what for when I spied him sans his vest.

Yes! Once again I have been fortunate enough to find mutant corn!! This time congratulations, it triplets.

I don't know why it makes me soooooo happy to find such fabulous oddities, but it just really does. What can I say? My name is Big Brown Girl and I like weird. I love a freak show of any kind, evidently.

Yowza. Fucking outstanding. Cold Stone has been in our neck of the woods for a while now and for some reason I've resisted it.

Maybe because my first job was Diary Queen? Maybe because it's always seemed silly to my pragmatic mind to pay $4.00 for a small ice cream? I know, I know the myriad of stupid ways I've spent 4 beans would be simply mind boggling to contemplate, but it's akin to buying bottled H20 in my mind. Why would I buy water when it's free out of any available faucet, ya know? But hells of fire, that shit is the bombdigity of ice cream, and it's a good thing there is not a Cold Stone any closer to me than it is. (Yes, my laziness will trump even my desire for yumminess.)

I was sold on trying it when Ghoulia told me about this magically delicious deeeeelight known as cake batter ice cream. With those four words, I was sold. However, the world conspired against us as we tried to acquire it that night. One Cold Stone out of it the other one we stopped at closed. (Thanks world) But finally one evening Double D and I treked out to give it a whirl, both of us Cold Stone virgins. I went with the suggested cake batter, Double D had the mint with chocolate chips. At some point after we sat down, mainly because my knees began to buckle, I told him we should be home and nakid. He said, "yes", then quickly followed with, "why?" and I told him because that would be the only thing that could possibly make this ice cream experience any better. Yeah, it's that good.

Da' Am. It was awesome and I highly recommend it if you aren't already hip to it.

Q: What the fuck kinda crazy ass bug is this who tried to kill me?

...Ok. Fine. This bug didn't actually try to kill me, but it was on my garage door and I found him to be very, very spooky and disconcerting. ...Just another reason Mother Nature and I aren't friends.
UPDATE: Ghoulia has just informed me that a cake batter shake is a possibility. OMG. Can you see the mouse runnin' in it's wheel from there?!? Somebody's makin' a return trip to Cold Stone!!

P.S. Happy Birthday MGB & Mick!


Thursday, July 22, 2010

~A Little Help Please

Does anyone know what "2 TUSSIL" means?

Yeah, me neither. Unfortunately, I have it written down here at my desk, in fact it's underlined twice in my red pen scribble. Seems like it had a sense of importance. Yet, I have absofuckinlootly no idea what I intended on reminding or conveying to myself.

I even Googled it and apparently Tussil is some sorta ingredient in some cough syrup.

I have no cough.

Soooooo that's probably not it.

This is indeed a Scooby Doo mystery. One that is now keeping me from slumber. Good googily moogily...


Tuesday, July 20, 2010

~Driving: My Pet Peeves

Thanks to a comment from the mysterious, and evidently brilliant stranger known as DaveG, I've been thinking of my driving pet peeves.

Man, I am ticked off by most people sharing the road with me. I know, we all think we're good drivers. I guess, I wouldn't necessarily say I'm a good driver, but I am often/mostly a courteous, thinkin', rule following driver, for the most part. (And the only crash I've ever been involved with was the time some drunk Dr. pulled outta a place and ran into me. Oh, and in the name of full disclosure, when I was 16 I hit the car beside me as I backed out of a parking spot. But really now, are we going to hold a dent at 5mph when I was 16 against me after allllllllll of these years on the road?) I am defiantly good-ish. I am totally a speeder on a freeway. I'm all about makin' good time and I feel much more comfortable and alert at higher speeds. I feel like I'm pretty heads up, I mean at a certain speed, you gotta be, ya know? When I'm going 65 I feel like it's an effort to be in the game and engaged as much. Yes. I know that's like all the fuck wrong and all, but it's how I feel.

Most of my pet peeves stem from other drivers not being courteous, heads up or following the rules. They will illicit anywhere from an eye roll to a full on roll the window down and tell you you're a dumbass for xyz. (...There you go, if one day you see I've just stopped posting you'll know some driver has pulled out a gun and double tapped me.) All practically take me to the brink of my head spontaneously exploding. Why? Because how the fuck hard is it to be courteous?!? Or paying attention?!? Or rules of the road abiding?!?

