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Tuesday, August 31, 2010

~So He Said, So It Shall Be

As many of you know and if you didn't...surprise!! I have cable in every room except my bedroom. (Thanks Time Warner cable guy, who hooked me up for telling me it was impossible to run cable into that room.) Over the years several people have mentioned that they felt that there had to be a way to make cable happen and that they were confident that TW cable guy was all the fuck kindz a wrong.

My response was always the following: (SHOULDER SHRUG)

What the hell do I know about such hoosafudge? Nuthin', that's what. The full sum of knowledge I have about cable is that 1) it comes on when I push a button on the remote. 2) Each month I receive a bill from it. 3) My cable box reboots itself waaaaaaaaay the fuck more than I think it should. 4) I ain't got it in my bedroom.

There.

That taps me out on my cable knowledge.

...Until yesterday baby!

Double D several weeks ago said, 'let there be cable'!! Fine. He didn't say those actual words. ...But just for a second didn't you think he had the voice of God, or at least James Earl Jones? See. That was fun, even if it really wasn't accompanied by thunder claps or anything. But he did say that could be done and that he was doin' it.

A few days later we were out and about and found ourselves in a shopping center that happened to have a Radio Shack. Next thing I know we're pickin' out cable line and some magical doohickey called a splitter.

Double D has been working some crazy ass hours of late. How crazy? Friday 7A-3P, Saturday 1A-8A, Sunday 6A-6P, Monday 7A-3P. (Yeah. Craaaaaaazy.) And I'd much rather spend our time together doing anything other than chores for heavens sakes, so I hadn't mentioned squat about it. Every several days or so he'd mention it though. I could tell accomplishing bedroom cable was high on his to-do list. Plus, ya know. You're either someone who says what they mean and means what they say, or you're not. You're in charge of you.

Yesterday, after that work schedule my man came home, sat down, smooched me, chatted about our days and then he looked around the room and said, "ok, we're doin' this". And kids, it was on! Extension cord, drill, moving of things, attic climbin' (on the second hottest day of the year) ta-doin's.



(Double D peekin' into the attic)

That man is crafty. Snaking wire and doing stuff and junk. Post haste BBG had cable in her room.


Yep. It's like that.

Big ass gold star to Double D for TCB'n.


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Friday, August 27, 2010

~Hoverounds & Whores




I was chatting with my friend D as she drove to pick up a Hoveround for her hubby, R who was recently injured in his fight club. Of course, knowing the first rule of fight club, I can say no more about it. ...Except for the fact that it resulted in a broken tibia. Leaving R a shut-in. And D's nerves raw. Hoping to give him a little freedom and herself a break from having him under her feet every second of the day she rented a Hoveround.

The next time my phone rang it was D as she was getting back in her car after having picked up and been "trained" on Hoverounding, which included her driving it across the parking lot to her car. It sounds pretty sweet, indeed. D actually told me that experiencing the Hoveround makes her think getting old might be ok. That knowing she can count on a Hoveround to zip her here and there will be doable. Apparently it has a basket and arms that swing away for easy off and on-ing. And has a speed dial that instead of numbers reads with a turtle and a hare. I say awesome!

As she described it I told her I couldn't wait to see it. And that by "see it" I meant drive it. D told me that after 20 years of friendship, my clarification went without sayin'.

I will update once I've had a chance to zip around on it. I can't wait!! If I can find someone on a Jazzy or a Rascal I'm totally gonna drag race them. (Is that wrong?)

In other news... I was in the hometown this week for a few hours to take Nana to a medical test (which came back all good, thank God-- 'cause really, you know how much more bad news I can stand this year? A: No fuckin' more.) and perused the local paper, when I noticed this story:



Small town, smutty, scandal? Sure. I'm in.

As I started to read the article my eyes glossed over the particulars of the "ladies", as I'm pretty sure I don't know any actual whores. Sluts? Yes. But actual happy ending whores? No. But then my eyes caught glimpse of the name of one of the pinched:



Really?!?

A whore named Cum?

That's just the definition of outfuckingstanding, no?

