Thursday, October 28, 2010

~For Or Against

I mean this with the utmost respect and I wanna make this clear, I am not making fun of cancer. As you know I lost my Papa earlier this year to the despicable disease. I hate cancer and have empathy for any person/family battling it.

With that said, something has been popping up lately that has been stickin' in my crawl.

Exhibit A):

Thank you people of the world for doing things to raise money to eradicate cancer, or at a minimum find a way to meaningfully treat it and increase it's survivability. Kudos.

The fundraiser cited above is an annual cruise chocked full, in this case, of Buckeye fans, players and icons. (...Yeah, I said icons. For you non Buckeye fans:
1) Fools!!!

II) Didja ever hear of a two time Heisman winner from any other school? Uh-huh, Archie Griffin. Boo ya. And duffer Jack Nicklaus. Even if you don't like golf, or him, the Golden Bear is an icon. Chair throwin' Bobby Knight and Billy Martin firin' George Steinbrenner. Buckeye icons. Author James Thurber. Buckeye literary icon. To name a few other Buckeyes, who hold icon distinction. I don't know who is scheduled to be on board of this years cruise, but several of the aforementioned icons may not actually be on the cruise, mainly because they are dead.)

My only issue with the, otherwise positive objective of raising money cruise, is it's moniker.

Cruise for cancer?

No thanks.

Why would one want to rally for cancer? I could fully support a cruise against cancer, although I still wouldn't plan on takin' the cruise. A cruise to fight or cure cancer, all the better. Frankly, the Cruise to Cure Cancer has much better alliteration, and is more accurate.

It's not even just the Buckeye CFC. Every time I grocery shop, some cashier is trying to get me to buy a paper ribbon or flower for cancer.

Enough is enough.

I am anti cancer. Not for it.

A quick Googling found other offenders...




Wednesday, October 27, 2010

~Flu Shot


P.S. A squeamish Double D had to leave the room as Mom poked me in the arm with the syringe.

P.P.S. Pumpkin fudge is not very good. In it's defense, I don't care for pumpkin pie that much either, soooooo....


Monday, October 25, 2010

~Dear Buckeyes

Dear Buckeye's~
Thanks for the 49 to zip win over Purdue this past weekend. And for not making me go down to campus to torch a couch.

P.S. Every week more and more like him. I'm just sayin'...


Sunday, October 24, 2010

~No Soup For You

In less than 30 days, give or take, the creepin' crud has taken over Double D's immune system. Afucking-gain. Causing a wicked case of the "I'm too hot"/"I'm too cold"s. Accompanied by a stuffy nose, headaches and other glories signifying the antithesis of the, 'enjoy your days off' vibe I had anticipated the next 48 hours looking like.


The moment I discovered his ill state this morning, I thought this is exxxxxxactly why I'm getting my flu shot ASAP. Double D doesn't believe in the flu shot, which is why he'll be sick all winter long, apparently. The only reason I haven't had mine yet, is because I just stopped coughing from our September colds a little more than a week ago. We should feel good when we get our inoculations.

Now I have a headache. I'm hoping it's due to the impending rain and not an impending cold/flu, whatever, I don't even know the difference. Feelin' crappy is feelin' crappy, ya know? Almost, what difference is it's moniker, right?

For the record, I have provided him with soup. (Thank you Campbell's chicken & rice) As long as I'm not sick myself in the next few days, I'm off to get my shot.

Wait. Is that my throat feelin' funny? FUCK!!!


Thursday, October 21, 2010

~The Great Pumpkin Festival

The other day when we devised our plan to get 'Round Town bound, to the biggest pumpkin show in the area, (held annually in Circleville since 1903) I recounted my tenure as the Great Pumpkin.

Mom made me wicked cool costumes when I was a kid. Alright, even after I technically/chronologically outgrew the term, "kid". One of which was a pumpkin costume. The first year it was indeed of the Charlie Brown vein. Sweet, cute and fantastic.

Several years later, when it made it's second (or was that 3rd?) appearance, it had taken a turn towards the debaucherous.

I put on my beloved black cowboy boots-- (Yes world, the BBG has owned cowboy boots...) which tickled me because it made me, the Great Country Pumpkin. As the evening wore on and the alcohol was filtered through my system, I became The Great Drunken Pumpkin. (You can find a glimpse of this finely crafted costume included in the Abandoned Babys Are A Buzz Kill & Other Minutiae/January ott ten, if'n your so interested.)