My biggest and most irritating traits of others include (in no particular ranking or order):

-Far left lane drivers. Oh, you dirty muther fuckers. Come the fuck on. The left lane is for passing. Not driving. PASSING. Which means, especially if people are behind you to get the fuck over into a right or middle lane ASAP. Not after you over take that car 1/4 mile from now. Right the fuck now. And yes, even if you're going 70 and you feel that's "fast enough", may I remind you that it's not your job to be my speed police. It's your job to yield right. Period. I mandate my rate of travel. Fine, and the po-po too, but not you. You are the cause of road rage driving because you are the person who gets 72 of us stacked up behind your non gettin' over ass, which in turn makes us extra pissy. Move and let others flow along and I, er, I mean, people won't be flippin' you off every 3 minutes.

-Non turn signal usin' bastards. Really? If you can control it with your pinky, it ain't too much work, so that just leaves you as being thoughtless and reckless. Confuckinggratulations. (golf clap) Hummmmm...nope. There's no possible reason knowing what your intended direction of travel might be important information for other drivers around you to have. Yes, lane changing indication is important. But you know what else is important? Let's say we're both trying to pull out of adjacent strip malls with a 4 lane between us. If I knew from that crafty lil' blinky light which way you were going, perhaps I could go ahead and make my turn when I have an opening. You know, an opening that you are cock blocking me from making with your inability to signal. Should I really have to wait and miss an opportunity to be merrily the fuck on my way because you couldn't be bothered to let me know what your play is?

-Intersection blocking assholes. I know. You'll tell me, "oh, I thought I could make it through". But see, here's the deal. I know nine times outta 10 your sorry self important ass didn't think that. I call, pants on fire. Your actual thought was something along the lines of, "I've got someplace to get so I can do whatever the fuck I wanna, because I'm the center of the universe, so screw you if my being in the intersection causes you people to not have the ability to turn into the intersection or cross through it." And because I know that, I do not feel one bit bad when I come 3" from your ride and lay on the horn, until whenever the fuck you finally clear the intersection and get the hell out of the rest of our way.

-Ditcher douchebags. See "Bad" of Yesterday: The Good, The Bad, The Sad, entry for my general feelings on that. I believe that in conditions that lend themselves to such ditcher douchebags it is absofuckinlootly imperative that you stay on your man's ass (aka the vehicle directly in front of you), allowing just enough room to get yourself stopped quickly if needed, but not far enough away that a SmartCar could squeeze in. Test me and you will find yourself in a ditch, because I have insurance, no sense of entitlement, other than the entitlement of fair play, oh, and a temper when it comes to auto douchebaggery.

-Non mover uppers to allow me to turn. Errrgh. I assume that your eyes work, having passed the eye test at the DMV within the past 4 years and all. And they equip cars these days with these kick ass reflective devices known as mirrors, allowing you to see all the ta-doin's around you. So I also assume you see my turn signal indicating my grand plan to turn right. You are the only car in front of me and are stopped 5' from the white stripe. Why? Why would you not move your ass up 12" so that I can go on through the light? Are you a mean one Mr. Grinch? Or are you just another non engaged and non payin' attention, rude dumbass? Those seem to be the only two options, really. And...and I know this one is just plain wrong, those people behind me who don't make the turn when I've provided plenty o' room. I know. I know. People behind me who aren't doing anything to impede my travel shouldn't bug me. But guess what? It does. And it's always some cat in a Metro or similarly small statured car who think's their wing span is that of the QEII. I worry about drivers who don't have any better concept of the girth of their vehicle. Makes me wonder what else they don't quite grasp, which leads me down the path of, "'d they get their license?"

-Rude parkers. The lines...the lines are not guidance or a suggestion, they are the actual markers of where your 4 wheels should be within, not over. Seriously, if you can't master that, you should consider forfeiting your license because it's perhaps the single easiest task of driving. If we're talkin' parallel parking, please exercise the "do unto others rule", meaning, don't park in a manner that leaves excessive room behind you or in front of you, but not really enough room for some other car to park in front of or behind you.

-Non thankers. Rude. Rude. Rude. Guess the fuck what? I didn't have to let you in. I did so out of what's known to a large percentage of humans as common courtesy. When did that become a non thanks/waveable action? Not tossing up your hand earns you a horn honk and a facetious and indignant wave of your welcome from me. Dick.

-Left. Right. Windshield. There are 3 opportunities for you to observe and plan for what is going on in traffic. Please, I implore you, use them.

I realize that I have a good number of peeves. Now you know why I can be half pissed off when I get where I'm going. (And reminding myself that it's still illegal to hit people in the head with a brick.) But, you must admit, if more drivers followed my BBG rules of road operation, you'd have an easier time out there too.


Friday, July 16, 2010

~Bike Racks @ 3?