Needless to say, I laughed my ass off. Who knew prostitution was so chocked full o' humor? (Or cougar lovers, as my pal PC noted, "the boys back home like their working girls with some age on them") And did she legally change her name once she chose her profession? Or is one simply relegated to a life of whoring when one's name is Cum? ...And again, I fall back on the eternal and uber wise words of an owl...



The world may never know.


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Thursday, August 26, 2010

~Dear Dr. Laura

Being curious of all of the hub bub I've heard about "Dr." Laura, (Who in fact isn't a psychologist or psycharistrist, but holds a Ph.D in physiology- the study of 1. functioning of living things: the branch of biology that deals with the internal workings of living things, including functions such as metabolism, respiration, and reproduction, rather than with their shape or structure. 2. body's internal processes: the way a particular body or organism works. ...Thanks Encarta!) and a non listener, I did a little interwebin' to hear what went down for myself and not some truncated version given to me by some talkin' tv head.

Here's a copy for you in case you're interested (and/or are interested in following the remainder of this post):
FULL AUDIO: Dr. Laura Schlessinger's N-word rant
(aka 6 mins of your life you're never getting back..)

Now, I'm no Doctor. Hell, I don't even play one on tv, but apparently, I'm as qualified as she is to dispense my judgement and assert my 1st Amendment Right. I'm jumpin' on my soapbox.

Ready?

Dear Dr. Laura-
The caller's issue, to me, seems to be her growing resentment of her pussy husband. How exactly do you get to use the n-word eleven times when *that* is the salient issue at hand? Caller needed to be reminded that a man, especially a man who loves you, wouldn't have you feeling uncomfortable or ill at ease over the consistent behaviors of his friends and family. Anyone for that matter. Regardless of the subject matter.

My guy and I haven't been together all that long, but let me tell him someone doing x upsets me for abc reason and see how long it takes him to, in some form or fashion, address it. Why? 'Cause he's a m-a-n. And because he loves me. He'd no more allow someone to put some bullshit out there that bothers me, realllly bothers me- not just, ugh, so-and-so get's on my nerves, than he'd allow me to drive away with a flat tire or walk out into a lightning storm with a large metal rod.

Was your callers guy always a puss? Yeah, probably. Does your caller hold some responsibility for not having seen that, or addressed it with him prior to the snowballing of her bitter feelings? Yep. But you didn't bother to hear her real issue.

...Sooooo now who was pretty quick to make it a black/white issue? Hummmm?????

And really now, I know folks, predominately those who aren't typically on the other end of -isms, in this case, racism are quick to designate something as not being that -ism, but really, who (usually) knows better than the person who feels it? How are you more of an expert on what the caller believes she experienced than her?

Racism isn't always lynchin' someone in a tree, or dragging them until their head pops off from a bumper. Sometimes it's a verbal attempt to make sure the other person "knows their place" based on the speakers ignorance or bias. -Isms are like the old adage about porn from Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart, "I shall not today attempt further to define the kinds of material I understand to be embraced . . . [b]ut I know it when I see it . . . "

As I have noted in the Dear Dr. Martin Luther King posting, not every injustice, unfairness and/or bad turn of the card is an -ism. Some times it's just that the world is unjust, unfair and sometimes we each have a run of bad luck. But on the other hand, just because *you* don't notice it, doesn't mean it's not out there. And sometimes ya just have to be a member of whatever group to have enough experience to see it when it pops up, ya know? Trust me, more often than not when it's something being hurled at you, you in fact know it when you see it.

If you look at the examples the caller gives, sure, if it's not happening to you every time one of your hubby's friends or family members drop by, you might think it was "hypersensitive" of her. However, how many times in your home where you should be comfortable, would it take for you to start to feel demeaned with talk of how "you people...", with the unsaid but underlying tone and inference that 'your people' are somehow so inexplicably different (read, less than) than s/he is? Twelve times? 67? 392? How long would you be ok with that shit, under your roof? While you clearly don't have the skills to address it, perhaps in fear of feeding into the negative stereotypes the speaker of such comments already holds about you and your people, and as the man who loves you does nothing. How long Dr. Laura?