Today found me sportin' the following:

...Sooooooo the conversation when Double D saw me in my intended festive headgear went a lil' like this:

Double D: (eyebrows raised) Really?

BBG: Really.

God bless him for already knowin' fighting with this is futile, unless it's some kinda real thing, that truly requires a discussion and persuasion. Otherwise, it's just easier, with the same result, to go along with the program. Gold Star Double D!

Off we set for the 104th pumpkin fest. Just a BBG wearin' a pumpkin hat and equally as festive orange jacket hurling down the highway. We arrived to a, um, what most people would call, a cluster fuck. The rual city was not designed, back in the day, to accommodate the estimated 400,000 attendees and vehicles.

Parking was a terrible situation. It took us under 45 minutes to get there, it took 45 minutes to find a place to park for fucks sake. To my credit, I wasn't even gettin' testy. I expected as much, so I was cool like a cuke. My bladder, however, was an entirely different situation. Compounded by the fact that I'd downed a Dew on the drive there.

When we finally found parking and I stood up I knew I'd never make it to any bathroom opportunity on the way to "downtown" Round Town. Decisions had to be made. Actions had to be taken. And the next thing I know I'm having a conversation with Double D about whether beside a building next to a tree was a better option than doors open between the next parked car. (Thank you sketchy kidneys.)


Public urination completed we made our way to the fest and I found myself happily pleased with the lil' pumpkin world I'd stepped into. A treat after my last fest experience.

Pumpkin what you want... ice cream, bread, burgers, donuts, seeds. You name it they had it. Along with all other delicacies that make festivals grand; steak on a stick, cheese on a stick, deep fried cheese cake on a stick. And the grandaddy of 'em all...COTTON CANDY!! The pumpkin thing I bought was pumpkin fudge. I donno. I felt like I had to try sumthin' pumpkin. Fudge seemed like it. But I haven't been about to open the package yet...

Maybe I shoulda purchased the seeds. But I've already had pumpkin' seeds before. Nope, fudge was the right choice. (Hopefully)

Tons of rides. None of which we partook in. I was havin' a nice day. I didn't want to risk death by carney.

I spied pumpkins of all sizes and varieties.

Big assed:

The biggest at the festival weighed in at 1,622 lbs. Random: "They" say these ginormous pumpkins can grow upto 30 lbs a day!

Teeny tiny's:

Weird ass:

And of course, spelling gourds:

(See O-H-I-O spelled out in the green ones?)

There was even a pumpkin tree:

There was a parade o' bands that evening. I've never seen soooooo many bands. Man, some high schools really allow their cheerleaders and/or drill teams to wear some hoochy ass shit. I saw some pretty whore-y uniforms on high school age girls. They'd have been whore-y on like NFL cheerleaders, grown ass women, but they were extra inappropriate on teens, in my opinion. And my parameters of acceptability, well, lets face it, are pretty wide in breadth and depth, ya know?

Unfortunately for you my photos turned out for shit. Fortunately I was able to (somewhat) capture this lil' ditty. One of the participating schools was called Marion Franklin. Not interesting or important, other than the fact that it meant the tuba people carried logo's that looked like this:

How great do you think it must be to have the opportunity to carry a big ol' "MF" sign?!? Awesome, right?

Also in attendance was The Ohio State University Marching Band (aka: TBDBITL). They were superb. And even put on a concert after the end of the parade.

Much to my delight, I was able to secure my last cotton candy of the season.

Well, there you go. It was just like you were there, huh? Without the public peeing. You're welcome!



...Which is only mildly humorous to those who remember their roman numerals...



Who'da thunk it?

That's all, resume your day.

Oh, and thanks for reading 100 craptastic entries!


Wednesday, October 20, 2010

~Dad Dinner


I have not resulted to cannibalism.

But we did get together for dinner with Dad this week. Max & Slerma's. I hadn't been there in a long ass while and had forgotten how tasty their burgers are. Yum. Maybe I enjoyed it so much because the last "burger" I tasted was that Boca burger that as we all know now, thanks to KCB tastes like butt.

I donno.

I've never seen Dad take such a shine to a guy before. They've got that po-po thing in common. Maybe Dad's just glad he ain't a firefighter? I donno.

Nice dinner. Nice visit.

Q: How is it that Dad's glasses are so much more hip than mine?!?