Yep. So this week I was engaged in my very first ever Facebook fight.

Apparently, I was feelin' all of my Sir Edmund Burke-yness. It only took four typed words to set me off.

A friend posted his feelings and a link on the mosque that may, or may not ultimately be built two blocks from Ground Zero. Initially I did not chime in on the matter.

Until I saw the message another person responded with, which was, "Islam is a cult of nutjobs." Leaving my, "all that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing" eyes seeing red.

Really, stranger dude? "Islam is a cult of nutjobs"?

Forcing me to do sumthin'. Sumthin' exactly like this:

"Islam is no more of a "cult" than Methodist, Baptist, Jewish or any other mainstream religion. The mindset of holding all people of a sub sect accountable for the fanatic fringe is boggling to me. With that thinking, I'm a pedophile because of the dastardly deeds of a small percentage of priests. Muslims do not have the market cornered on small mindedness, intolerance and nut jobs."

Why? Because that's honestly what I feel. Yes, the fanatics who seek, plot and plan to hurt me and my fellow infidels (hollar!) are Muslims. Osama and his misguided, illogical, well funded, eager and committed, irrational, evil spirited, fanatics are indeed devoted to Islam. And if by some magical way, I spied Bin Laden, I would, in as quick of order as possible, strap him down in 4 points and immediately take a potato peeler to every inch of his skin. Layer by layer until he bled out in a pulpy, skinless, painful and lengthy, slow death, while laughing my terrorist torturing ass off. I find him and everything he and his cronies stand for, believe in and practice reprehensible, and beyond my capacity of mercy.

(Note to Bin Laden: Turn yourself into the Allied Forces because if I get my hands on your ass, it's gonna get all kindz a ugly for you up in here. They may have some plans for your ass, but I bet at least they don't involve a potato peeler.)

However, the chasm between Al Qaeda (and other fanatic elements) practicing under the guise of Islam and the overall Muslim population in general, well, it's the fuckin' distance between my toes and the moon.

The Klan, for fuck's sake is a fanatic bastardization of Christianity. I see the Klan and Al Qaeda as kissin' cousins in their mindsets. I don't hate all Christians because some, the Klan, hold fanatic views and performs outrageous actions based on their perception of the one and true path of Christianity. Why? Because that would be stupid of me to think is true.

Name any sub sect or grouping known to humanity and there is some uber fanatical fringe. You know them. You know someone who beliefs are so fervent that they are no longer healthy, moral or ethical. It might be over religion or race or politics or maybe even a sports team or figure, but they've somehow managed to cross over from being committed too or believing in, interested in or backing X to it consuming their every breath and causing them to act in an inappropriate way. I'm not condoning such behavior, I'm sayin' it's a fact. On the contrary, I believe anything that consumes ones life screws ones life up and in all forms and fashions is something to avoid.

As is, in my opinion, painting everyone with the same brush as the worst of their grouping. It's unfair and wrong. And when I saw his words I thought, 'that's unfair and wrong' and instead of scrolling on down to see how the others are fairing with their Farmville fields or whatthefuckever, I decided to, as Sir Edmund Burke suggested, pipe up and not allow, what I consider evil to triumph that day.

At the time I posted my two pennies, I didn't know I was startin' a tussle. But then this appeared:

(Again, not including his name, because I'm a good and nice person. If I was the bitch you think I am I'd be including his name.You're welcome stranger guy.) "Boggling. Every major world conflict involves Muslims killing infidels. Do Jews or baptists murder over cartoons of their prophets? (--that's right I reserve the right to censor stupidity in 'da World.)

The problem in this world Is the political correctness and naive people who don't know much about it"


Alright. If it's on, it's on.

Prompting me to reply with:

"HA! (his name here) you do not know me, but anyone who does would never insinuate that I was PC. However, I while I may be naive about some things that go on in the world, why people put ketchup on eggs, how people find magic entertaining and why michigan fans seem proud, I am worldly enough to discern the difference between some and all when it comes to groupings of people and not hold all to the actions and thoughts of some."

Listen, I know a guy who's an asshole. But I don't think all guys are assholes based on one. (Fine. I know several assholes.) Same principal. I don't really get when people lump all into the the lowest common denominator of some in any sub sect. I mean, even if we just look at humans as a whole, are we to be thought of as touched in the head serial killers because Richard Rameriz plucked some eyes out? Are all dogs aggressive and should be put down because one bit you when you were a kid? No. Then how do you get to the place where all Muslims are nutjobs because the fanatic fringe is? A rational mind doesn't. Asserting otherwise, I find evil and dangerous.