Asking about something ya don't understand is fair game. However, there are differences in both the tone and substance of questions. It's the difference as vast as a guy who dated me almost because I was a brown girl, as if it was something new and cool to try because a brown girl must be alllllll kindz a different from any other girl. And dating a guy who is with me and I happen to be a brown girl. Do ya see the difference? I donno. Maybe you don't, but anyone who's been in similar shoes as me totally sees the variance in the two.

And then the n-word...

Ugh.

Personally, I am not a user of, or believer of anyone using that vile word. Anyone. But I don't run the world, and people have this thing called "free will" that allows them to do stuff and junk. Even stupid stuff and junk.

I never understand why so many people get their feathers in a ruffle about why it's inappropriate for them to use it, yes, even when they think it's 'good natured'. Whateverthefuck that is? It's like sayin' your sister is a bitch. *You* can say it because she's your sister. But is it ok with you if I say your sister is a bitch? No. When someone else says it, 'dems fightin' words. If one of your fellow fans of your favorite sports team rail against them, among yourselves it's acceptable, but when the fan from your rival team says the same things, it's likely gettin' to be about ass whoopin' time, right? Again, if Double D, who spent a brief time in the seminary out of high school, says something negative about the church, that's allowable, but I'm not ok with someone of another faith berating the church. How's that such a hard concept to fathom? It's not a tremendously difficult concept to accept, even if it's not fair, right?

As a sidenote, and in the name of clarity, of all of the black (brown, light taupe, et al) people I know, not a one of 'em uses the n-word. Perhaps this is an indication that you're listening to too much rap and watching too much Def Jam, neither of which are an accurate representation of the experience of most b,b & l.t. people in our nation. No more so than every white Southerner being a redneck, as much as Jeff Foxworthy would lead non-Southerners to believe, or that everyone who listens to country music has served time in the pokey, has a cheating spouse, a bird dog, has been hit by a train, goes by the nickname Bo (or Beau) and has a drinking problem. Surprise!

No one who listens to your words/full commentary takes you out of context. We all get your context. We just think it's just stupid is all. After you announced the end of your radio show, you mentioned that you were going to concentrate on "regain(ing) [your] first amendment rights." Much like your right to free will, you have your 1st Amendment Rights. No one is stopping your ability for stupid. But no one has to like it either. And everything has consequences, even when you don't like 'em. I don't know a soul who is "demonizing whites". I do however know a lot of people with a lot of different skin colors who demonize and do not tolerate stupid.

Lastly, "white me can't jump", isn't funny. Not necessarily due to it's racial overtones, but because it simply ain't fuckin' funny. Maybe when Woody Harrelson still had hair and Wesley Snipes had no IRS problem, it was, but here, in 2010, I assure you, no one finds it funny, regardless of skin hue.

Non listener, zero time caller,
BBG


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Saturday, August 21, 2010

~8/21




God love him.

When I swung over yesterday to wish Dad a happy birthday, as I am going out of town today on a wee adventure, he apologized that we haven't been able to go shooting my rifles and shotgun. Now the reason he hasn't arranged a shootin' trip with me is that he had peeper surgery earlier in the year and his one eye isn't good enough quite yet to aim up with a weapon at his shoulder. But he did follow it up with the fact that we could go pistol shootin' any ol' time as he can adjust his stance to be able to work things fine with his good peeper. How funny is that?!? Totally willing to hit the range if we go Glock. Pretty awesome for 75 huh?

Happy Birthday to my Dad!


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Wednesday, August 18, 2010

~The Blind Side

Well.

There I was, cuddled up after a loooooooong ass day, with Double D. We had been watching tv until I noticed his faint snore. That's when I realized that only I was "watching" tv.

Then I see his hand start to raise up and then all of the sudden I see a finger heading straight towards my eye. I tried to blink it closed, which according to the laws of central nervous systems, gravity and sheer will, should have gotten my right peeper closed in nanoseconds.

But what really happened was that my all seeing orb witnessed Double D pokin' me in the fuckin' eye!

He was trying to rub or scratch his eye. Granted our faces were close, but he tried to poke my eye out!!! At least that's my version of the story.

I started laughing because immediately after he did it he roused and got alllllll, "what?!? Did I just poke you in the eye?!? Oh my God, I'm sorry!!", leaving me of course telling him, "whatever. I know you spent all day figuring out how you were going to blind me" and asking why he'd tried to Richard Rameriz me?