Sunday, October 17, 2010

~Game Day Highlights (OSU vs WI)

Going into game day, the Buckeyes were ranked (AP) numero uno. Highlight.

Somp was in from LA, fun and frivolity were on tap with the planned game watching/drinking/visiting with people I don't see nearly enough. Super highlight.

Spied this wicked cool tricked out VW Beetle:

Surprise light.

Again we found ourselves with one of those outstanding days I love during the fall. Sunny. Crisp ass, not a cloud in sight, blue skies. ThankyouMotherNature light.

I had already found myself uneasy heading into this game. Those tree trunks those cheese heads grow up there are bastards on the field. And that Camp Randall is a bitch. I've never been, I've been to Madison (interesting place on the map), but not to see a game. But I've heard from only everyone I know, who has been there to a game, that it is practically hell on earth. badger fan is of the frozen marsh mellow, coin and/or battery thowin' ilk.

I'm 100% confident that there are asshole OSU fans roamin' the globe, but as a mob our SOP isn't throwin' shit at your melon, ya know? The worst thing I'm doin' when I'm reeeeally trash talkin' another team's fan is stick my tongue out. Sure, it might be accompanied with a "you low down and dirty (insert team name here) muther fucka". (It's also accompanied with a smile. I'm not a complete bitch.) But I've never tossed anything towards a dome! I'm just sayin'...

Speaking of tongues...

Somp's famous butt tongue. No matter how old I get, or how long I've known her, that is always funny to me!

It's a rough environment. And even a #18th ranked Wisconsin can give a team t-r-o-u-b-l-e (my Travis Tritt homage for the day, check.).

I started the day before, with this FB posting:

Moi: Ok Bobby Brown, (aka: Terrelle Pryor. I'm tellin' you he's lookin' more like the ex New Edition-er every week.) get this done tomorrow. Camp Randall can be a bad, bad place, but please make it your prerogative to pull out a W. Deal? ♥ ~BBG

BC: Wisconsin has beaten the following: Austin Pea,San Ho Say, Nevada Las Vegas, the dirt devils, and Minnetonka - and they lost to the only team they played with a winning record - by ten points. sleep well brown girl.

With his ability to always know what's what, I took solace in his words and dialed it down a notch. (I'm not holding sumthin' outta your control against you, BC)

Things started out well. National Anthem was played. No one died running outta the tunnels. About the time the clock on the field actually started, things took a significant downward trajectory, as the badgers scored on the kickoff. Yeah. So there's that.

It just got worse and worse form there. At some point I turned and told KCB that I just wanted to break my beer bottle on the side of the table and start jabbin' at people. To KCB's great credit, she didn't even slide her chair over even a wee bit. KCB is fun. The game? Well it was just an awful, awful game for a Buckeye fan. Good grief Charlie Brown.

And because the final score put a decisive W in the Wisconsin column, that now concludes my highlights of the game.

I did take the opportunity to try my very first bite of a Boca burger. As I expressed at the time, under the truthful influence of Beam, "if it stood between me and outright starvation, I'd eat it, but otherwise, I'd never have another bite." Under the grasp of bloody Mary truthiness, KCB chimed in that they taste "like butt". As I chewed and swallowed, I couldn't really disagree with her.

...I'd eat it before I'd starve, probably isn't the best possible tag line for Boca.

As for the outcome of the game? It both sucks and blows. Hangin' with so many of my favorite peeps, however, was deeeelightful.

Note to Buckeyes:
Please win. You know what it's like around here. One loss practically kills us. Granted, it wasn't to michigan, which sends the city into a great depression lasting months. But serious biz, get it together now. *I'm not too old to set a couch on fire.

(* Probably)


Friday, October 15, 2010

~Shame On The Italians

I suggested we go to the local Italian Festival last weekend.

A festival is usually fun.

Usually, festivals involve the ability to freely drink a beer while milling about in the open. Bonus. Especially festivals involving a parish or an ethnic group with a large percentage o' Catholics. What can I say? We like to include booze in our events. I take it as a sign, much like Ben Franklin, that it's proof that God wants us to be happy. It's how we roll. Wake? Booze. Baptism? Booze. It's a part of our culture.

And festivals usually have cotton candy. Those criteria and people watchin'? I'm in. Plus it offered the ability to complete Double D's heritage tour, as I had named it when we went to the Irish fest a few weeks? months? ago.