As for being a "cult", no more so, or less than any other mainstream, organized, recognized religion is a cult. Any and all of them have their peculiarities. You've picked your belief system, or none, in a holy head cheese and if it works for you, rock on. But working for you doesn't any more mean right, than someone else picking another path makes them wrong. I'm not anti any religion that makes a believer feel better about their life path,brings them peace and inspires them to be a better person. To each their own.

I am what I am (Catholic), but I don't think it's somehow superior than any other, it's simply what works for me. In fact, I see religion as, hummm... Pick an object in your room, yeah, that light over there, I see the light as "God", the Catholics see it from the perspective that you see that light from where you sit. The Lutherans are seeing that same light from the other side. Same light/God, but from a slightly different perspective. Maybe Jewish folks see it from the another angle, and Muslims from yet another perspective in the room, but we're all lookin' at the same light. We might describe it differently based on our point of view relative to it, but again, all the same light. If we had to sketch our views they will differ slightly due to where each religion sits in the room lookin' at the light. It's the same light. To say the other guy who draws it from a different area of the room is wrong is short sighted. Do you want him on the other side of the room sayin' your depiction of the light is wrong? No. You want him to acknowledge the difference and allow that yours is not wrong just because it's different than his.

Not seeing this fact is how all kinds of bad things happen in the world based on religious differences. Crusades anyone? The Reconquista, the Muslim Conquests, the French Wars of Religion are just a scant few examples from waaaaaay back in the day, but they continue in varying dynamics and degrees up until, well, tofuckingday. Which is why I took such offense to this guys comments. Being silent seemed like a great way to tacitly condone such sentiments.

The older I get the more unacceptable I find allowing the narrow minded to triumph. I want a better world, not a worse one. The path to that isn't to sit back and allow the lowest denominator to be thought of as the norm or acceptable. It isn't, we are better people than the least of us. We should expect, demand and suggest better behavior out of each other. We are our brothers keeper. Like it or not. We fail or succeed together. All of us. Jews, Hindu's, Unitarians, all of us. Divisive views breed division. Division breeds hate. And I'm not down with that.

Eventually that guy posted this:

"I don't know you. And I don't think all Muslims are bad. I do however believe Islam needs reform. Every religion has had it except Islam. I also believe that the Qu'ran is taught literally in mosques around the globe and until the 3rd world countries educate them that conflicts and murder will continue."

Ohhhhh, so now you don't think all Muslims are "nutjobs"? Huh. Funny. I only responded based on your actual fucking verbatim words. He seemingly comes off of his Muslims are "nutjobs" pretty quickly after being called out on the ridiculous, inaccurate, over generalized, sterotypical statement to they're not "all" bad fairly easily. Well, that's mighty big of ya. Well done. So you're not only bigoted, small minded and intolerant, but you're also a pussy. Got it. Outstanding.

I'm quite confident that my words likely didn't change his mindset at all. Why? Because once someone embraces fanatic views of "all", they are very unlikely to ever be able to see a situation for what it is, as opposed to what they've decided it is. A closed mind is a dangerous one. Which coincidentally, is the same reason we are unable to rationalize with the fanatical folks of Al Qaeda. But at least maybe some Muslim Facebooker saw that just because some of us are fanatics about a stance of anti-Islam, it doesn't mean that we all are. And maybe some other moderate, tolerant, reasonable people who read the exchange saw that it isn't hard to do (as Sir Edmund Burke suggested) sumthin' and will follow suit the next time something is said or written that they find evil and not just stand by and let it dangle out there.

While not nearly as eloquent, but, it's time to start taking the kids who are stirring shit in our playground out to the bike racks after school for a few words so that our playground doesn't get more unruly and we can all enjoy it.


Wednesday, July 14, 2010

~Swimsuitgate & The Aftermath

As we last left off, I was setting out for the evening to hang out at the pool with my date from 24 or so hours prior. As any XX chromosome reader can imagine, the prospect of having a new guy getting a full daylight, unadulterated view of you in your swimming suit is a daunting proposition.


Let me rephrase... As any girl who's name is ain't Gisele Bundchen, Heidi Klum, Halle Berry or Jennifer Aniston, can imagine, the concept of such an adventure would be enough to send most girls into a fucking full on state of catatonia, rocking in the fetal position in some quiet corner, putting into action the time honored coping skills from the girl playbook of; obsession, self doubt, a call to their closest gal pal and a pint of ice cream.