And in all of my awfulness, the more he felt bad and apologized the funnier I thought it was. And then the giggles settled in. Oh. My.

Oh well, while a poke in the eye did not feel good, I'm thinkin' next time I wanna do sumthin' and he's on the bubble, a reminder of when he tried to make me one of the patch kids will sway things my way so not a total downer...



Random, now that I'm thinking of patches...

Once upon a time I was driving downtown on one of the freeways and took note of the vanity plate on the car in front of me. It simply said: 1 I ...Hummmmmmmmmmm, I can remember thinking. Until I passed him and glanced to my right to see hoss toolin' down the road rockin' a patch. One eye. Now that's a sense of humor!


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Monday, August 16, 2010

~Whaaaaaat Is Happening?!?



I found myself once again in proximity to another strangely pink vehicle.

Who are these pink car people?

And why are they stalking me?


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Sunday, August 15, 2010

~I'm In

Whaaaaaaaaaat?

There's a movie with Dolph Lundgren, Randy (The Natural) Couture, Bruce Willis, Stone Cold Steve Austin and Jason Statham?!?

How in the world did I not know about this until now?



Certainly, there must be Oscar buzz about such a flick filled with soooooo much testosterone-y goodness.

Is my interest in this movie sumthin' that puts my girl card in jeopardy?


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Tuesday, August 10, 2010

~Way To Keep It Weird Ohio!

I know people from outside of the area tend to believe Ohio is nuthin' but cows intermingling with cars in downtown's of cities strewn about the state. Y'all think everyone ambles along down to the mercantile in our bib overalls and are sustained on a diet of corn, or what the Indians call maize. (Who says advertising doesn't work? All these years later pretty much anytime I say or hear corn, in my mind I always conclude the utterance of the word corn with, "the Indians call it maize". On the other hand, perhaps not so effective, as I can not recall what the product was that tag line was hawking. Oh well...)

Most people visiting or relocating to our neck o' the woods are pleasantly surprised by how un-Hee Haw like Ohio really is. And it's true. Restaurants run by a Certified Master Chef? (There are only 44 CMC's in the nation) Check. I can be there in 10 minutes. If I had such an inclination, ballet, museums (adult and child varieties) are all within 15 minutes of me. A world recognized zoo (Thank you "Jungle" Jack Hanna) is within spitting distance. And of course, one of the nations best institution of higher education and football-y dominance, The Ohio State University is also in our backyard.

Baby doll, we got it allll!

Including a whole bunch of weird.

Indulge:

Dancers from Ohio strip club protest at church
WARSAW, Ohio (AP) -- The owner of an Ohio strip club and some of his dancers have been protesting at a church that has done the same to them for four years.

Women in bikinis sat in camp chairs Sunday outside the New Beginnings Ministries church in Warsaw, about 60 miles northeast of Columbus.

Tommy George owns the Foxhole strip club in nearby Newcastle. He says he and his employees decided to start coming to the church because they were fed up.

George says the church's pastor, Bill Dunfee, and his congregation have bothered the club's weekend patrons. He says they come armed with bullhorns, signs and video cameras for posting customers' license plate numbers online.

Dunfee calls George a "parasite" and says seeing the protesters outside the church has strengthened the resolve of his flock.





Really now?!? How fuckin' awesome is that? I live in a world where pole dancin' whores (in all fairness, some I'm sure are NOT whores) are takin' it to the streets to protest a church. Outstanding!

O - H!!


In, well Toledo is awwwwwwful close to michigan, news...





toledoblade.com -- The Blade ~ Toledo Ohio

I'm intrigued by the level of nugget jonesing before 10:00 AM (11, or whenever McD's starts serving lunch). That's hardcore, baby. (Sidenote to LEM- consider how this might have played out waaaaaay back in our DQ days? hehehehe)


And in don't run from the po-po news...
WSYX ABC6 On Your Side Top Story - Tasered Car Theft, Burglary Suspect Critical

Ya know a really good way not to get tased, bro? DON'T RUN FROM THE PO-PO! Look. It even fuckin' rhymes. A jingle to help you remember it. I know as sure as the sun came up this morning that somebody's gettin' sued over this. And certainly it's unfortunate for that guy and his family that he sustained such critical head injuries. Howthefuckever, if you're out doing crime and stealing from hard workin' folks who paid to buy their shit and now the po-po are hot on your tail and they tell you something along the lines of, "stop"...I donno. Some times justice (and comeuppance) is a lengthy process and some times it's quick, swift and painful.