Double plus, they were supposed to be making the worlds biggest meatball. The fine record keepin' folks at Guinness were going to certify it and everything. You know seeing anything abnormally big or small, except for people, is right up my alley.

Weather was expected to be beeeeeautiful for October in these parts, with highs running about 85. I just knew it was gonna be a good way to spend some time on a weekend afternoon, right?


But what it reeeeeally was, was disappointing.


Fuckin' disappointing.

After our arrival, I actually felt a tinge of embarrassment that I had put it into play.

The first thing one notices is that it smells like sewer. Pleasant.

And wouldn't ya think there'd be like 987 delicious, delectable Italian food offerings? Well, you like me, would have found yourself sadly disappointed and wrong. I had a pretty craptastic piece of pizza. I saw several people carrying big ass bags of kettle corn. Some of them were just slightly larger, taller than the bags they carried. Do people really eat that much kettle corn?

Even the booths selling their wares were less than desirable. Aren't there a ton of t-shirts, albeit t-shirts I wouldn't wear but am intrigued by enough to walk by and look at,that should be sold there? Shouldn't I see some Italian horn necklaces? A shop of all things Italian? Nada.

My one highlight, other than the company I kept, was getting my picture taken with one of those statue guys. Why? I donno. I thought it would be fun.

Honestly, he kinda creeped me out. But there I am doin' sumthin' new that day.

In other meatball, and disappointing news, the Italian festival promised me the world's largest meatball.

They missed the record by 94 lbs. It was still big enough to become the largest meatball in the U.S. In sad fashion, in my opinion, there was no plan to share the meatball... Seems like they could have sold servings off or donated to some shelter or sumthin', but "they" don't let me run the world, so what do I know?

Fuck you Italian fest. I'm never going back. I guess from here on out I stick with the Irish, at least they know how to show me a good time, and cotton candy.


Wednesday, October 13, 2010

~Manwich: The Update

Hamburger meat aquired. Check.

Meat browned. Check.

Manwich added. Check.

Buns toasted. Check.

It is a Manwich night!

Just before dinner Double D's brother gave him a ring.

A few minutes later Double D tells me he's got my daymaker. Sold. I'm in. Tell me more.

Whilst chatting with his bro, who lives outta state, his brother mentioned that a few days ago he had tried to make Manwich, and that he too was surprised to find as he poured the tangy can into his pot, that it was sans meat.

Soooooooooooooo SUCK IT!!

I am not the only one unfamiliar with Manwich! File under: mysery looooooves company.

Note to Manwich people:
You should really explain your product better in your marketing and advertising.


~Laugh O' The Day: Sloppy Joe

A few weeks ago Double D mentioned that he liked sloppy joe. Personally, I say "ick", and of course make a matching ick/boo-boo face. But, ya know, if putting a can o' Manwich in the grocery cart makes my guy happy, guess who's fuckin' putting some Manwich in her cart?

If there's sumthin' I can do, in my power to make that guy happy, I'm gonna give it a whirl. I think we allllllll know that Double D has his hands completely full with all of this. And I see him tryin' all the damn time to do things within his power to make me happy. It's wildly awesome the degree to which he consistently does, says, makes happen shit he knows I want, like, or need. Most impressively, even if I haven't actually expressed a need.

Oh, I totally fuckin' deserve such goodness.

I'm not being cocky. We all deserve our mate-y, boyfriend (...God! You know how much I hate using that term, but "manfriend" isn't a thing. ...Yet. --I keep tryin' to get it started. "Boyfriend", after a certain age, I find creepy. I mean, he's older (3 years) than me. I'm no Mary Kay Letourneau! Younger guys just aren't even my thing, never have been. I babbling?), significant other, partner, or is that only used between gays and business, and I guess, study colleagues? Or my all time least favorite, lover. (Ugh. Just got chilly willies up and down my spine even just typing it, bleck.) That person should treat ya like you're pretty fuckin' close to the center of importance in their universe.

Let's face it, if'n your older than 22 ya ought to know that every guy (person) you meet isn't worthy of your grade A, number 1, gold star, very best. Too cold? Sorry. I'm a big ol' flake, but I'm also kinda equally as pragmatic and cut to the chase.