By all rights many a big girl, like me, would be standing on the edge of the closest, highest roof over the idea. So I totally get why my reaction once again puts me in danger of losing both my girl card and my good standing in the chick community. I chose the route of, "well, if he hates what he see, better to know today than to find out some other day down the road." So off I went in all of my big girl skirted swimsuit (clears throat) glory to meet Double D at the pool.

Not only did he not make any sudden plucking gestures in his eyeball area, he made a plan with me for the following night.

And the next. In fact we've visited each day, with the exception of the day he was in Chicago. He's even, by mistake met Dad. Yep.

We found ourselves a block away from Dad, who I called to say, "I'm a block away from you", and the next thing I know we're pulling up in his driveway. I think Double D may be Dad's new favorite person. As Dad and I were discussing hitting the range and going shooting, Dad asked Double D if he was a shooter. Once he answered with a "yes sir", I giggled, rolled my eyes and said, "tell him why", I noticed a distinctive glint in Dad's eye when he found out Double D was also part of the badge and gun brigade. Am I sensing a budding bromance?

I say they met by mistake, because I am very careful to keep guys in my life on the down low. I find it prompts far, far fewer questions. And the less I have to answer about why so and so is no longer in the picture the better. It was only over our dinner that it even dawned on me that he'd just met my Dad. Double D is seriously like the second or 3rd guy Dad has ever met. Why? Because...

Speaking of rollin' and wheels. Imagine my surprise and complete deeeeelight as I rolled up on this cat:

A Bubblemobile! (aka: AMC Pacer) It was in mint condition and honestly, it hauled off the line. Ok. Maybe "hauled" is an exaggeration, but I expected to find it pokin' and putterin' along as the light changed, and while I didn't have to speed to overtake it and get into it's lane for my upcoming exit, it seemed to operate better than I would have expected for a car that last rolled off the line in 1980. (LEM- thought you'd like this)

In still more car news, for the first time, er, ?? ever, I had to park my car outside if it's safe and tucked in confines of the garage due to resealing of the driveways and streets back in our lil' area. Of fucking course that evening on the news I hear the weather guy telling me about the storms movin' in and how we should expect strong lightning, the possibility of sizeable hail and damaging winds. Really Mother Nature? Ugh. Pretty much the only time it has to be out in the elements and it's gotta be awful?!?! Just my fuckin' luck.

Thankfully, this is all I woke up to in terms of damage. So I shouldn't complain. I said, I shouldn't, I didn't say I wouldn't. One in 365 odds and sure as shit the night my ride is outside all of this fuckin' hoosafudge breaks out. Thanks world.

Dear World,
I see you conspiring against me. While I may never find a way to beat you, I will, if the opportunity presents itself kick you squarely in the balls.


Thursday, July 8, 2010

~Yesterday: The Good, The Bad, The Sad

I met Reggie, one of Ghoulia's pets. He's nice. Here he is checking me out. Later he gave my fingers a big squeeze. Reggie feels like shoes.

I tried something new. Here is my first ever bite of falafel (thanks for sharing Ghoulia, oh and I sware, I'd never wear Reggie). Who knew I'd like a chickpea? But really now, anything breaded and deep fried is probably gonna be ok. I would falafel it up again.

Good/bad...not really sure. Interesting to find in the ladies room though. Too bad this happened after yesterday's posting, because this did make me sigh an audible, hummmmmmm as I tinkled.

("Bunghole Snitcher!" ...Color me perplexed)

In people do not want us to be thirsty news; 1) Old man who wanted to buy us a round. We declined. 2) 35 y/o guy who wanted to buy us drinks after we alerted him to the fact that he'd left his dome light on in his car. We also declined. 3) Bartender chick who after being alerted that the clientele in the establishment was comprised of douche bags, didn't ask and just made shots for each of us appear. 4) Salmon colored shirt wearin' guy offered up a shot, Ghoulia partook, after which I heard her describe the drink, when asked what it was, as "it tastes like drunk". (Side note to LB2'd- See. Your stomping grounds are strange.)

Eeeeww. What the hell is this?!? As soon as I saw it all I could think was it was a bukkake persons dream. What earthly other reason would there be for this product to exist? (I feel the same way about Bailey's, but that's a story for a different day) File under: Item that will never be in my kitchen. Bleck.
(HA! Thank you Google for providing me with one of the most peculiar and spectacular Wiki entries I've ever seen, as I tried to figure out how to spell bukkake. I've never seen a cartoon as part of a schoolin', nor did I know there was such a history to the kink.)