Ohio is the heart of it all. The aorta of weird...


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Monday, August 9, 2010

~It's (was) A Grrrreat Day For The Irish

And a pretty fuckin' grand weekend for me!

Awesome, in fact.

Double D and I kicked it off with a Special Day dinner on the grill. Y-U-M! Special Day marking the day we met. See. Just when ya think I'm a complete hardass, heartless skirt, turns out I've got a little bit of gooey in me. Now, kindly get up off the floor where you've likely ended up from your mocking laughter. (Oh, and suck it!)

Saturday took us to the local Irish Festival. Er, factually, Saturday took me to the Irish Fest, Double D who is actually 1/2 Irish went along only in deference to my desires. (I know!! I don't get it either!!) Meanwhile, the BBG who is 0.00% Irish was in hog fuckin' heaven. Surrounded by a good number of things in life I hold dear and have an appreciation for, beer...cotton candy...friends (in the form of Fidget and his lovely girlie, Mindy)...men in kilts...bagpippes...beer...random stranger people...oh, and did I mention beer?

In zero of a surprise Double D quickly embraced his heritage in the form of this sunshine-y Festival. How much so? Well, I never was able to sell him on wearin' a kilt. (Even though I pointed out every third man wearing one and stopped a stranger guy sportin' one and interrogated him on his happiness on a scale of 1 to 10 and why they are sooooo awesome.) But he was inspired by the music we heard at one point so much so that he considered buying a learn to play harmonica kit!

We observed some strangely like bowling, but with a stick Celtic game, watched and learned about linen and the history of Irish weaving, got schooled on the traditions of an Irish wake, saw leather carving and enjoyed fiddle and bagpipe laden bands.

Of course, I must up the fun o' meter and struck up a conversation with some all tatt'd up cat, who now that I think about it may (or may not) have been a skin head or a serial killer, who knows. My assessment is not based on his tats. A pal of Double D's had stopped by earlier in the day to show his two new tats so this all started by me randomly stopping and asking a few tat questions. Ya know, the usual... Did that hurt? ("Hellz yes, anyone who says no is a lying pussy") What do your knuckles say? (A: one hand "lust", the other "pain" and if you interlaced them vertically, "violence") Do you have a tat on your inner lip? This was a trick question on my part. Hoss had a fuckin' 3" straight razor tattoo'd just below his right eye on his cheek bone, of course he did. Something about rapist. No. I sware. Again, I remind you, how could I possibly make such shit up?!?



As we (Double D & I) experienced the same conversation, this is where our versions of the story diverge. He claims I "left him" with said tatt'd up stranger. Here's what really happened: I had had all of the fun I could have with that stranger and the first beeeeeeeeautiful strains of the every drum and piper in the area concert? Display? Showcase? ...started. At which point I said to tatt'd up guy, "sorry, you've lost my attention to the bagpipes" and told him to have a fun rest of his festival and walked the fuck away to see the pipers piping. Double D had a perfect/no fault get away, in my opinion. And that kids, is not the same as leaving a man behind. ...And yes. That's Double D 5 mins after I had departed still chatting with Tattoo...

(File under: What can I say, BBG's LOVE bagpipes!!)

While watching a group of bag & drummers warm up one of the members of the big city PD & FD corps briskly walked by. As we had no itinerary of the festivities and knowing my desire to see a full on show, Double D said, "what time are you guys playin'?" to the kilted up, drumstick carrying public servant who kept haulin'. Then my guy goes, "hey Sarge", that cat stopped on a dime, whipped his head around in our direction and when asked when and where squared us away with the time and place to catch their pipe-y and drum-y goodness.

After the performance I couldn't resist stealin' some souls. Click.