It's just true. In large part how much effort I'm willing to put into anyone is pretty conditional. Although I know that's sumthin', people in general like to think of in love and relationships as not being based on. The bandwagon is unconditional. Guess what? I ain't exactly the think and see things like the masses sort. I'm in charge of me. I make up my own fuckin' mind and I say, loving relationships, outside of immediate family, are predicated on conditions. And even further, feel they, indeed, should be. If you don't, bully for you. Start your own (insert your XYZ) word blog. I know plenty of people who are far older than double deuce who still don't know that fact. Maybe they "know" it but, for whatever reason aren't able to recognize it in real time and/or act upon discovering such facts. If everyone got that concept and gave their best to those really worthy of their best-y goodness, and religated those who aren't worth your extra best, special efforts to just that, people would be happier and have healthier relationships in their lives.

Clearly, I digress. Eh, kinda... Kinda not, really.

Back to my original thought, so yeah, I'm tryin' to make my man, who is deserving of my best efforts happy with a lil' Manwich. What do I know about Manwich? Uh, well, yeah, nuthin'. I cannot say I've actually had Manwich before. I have had sloppy joe, and ya know what I don't like? Sloppy joe.

He's picky. I'm picky, so I figured it made a purrrrrfect opportunity to have him happy with some saucy meat based product while I made myself sumthin' I like that I know he doesn't. Win/win in my book, right? I had a few slider buns so he could feel like a giant. (Disclaimer: I don't know that he has any desire whatsoever to feel like a giant via food. But I do, and get a disporportinately large amount of joy from feeling like a giant by havin' lil' food stuffs. Transference?)

He's changing outta his work clothes. I'm all 'bout the bidness of workin' the can opener. Apparently, I eat very, very little food born from a can. But I get the damn thing open and I'm just about to pour it in a pot, when Double D breaches the kitchen and I hear, in a pretty frantic tone, "wait! Wait!!..." And then hysterical, doubling over, cough producing laughter.

Evidently, my ignorance of Manwich was showing. As was my inability to force myself to read directions. As he informed me, after he regained some semblance of composure, Manwich is a DIY project. I erroneously believed that Manwich was a complete meal in a can. A la 'da Chef's unidentifiable dense meat-y pillows of goodness known to most as meat ravioli. But nooooooo. What's in the can? A ketchup-y substance to be mixed with your cooked hamburger. Hummmmmm..... Who knew?

It's true you learn sumthin' new every day. And if'n your lucky, ya laugh your ass off for a few every day. Check.

Grocery List:
-Hamburger meat


Friday, October 8, 2010

~It Means You Don't Have To Say Sorry...

...Frankly, I never understood what the hell that means.

I mean, shouldn't you say you're sorry especially to those you love? But it's a sayin' I've heard all my life, even if I've never seen the movie (or read the book).

So, while, for whateverthehell reason, love doesn't mean you have to say you're sorry, apparently, it does mean you've gotta turn on the heat.

For the past, oh, 20+ years I've steadfastly refused to turn the heat on before November 1. ...Just another in my loooooooong ass list of BBG quirks.

I feel like there should be times of the year when I don't have to be couped up and running some artificial environment inside. I feel like cold weather lasts all winter long and I shouldn't have to yield to it until a reasonable date, like November. October should be turning tepid to cool, but not cold enough to turn the fuckin' heat on. It's my seasonal line in the sand.

Now, there have been years that Mother Nature has had other plans and honestly, I've been pretty fuckin' cold and bundled up to a ridiculous level. But I've always stuck to my BBG rule: 11/1.

Until last week when Double D uttered the words, "tonights gonna be cold, we're gonna have to turn the heat on", as he rubbed his arms in an appropriate shivering motion. I responded with, "reeeeeeally?" Appropriate eyebrow raising included. Granted, the overnight temps were due to be in the low 40's/high 30's in the area. And it had been pretty damn chilly when we'd woken up that morning. But I must admit it took a wee moment for me to process the full thought of, he's right, and there is no real reason we shouldn't be comfortable. I mean, other than my long held self imposed wacky-ness that it's wrong.

With a history goin back more than two decades, I knew that my heart-y acquiescence was surely a sign of the depth of my feelings for ol' Double D.

As I told Donna about the heat having been on, as she wandered the isles of a local WalMart, my story was met with momentary silence and then I heard her say, "hey mister, can you help me up off the floor!" She's one of my very besties and I love her, so I said, "sorry".

Happy Birthday to LDO!

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