Ghoulia. Who when I asked her if I was too boobie with what I was wearing, assured me noooooo. However, I spent a good chunk of the evening answering, "yes, they are mine" and trying to minimize the spectacle of BBG hooters. Boo Ghoulia.
Driver who thought that by pulling up on my right side and stalking me (while then holding up traffic in his lane/south bound lane) meant that I should let him over into my lane. My lane that was bumper to bumper for about 1/2 mile back. I had all of my windows down, rockin' out to a lil Ronnie Milsap. When he rolls down his window and hollers, "don't you see I want to get in?". Yeah, yeah, hoss I do. Ya know what else I see? All the rest of us peons respectfully waiting our turn, oh and being literate. I also saw the fuckin' sign 1/2 mile back that said if you wanna go north to get your ass in this lane. It was in big ass white letters hanging from a big ass green sign. It's there every day, as I'm sure you are too. But of course, you're too important to follow those directions, and count on someone being too pussy or not heads up enough to be on the car in front of theirs ass so that you can ditch in at the last moment. Not today hoss, not in front of me. Looks like you're goin' south today. Fuck off. I informed him of the sign and rolled up my windows. Fucker. Clearly, I don't believe in ditchin'. (Except if it's an out of towner who doesn't know the lay o' the land, them I'll totally cut some slack)

Saying so long to a pal, MOK who is moving to Oh, Canada. I'm sad to see her go. MOK et Jodi- I'm sending all of my good wishes with you as you join the Eh? Team. Enjoy your new adventure!
(Ghoulia, Jodi, MOK, [not a midget, just scrunched down, RJ-- also not the devil. He didn't look as devilish in person, I promise], and me. Side note to KD...THIS is what happens when you don't say goodbye!)
Apparently, I'm going to hang out with my date from the other night later. I don't know how I feel about a guy seein' me in my swimmy suit, that I haven't even swapped spit with yet. But as I gather, ya only live once , sooo these are my thighs (deal with it or avert your eyes).


Wednesday, July 7, 2010

~Arsenio Hall & Other Things That Make Me Go Hummm...

I know I'm different than a lot of girls. For as prissy as I can look in my norm of a dress and heels/flops, I am pretty damn low maintenance. I see a lot of stuff girls do as big ass time wasters that I have no interst in.

I'm not against such things, to each their own, maybe I'm just too damn lazy to participate in such reindeer games? I donno. Things like getting hair dyed. Nope. I'm old. (Alright, maybe I'm not oooooold, but I've seen my drivers license, I'm not young.) Old people (like me) have gray hairs. (I say, deal with it, or kindly avert your fuckin' eyes.) There is no possible way I could commit to making an appointment and sitting still somewhere for a-- I don't even know how long-- 2 hours?, multiple times a year. I'm sure I've got sumthin' better to do that day. Even if my sumthin' is nuthin'. I can barely commit to making the time to my hairs cut for fuck's sake. There are plenty of days I think, "hummmm...I bet Uncle John clippers can solve this bad hair day" and just be done with it. Sure, I'll have to change the blog to BBBGW (big brown bald girl world), which would be a hassle to do at this point, but it's always an option in my mind.

I know that I am somewhat the anomaly and that every girl does not hold my opinions on beauty maintenance and priorities.

Exhibit A: Cashier gal at the local grocery store. As I checked out yesterday, she complimented me on my nails and asked where I got them done. I told her I painted them myself and thanked her for her kind words as I dug out my debit card to make said grocery purchase.

(Finally!! A pink I like. I've looked for a million years for the perfect pink. I think I found it, whatda think? Oh, and the one plant that I haven't killed. ...Yet.)

Then she starts telling me all about what kind of fake nails she has put on and how they have to soak 'em at ?changing time?, I don't know, or understand all of the particulars involved in her story and just nodded along out of courtesy with her tale o' nails. Maybe because at some point I got side tracked in my mind as I started to wonder, why when you don't have your front teeth, the state of one's nails is that big of a fuckin' deal?

Reeeeeeeally? No front chompers, but it's important for you to have your fake nails did up?!? I mean, does she think, yeah, I'm gummin' it up and all, but 'heeeeeey, look at my fabulous nails!'!! (alluringly wiggles fingers/flashes toothless grin) I found the enigma of her situation to be ridiculously fascinating. Hummmm...

This was not the beginning of my weirdorama, but the end. Before I went to the grocery store I stopped at the gas station, where when I was getting back in my car a corrections officer at Orient prison tried to steal me.