This was nanoseconds before I had to take the opportunity to be snarky to one of the FD members of the corps. He did have a cool ass handle bar 'stashe, but he was still a fireman... What choice did I have?!?

A great day for the Irish.

An awesome day for moi.

And a pretty good/interesting day for Double D.

And to that I say: Hoooooray!!


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Friday, August 6, 2010

~Guys: You're Doin' It Wrong

You know in Backdraft when the Capt'n is teaching the probee about properly putting on his turnout gear? Consider me your Bull. (smack to the back of your head)...You're doin' it wrong.

I'm continually, and unceasingly amazed by the shit about us you have nooooooooooo fuckin' idea about.

Now, I'm not mocking you. Ok. Alright. There might be some mockery involved in the following, but I freely admit there are plenty of dumbass girls roaming the earth. I'm confident that it is not a trait exclusive to the twig and berry set.

But seriously guys. Seeeeeeer ree ous leeee... read and note the following points, as my hand to God, I sware they will increase your success with the girlies, regardless of your goal with them, these lil' nuggets will serve you well.

If your online moniker is any variation, or along the same vein as any of the following: FWB4U... Iamthemanforyou... ICUM4U... StudLee1... Pleaseher123... OralKing69... WhyWhyAgain... LongJohn... TooAwesomeForU... 1Plaaaaya... 2Satisfyurdesires... 1gr8man4u... Shtforbrain... Please know that these are not intriguing, endearing or impressive to us. Your interest level will take a rapid decent the moment we see these. Mostly becasuse when we see those and that's what you're telling us about you- that's your lead, well, we tend to think aiiiirball. Uh, I mean, doooooooouchebag. I don't make the rules. I'm just reporting the facts, boys.

If you are making a girls acquaintance online, an email consisting of, "wanna meet", "I live in (insert city here), but I'd make out [sic] wit ya", "god, great tits" are not exactly the hello, most girls are looking for. In fact, to girls who aren't straight out sluts this is a great way to not get a response at all.

If I know the name of one of your ex's within the first date. Please know that you have already discussed her too much. If she's on your mind for any reason while your out with us, you're 1) not really ready to be dating because whether you'll admit it or not, she still has some kinda hold on you and II) no girl you're out with wants to think she's not the most captivating chick in the room, which is one of the things we think when you bring up some other gal. We've all had other relationships. They all ended, or we wouldn't be chatting. Focus, hoss. Focus.

Secondly, in regards to your past chicks, this is an exxxxxcellent time to use the, "if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all" rule. No matter how you phrase it, you breakin' bad about your ex, for whateverthefuck reason, doesn't make us think she's unreasonable/stupid/psycho. It make us think you are. And again, that you're still tied up in her. (Are the kool kidz sayin' that these days?) Neither of which are on most skirts most wanted list. The guys we find attractive are the guys who don't bad mouth their ex's and show a modicum of respect for their former partners. It shows maturity, the ability to move on, and civility. The opposite of love isn't hate, it's indifference. Plus, what makes you think we want to hop in line to be the next girl you're trash talking?


Oh, and also, when you tell us that you attract batshit crazy and you try to convince us about the laundry list of past girlies who were all batshit crazy. Well, let's just say our last names don't have to be Sipowicz or Holmes to deduce that the steady constant, and likely true owner of the batshit crazy is, well, you. Or as one of my besties, Lomp Somp puts it, "or you are making them batshit crazy". (Preach on toots!)

Know the difference between a booty call and a date. To a degree, we share the blame on this one, but a lot of you guys have gotten waaaaaaay lazy in dating and wooing girls. The quality girls are not going to go along with your quasi interested bullshit. Leaving you with the sub par set and wondering why you can't find a good girl. If you want a USDA Grade A girl, show up. Bring your A game to impress us. If you're not, some other smart guy is. It's not fair, but we're girls, we own the boobs, we have tons of options. Always. The only way to win us is to out smart, out last and out play the other options, if'n you wanna be the sole survivor.

Don't drink wine coolers. It's never, ever a do.

The more your describe yourself as good looking or attractive, the less we think you are.

