Tuesday, November 30, 2010

~The Long And Ramble-y Road

Alright... Only if you really have nuthin' better to do should you start this post. Listen, when even the sharer of the story is tryin' to save you from some oddly appropriate craptastic tale, and the made up word, "ramble-y" is used as a hint in the title, you know you're in for some serious time wasting reading.

You've been warned.

If you're still here, you only have yourself to blame.

Here we go:

Thanksgiving was not as easy or fun as every other Thanksgiving I've had in my life. All these firsts without Papa. Whew. They ain't easy, kids. I know, I'm not the only one in the world to experience such things. But this is pretty much my first experience with such things, so it's all a learning experience to me.

So, here we are doin' Thanksgiving. I pick Mom and her guy up and set off over the river and through the woods to Nana's house. Alright. There was no river or woods involved, just I-70.

Double D was unable to join in due to having to work. Boo. Duty calls and all. Coming from a family of police and police to R.N, and having worked jobs myself where ya worked holidays, it isn't my first day at the somebody not being there rodeo. But still, boo. I don't like when we're apart at all (I know, sappy.), let alone on a holiday, but what can be done, ya know?

After we arrive at Nana's but before dinner, sumthin' was required from the store. Off my Mom's guy and I go. I pull into a parking spot and glance around, as I do, because as you may have already heard, I'm the noticer!! Anyhoo, this trait serves me well because I spy John Legend.

Yup. My crazy assed and adored hometown chocked full o' some of the wackiest cast of characters and situations you have ever seen is also the ol' stompin' grounds of the multi Grammy winning artist.

Now, and this is where you realize, if in fact you haven't sooner, that I am woefully unhip and tragically L7. And really, what says more dazzling square than actually using the term L...7?

My 81 year old Nana is the person who hip'd me to his existence.

Shouldn't by all that is holy, I be the one who is first in on the cool new artist types happening around me? Nope. Apparently not.

So as I say out loud to Mom's guy (who I MUST create a fake name for...), "there's John Legend", as hometown, guy done well puts his grocery cart into the roundup corral. Mom's guy looks over to see him and I say, "...And Nana doesn't like ya!" Not loud enough that Mr. Legend, ney, Stevens heard me. It's not like his head swiveled around and looked my way or anything. But still, it was unnecessary. And maybe a tad Chuck Woolery (aka: mean spirited, wrong, quasi appalling).

(P.S. or, I guess really, M.O.S/middle of script, but that's not really a thing...

Nana doesn't like John Legend. She's told me this on many of occasions in the past. And as recent as a few weeks ago she saw him on sumthin' on TV and tuned in just to see if she'd given him a fair shake or not, and to see if maybe she did like him. Nana's assessment? "I watched 20 minutes or so, and all I learned after what that I still don't like him and that those 20 minutes are now gone and wasted.")

And here's how karma turned right around and immediately kicked me in the ass., for my "And Nana doesn't like you" comment.

My most wonderful umbrella which looks, er, looked like a big ass, bright pink Gerber daisy and made me oh-so happy on a rainy day was all whopper jawed as I opened it.


I really enjoyed that umbrella. Mom got it for me, I remember just where we were that day.

So my mean spirited-ness was rewarded with me losing an item I liked. Perfect. Fuckin' perfect.

Flash forward to later that evening once I'd arrived home. Double D was not quite home yet and I took Uncle John out for his walk to doodle. So there I am, yet again, standing in the rain. Only this time I'm trying to not step on worms in my flip floppy feet (thank you warm Thanksgiving!), while balancing a doodle bag, a smokey treat and my other umbrella, a golf umbrella. Oh, in the dark. So of course I'm wearin' my headlamp (it's dark here by 5ish). Yeah, I'm lookin' like a wackadoo who a random passerby, or noisy neighbor would look at and think, 'well, she shouldn't be in carge of keeping that cute little dog alive!, look.

At some point I give my umbrella a spin and I'm nearly blinded by the two arm that are no longer attached to the umbrella, floating and flinging perilously close to my eye orbs.

So now I started Thanksgiving day with two umbrellas and by 6pm I've go zero fully functional umbrellas. Fanfuckingtastic.

Thanks John Legend and karma.

The next morning I get an early AM call, which is NEVER good. No one ever calls at an ungodly early hour to pass along good news, ya know? It was D calling to let me know that my favorite of she and her hubby's chocolate labs, Gus was going to have to be put to sleep that morning. Apparently she'd uncharacteristically woken up at the ass crack of dawn to find him disoriented and no longer just in an old dog age state that made it apparent that the sad time had come.


Words fail me. It's just another sad thing that's happened this year. There's been a disproportionate of sad things happening both in my life and the lives of some of the people in the world I care most for. And I do not like it.

RIP Gus.

(Gustov ~ October 21, 1997 - November 26, 2010)

Thank you Thanksgiving for being over. Maybe next year we'll have a better go 'round. to run an errand.

Yes. In the rain.

No. I don't have a new umbrella yet.

Again, thanks John Legend and karma.

Thanks a lot.


Thursday, November 25, 2010


I like that we're a people who sets aside a day to be 'thankful'. I mean, really now? How fuckin' awesome is that? 99% of all the other countries don't have such a thing.

It seems, sadly, these days that too much of our society is consumed with the take, take/get, get of life. Too many people I see out there in life don't take the time, energy and effort to recognize what they've got when it's happening.

Me? Not so much. I feel thankful to a bevvy of things and people each and every day. But I'ma noticer. Hell, if GW can be the "decider" I can be the fuckin' noticer. Suck it! Now, look.. You've made me bring a suck it, when I was tryin' to be nice. Uh, thanks for that...