(Please note if you will, the colorful lei dangling from his grown ass man rear view mirror. Who's still rockin' that nonsense? Memo to guys: After 21 and your grad tassels or some fuzzy dice, put this trend away. It doesn't make us think, 'hey, I should totally go out with him'. I'm just here to be helpful.)

Are we doin' that now? Just trying to pick up people in the gas station parking lot with a "helloooo pretty lady"? I'm not a 4 year old to be stolen from the front yard, you know. Was it wrong of me to bring up that I've seen Oz as part of my get away? He tried to impress on me that he was a C.O. and not a pokey inmate. I stuck with my, "yeah, yeah, I've seen Oz", story.

Later in the evening before my little date-y date (No. Not with aforementioned C.O.) I spied this:

Come on, neighbor visitor. Really? You couldn't put your scooter in her driveway, all of another 3 inches ahead of your front wheel. Opps! I mean, you couldn't put your fuckin' glorified Rascal another 3" ahead of you into her empty driveway? Asshole. My apologies. I mean: Asssssssssshoooooole.

Since, I've grown to feel guilty about my misrepresentation of anything Arsenio Hall-y in this posting as I've been typing (er, ramblin' away)...

Here: A special thanks to Arsenio's parents who made it just super easy for a poor speller, like me, to Google him. And then of course Google mocked me with it's hoity, "did you mean Arsenio Hall?" (which I always suspect is even typed in a snooty british accent)

Dear Mr. & Mrs. Hall,
I know, I know, you didn't know there'd be an interweb, or that Googling would be a thing when you gave your son this particular moniker. But I'm guessin' ya did know that 99 44/100's of the people of the world would have no earthy idea of how to spell that. Gold star for usage of a truly craptastic name.

Alrighty. I'm outtie kids. I'm hanging with some friends tonight. I'm sure nothing kooky will come from that. It's Wednesday: Rock it out!


Tuesday, July 6, 2010

~Are Fish Sticks Ruling My World?: The Update

Sometimes, I swear, I'm such a complete freak.

I'm a dichotomy even to me.

As creative and outside of the box of a thinker as I tend to be (let's face it, I come up with a lot of, let's say unique solutions to things), sometimes I can get way too focused and mired in one way of thinking, usually over piddly ass shit.

As you know the crock pot/over cluttering issue is what had been stymieing me on this whole toaster oven dealy. Ugh.

Until, it dawned on me, (I actually looked up juuuuuuust to see if a light bulb was hoovering over my head, I was so stunned by my epiphany) that I could (drumroll, please) put the crock pot in a cabinet. Bada boom!! Problem solved.

I rearranged a few items and stashed it, thus allowing me to make the mental jump that a toaster oven is both doable and acceptable in my kitchen world. Whoo-hoo!!

One Target trip later and ta-da!!

So far so good. I've made several things in it, yes, including fish sticks. I have burned my finger twice now on the door (and have subsequently learned to use a potholder any time I approach it. Check.), and I am afraid to leave the kitchen when it's on because I think there's a pretty good chance something could catch fire in that little silver box, but (it hasn' knock wood), overall, I've been pleased with what it's done so far.
(Not fire, just cooking, but see why I'm keeping my peepers peeled?!?)

You might be thinking, I'm overly kooky about my concern of a food fire breaking out. For most people this may be true. However, I give to you these two things: 1) The great Chex mix fire of 199?whatthefuckever. (Lesson learned? That stuff that comes outta fire extinguishers is hard to clean up. Check. Oh, and worcestershire sauce is flammable. Pretty fuckin' flamable. Check.) B) You know my feelings on firemen. The absofuckinglootly last thing I want is something that would make me have to dial them for help. No thanks.

In what would normally be (pre toaster oven, or PTO at least) a rarity on a 90 degree day for me, a full, grown up type meal:

...Well as "grown up" as one might consider a hot dog with American cheese food product and ketchup, cob and potato salad. But really now, two vegetables? That's a grown up meal in my book.

Thank you for making this possible toaster oven!


Sunday, July 4, 2010

~Happy 4th


Saturday, July 3, 2010

~Buy American: Bye America

On our way back to LB2'd's house the other weekend, I rode back with my cousin. While we were chatting, he made mention of my beer selection.

Cousin Kyle: ...PBR? What's up with that? Can you get anymore redneck?

BBG: Well...