Also, the more you chat up your car, your job, your boat, your bank account, your investments, your (insert your boasting shit here), the more a girl worth her salt finds you to be an insecure ass. Conversely, this is a great tactic to draw in the gold digging, shallow sort of broad. A real deal kind of gal, likes you for who you are, not any thing you've got.

Anytime you tell us things like, we're too good for you, or you're not good enough for us, know that if you've uttered that more than 3x, we seriously start to wonder if it is indeed true. More times than not, after further consideration, the answer becomes yes. It comes off weak, and if you're not strong with yourself, what makes us think you'll be able to be strong for us?

Don't be a dog. We already have one. Most girls do not want a guy they can run. We also don't want to be run by you. Find a spot in the relationship/manly DMZ and stay there. Tipping to far into either the Land of Doormat or the Republic of Overbearingdom and we will quickly revoke your visa and banish you to the Singledom Kingdom.

If you're touching base 6 weeks after the last contact you can not be pissy that we are not longer available to you. Girls regardless of our fabulousness, great or small, have loads of boy options. Whether we exercise them or not is a different story, but it's fool hardy to assume that we somehow have nuthin' better to do than to be keeping our dance card open for you. I'm no Beyonce, I'm not sayin' ya gotta put a ring on it, but you do gotta make her know you're interested. If you're not, rest assured some guy is.

Oh, and when they do and you are informed that she's no longer on the market or available to you, howz about remembering said, 'you snooze/you loose' rule and acting with a modicum of class. A lil', and even half hearted, "good luck with that" will serve your cause much better than, "do you have any single girl friends?" It's the difference between being thought of as an option at a later date if the opportunity presents itself, or being thought of as a dick. Your choice.

The biggest piece of advice I can offer was actually given to you by the great Charlie Pride. His country gold goodie, 3 step program still holds true. It will keep you out on good footing with most girls in most situations.

1) Kiss your angel good morning.
2) Let her know you think about her when you're gone.
3) Love her like the devil when you get back home.



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Tuesday, August 3, 2010

~Thinking Of A Friend

Two in fact. My old coworker and current friend, Jan and her daughter, Lisa. Today would have been Lisa's birthday. Jan is the 'good egg' sort. One day at work she presented me with a griddle, after hearing me tell a tale of cooking one of my world class grilled cheese sandwiches in a pot.

Being 1/2 boy, making a sandwich in a pot never troubled me, and using a big pan for one grilled cheese seemed stupid. Actually, in my own warped way, I kinda took pride in it. But Jan wasn't havin' any of that and wanted me to have the proper cooking surface. Every time I use it or see it in the, I donno, cookware hold-y drawer under the oven, I think of her kind, funny spirit.

Some time after working with Jan, her daughter Lisa, or Liesele, as I was fond of calling her, came to work in our office. That girl was my kinda girl. Funny, smart and caring. She was quick with a laugh, both at herself and others, a trait I always dig in a person. And kind and thoughtful too. She was devoted to her young family of her hubby and their two little boys.

11 months ago she was killed in a crash while riding on a friends motorcycle when they were hit from behind by a dump truck.

It's been a lot of new firsts for her mom and their family. First Christmas without her, first Mother's Day without her and now her birthday. Perhaps it's something I'm so cognizant of because I'm in the midst of experiencing my own firsts, without Papa, but today they are on my mind.

It's just unnatural for a parent to bury a child. A loss I can't fathom. When I think about it, I know far too many parents who are in that painful club.

I also find myself thinking of the truck driver. From what I gather he wasn't chemically impaired and didn't have a driving record riddled with infractions. Sounds like it was a moment of carelessness or that split second of not paying full attention that we've all done a million times without (thankfully) such tragic consequences.

He's had a year of first too. I can't imagine how it must weigh on your soul to wake up each day knowing that you are responsible for taking the life of a young mother and daughter everyday, let alone on days like this.


Leeeeeesill, you are missed, but not forgotten.

Jan, my love is being sent your way and to T & the boys. I'm also including a little extra strenght for the day.


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Monday, August 2, 2010

~My 2nd Ever Trip To The Fair

I went to the fair once. That was a gazillion years ago, with LEM & her hubby, Evil E. I never went back, so there, theeeeeere's the level of my interest in the fair. Now, you know I'm totally diggin' Double D if I'm all like, "yeaaaaaah, I'm goin' to the fair with ya!"