I used to be a Bud girl. Not Lite. Full on, hardcore Bud. But I've had to give that up now that Budweiser is owned by the Belgium's. I thought I'd switch to Coors. A) I remember when Coors used to have those groovy coolio round dots to drink out of. (Yeah, I'm old.) 2) I think Pete Coors is handsome. Those are fine enough reasons to back a beer, right? (Yeah, I'm a girl.) Alas, I come to find out Coors merged with Molson (Canadian owned). Sooooo Coors is out. Then I think, I can get on board with the Champagne of Beers (High Life), 'the Life' as I like to call it. Guess fuckidy what? High Life is owned by South Africans.

It turns out Pabst Blue Ribbon (aka: The Ribbon) and Sam Adams are the last American owned and operated brewing companies available nationwide.

There are, of course, a plethora of regional and local American owned and operated beer companies around. But available pretty much every where? PBR & Sam it is. So it's PBR for me. I donno. Sam seems a tad uppity for me. Don't get me wrong. I can she-she and glitterati with the best of 'em, but at my core, I'm an every man type girl. To me it seems like the difference between a Jack n' Coke and a daiquiri. Both booze, but they just send a different message and tell a different story about the consumer, ya know?

Hummmm...a booze analogy about booze? I've gotta get a hobby. Or a manfriend. (I know that's not a thing, but really now, I'm too old to use the phase boyfriend. It makes me feel like a perv.) Funny thing, for those of you who don't know me, I'm not a big drinker. I'm no fuckin' teetotaler, but I'm no lush.

Anyhoo, as I can, I like to buy American. I think it's important to support companies who keep our country strong. While I can't really ensure that every dress I buy isn't made by some 6 year old Chinese girl, I feel like I can buy an American car and drink an American beer, ya know?

It's getting exceedingly harder to buy American. So many companies we think of as American companies aren't.

Surprise- NOT American owned:
-Trader Joe's
-Church's Chicken
-French's Mustard

Like I say, it would be practically impossible to consistently and across the board buy American, but when I can, it's the route that I feel is best for me. I have to get new tires soon and as I've checked with a few places, one of my questions is, "is that an American owned tire company?" Now, I've got nuthin' against ya if there's a Toyota or whatever in your driveway, or if you'll actually fall down and die if you had to switch mustards. I'm not talkin' trash about you or keying your car when I park next to it in the parking lot. This is how I choose to live my life. You are in charge of you.

My beef is with greedy companies who sellout for short term, immediate profits while weakening our footing in the world market long range. If I were a shareholder in any one of the now foreign owned companies listed above, I'd much rather have a smaller dividend payout knowing that it helped keep America strong. But that's me. And we all know, I'm weird. I think that sometimes taking a personal hit is the patriotic and moral thing to do when it results in keeping our countrymen in good stead. I tend to be a greater good thinker. I see it as my (our) civilian duty to jump on the grenade to keep the rest of the platoon safe. Not ideal, but the right thing to do. Unfortunately, it seems like too many CEO's, Madoff's, politicians, religious leaders and some of our neighbors didn't get this memo. They are overly fond of employing the what's best for my six method with nary an afterthought of how it impacts others. And that, I am not down with and will not, as I am able, reward with my business and loyalty.

I know my individual choices are not a maker or breaker for any company, but as Aaron Tippin once taught us, you've got to stand for something or you'll fall for anything.

Are you standing? Or fallin'? And what for?

Me? I'm havin' a PBR and keepin' America strong with every sip, baby!


Thursday, July 1, 2010

~Keep Your Watermelons & Mannequins Safe

I love, love, love this time of year. Of course because of the celebration of our nation's birthday, cookouts, hanging with friends et al, but mostly because the 4th of July marks the release of some of my favorite entertainment/news stories of the year.

That's right! EXPLODING watermelons and mannequins!!

Personally, I'm a big ol' puss about fireworks. Maybe because I was once hit by fireworks shrapnel at the big Red, White & Boom fireworks display put on downtown each year. Yes. Fireworks tried to kill me. And that was with professional firework people and a million dollar budget. No waaaaaaaay I'm involved with setting the household variety off. Some half drunk ass guys and a $75 budget? No thanks. I happen to fancy my eyes. And all ten of my digits. I'm the girl ducking, covering and hiding from their path, perfectly content with my sparklers, those lil' snakes that puff up and those paper covered dealys that when you toss on the ground make a pop. That taps me and my nerves out.

Plus, it seems like every year one of those fireworks stores goes up like a can of kerosene. You're bat shit crazy if you think I'm steppin' into one of those joints. Nope.

So these little PSA news montages of mannequins melting or having their heads or hands blown off and H2Omelons bursting into a gazillion pieces isn't even useful to me. But entertaining? Hellz yeah!

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