And while that is very much true, he also made the offer appealing to me by presenting the opportunity for blood shed and cotton candy. I gotta give it to him, he knows the audience he's workin' with. Plus, the morning we were going, I saw a story on the local AM news and spied these kids runnin' around with a, well, what I called, a Chiquita crown. Which apparently, I say wrong because Double D had nooooooo idea what I was sayin' as I said it. I'm all like, a crown, a crown!!-- now making a placing a crown on my head like gesture before he understood. Evidently, a Chiquita 'crayon' didn't seem sensical to him when I was sayin' it...

I knew I had to have one of those atop my dome!

I think you know, I did.



And you, of course, know I made Double D don one too.



File under: Yep, somebody's a good sport.

Other wanderings brought me the adventure of the State Troopers fake drunk, fake FST. Awesome. I'm in. First the Trooper makes you walk a line of tape on the floor, heel to toe. Honestly, who am I kiddin' here? I'm supremely klutzy. Practically every week I discover some bruise that I can no more explain than I can explain quantum physics, so just the stone cold sober walkin' o' the line was probably a bit sketchy to begin with. But then they put these drunk goggles on ya that distort your sight to what must be a 0.666 level. They were crazy. So as any one like me would do, I managed to set my toe on the start of the line and then I looked straight ahead and just heel toe'd it the best I could. The other people tryin' were looking at the line and gettin' all kindz a fucked up as they tried to stay on the line. While I prided myself on being a pretty good and crafty fake drunk walker, Double D accused me of cheating. Trooper said walk the line, Trooper didn't say look at the line. Cheatin' or being smart? You be the judge.



(Me, gettin' all Johnny Cash wit it and walkin' the line, baby!)



(See what happened when you tried to look at the line?!?)

There were a lot of, well, I don't know how to say it other than to say it, an overabundance of short armed people there. Do they have Salute to Short Armed Individuals day at the fair? I easily saw 5 people with teeny tiny appendages with varying degrees of fingers. There. Again, I don't know what else to say, I'm just reportin' the Fair experience...

The Fair also taught me how indiscriminately and inappropriately people choose to tat themselves up. It's not like I'm morally opposed to tattooing. I don't have one, but to each their own. Q: What the fuck do I care? A: I do not. But I saw some things that were the epitome of 'well, that's bad idea'. Bad ideas in bad places on bad bodies. People, I implore you-- think before you ink!

The potential blood shed was in the form of boxing. I enjoyed it, it seems when you don't know the person boxing, it's far more fun to watch as people get jabbed and hooked.



While I had a good time watching boxing, it did create a, 'he's on my list' moment. It was the James Buster Douglas boxing doohickey, but you know who wasn't there on the final day? Yeah, that's right, Buster Douglas. Really? It's your event and you're no where to be found so that I could take my picture with you? Pfffffft... He's now on my list and I'm now holding a grudge against Buster. I imagine this news makes him quake in his shoes.

I also had a chance to see the butter cow. 2,000 lbs o' butter.



I certainly don't know, but I like to think a merry band of people holding warm crusty rolls and/or cob's o' corn line up at the end of the fair to "dispose" of the butter cow. It only seems right, like the proper way for it to fulfill it's buttery bovine destiny.


My very 1st ever deep fried Snickers:



It was tasty. I can't say I'd go outta my way to get one, but I enjoyed it. At least I can check off my list of To-Do: 'eat sumthin' weird deep fried'. Check.

In addition to some of the people I share my state with, perhaps the strangest thing I saw was this:



What is it? Well, I believe the old adage of, 'fuck if I know', applies here. Double D asked the woman manning the booth, who was apparently selling some sorta book. About what? We could not precisely ascertain. Double D kept trying to make sense of the words forming in her mouth, but I quickly went to the, "oh, I gotta get this for my what the fuck file" place in my mind and started clickin' away. You're welcome.

Thank you Ohio State Fair, for a very interesting and entertaining day of people watchin', nutritionally sketchy eatin' and short armed appreciation. It was indeed a freaky (or perhaps, freak laden) deeeelight. See you again some day.
Love,
BBG


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