I'm thankful for the happiness, and relative health of the people in my life. And I'm thankful for the (probably) disproportionately high number of people who love me and make my days brighter. I'm thankful for a roof over my dome. I'm thankful for my lil' dog who shares my days (yes, even when he breaks into a drawer and eats my cherry Lifesavers, or decides today is the day he needs to eat some toilet paper).

This year I'm being extra thankful for having Papa in my life for so long. I miss him so much every day since he's been gone, but I also realize how lucky I am to have had him as my Papa, and that I had him until I was this old.

I'm also thankful for the gift of love that the random crossing of paths with Double D has brought me. In the middle of a pretty difficult year, it's be a surprise and a blessing.

May today bring you all safe travels, the company of family and friends, and all of the turkey, laughter and love your body can hold.


Wednesday, November 24, 2010

~TSA Protests

Come the fuck on.

Good enough, some folks don't like the change to TSA's safety proceedures, all of this scanner and pat-down biz. People don't like change. People are allowed to disagree and take issue with stuff. Fine.

America was built on protesting. This for me, this whole thing falls under, 'to each their own', have at it if you feel strongly about sumthin'. My problem is with the way this particular protest is set up. I mean, for fucks sake, if you're gonna protest sumthin' shouldn't it impact the offending party, or concept?

The premise of the protestin' as I understand it is that flyers, specifically today, the busiest travel day of the year, should opt outta the scanners and force TSA to have to give a disproportionate number of time consuming and labor intensive pat-downs.

...But ya see who that hurts? Yeah, Uncle Fred who's just trying to get home and have some turkey. It's your bestie who's done nuthin' but want to spend the holiday with her loved ones who suffers the consequences.

Now how's that sending a message to TSA?

It sends a message that you're an ass who feels it's perfectly acceptable behavior to purposefully inconvenience and delay your fellow man.

But what the fuck difference does it make to TSA? Guess what, they're there alllllllllll fuckin' day. They've got no where else to be until their shift is over. Their families have made arrangements to have Thanksgiving with them after (or before) their shift. They're fine.

Plus, it's not their first day at the rodeo. They are already maxed out on staff, 'cause guess what? It's the busiest day of the year. Q: And really, what's the difference between checkin' 20 passengers an hour or 23? A: None. Ass tired after a shift is just ass tired after a certain point, ya know? It's not like TSA's gettin' paid less because you've managed to bog the system down to a snails pace.

It seems to me the only thing accomplished by this protest is pissin' off other travelers who are not really the target of your ire. And that, I don't get.

Dear Protesting People~
I implore you, pleeeease don't be a dick to your fellow Americans. Allow them as uncomplicated as possible passage to their destination. Figure out another way to send your message of displeasure to the TSA that doesn't include screwin' over the guy in 13A, huh?


Monday, November 22, 2010


So the news just told me we're sitting on murder 93. Is it wrong that my first thought was, "hummm...looks like we're gonna hit 100"?

Obviously, I don't wish death and murder. I'm not murdering anyone. I mean, I haven't had to kill. Yet. Although, many days I do have to use my self restraint to keep from hittin' some asshole in the head with a brick. (<-- this is the main reason I do not own any loose bricks. You'rrrrrre welcome world!)

See Papa understood this. We were once discussing that project where you can swab yourself and send it someplace and they would trace your heritage back to the earliest geographical place of your particular DNA threads origin. Seems kinda interesting. But I said, I'd never do it because just because I hadn't had to commit a crime yet, doesn't mean I'm not gonna have to in the future, and I didn't want my DNA to be out there for the man to get. I'm just being pragmatic.

Mom et Nana rolled their eyes and pish-poshed me, but Papa, Papa winked and gave me a knowing nod.

You just never know what a new day is gonna bring, ya know?

Conveniently, the most dangerous city list came out today and Cbus is #49. St. Louis took the #1 spot with 143 murders in '09. Er, way to represent (?) STL.


Friday, November 19, 2010

~Well. Guess Who's Comin' To Dinner?


Technically, it was lunch.

But there I was, there I was, waiting Double D's arrival after a putting in a few hours, before he left to put in 12 more in the evening. He'd just given me a jingle on his way home to see if'n I wanted any McD's on his way home.

I'ma fan o' the Mighty Kid Meal. It's enough, but not too much.

And ya get a toy.


Then it got all:

Now, Double D NEVER reads this. Can ya blame him? I mean, he has to live the reality, which is this. Why would he want to relive it in online-y detail? He knows 'da World exists. He has read it. He just doesn't tune in regularly. So I know he didn't see my random posting the other day about the McRib. Nor have we had a conversation about said fuckin' McRib. Ever.

So imagine my shock and surprise as I look over as we're puttin' our McD's booty on the table for our nosh and see, not one, but two McRibs!

(McRib came full circle in my life.)

Yes. I tried it. Ya know I had to!

McRib: The Review
In all honesty, I'm not entirely sure what it is. Beef? Pork?

The shaping of it's meaty mass into patty with rib formation, clearly demonstrates the ingenuity that helped us land a man on the moon. The sauce was indeed saucy and it was served in a Ronald approved container. Double D seemed quite pleased after his McRib, so viva al McRib. I however, can not fathom a circumstance under which I will ever again McRibbit.



Thursday, November 18, 2010

~Maybe I Helped

Maybe it's a coincidence. Who the fuck knows.

A million years ago, or July, whatever, some guy tried to steal me from the local BP parking lot. I'm sure he was nice enough. He's a CO at a local pokey. Anyfuckin'hoo, yesterday I'm at said BP when who walks in at the same time I'ma walkin' in? CO guy.

CO guy again hits on me, and I tell him that the first time he saw me was my first date with the man I've been with ever since, so thanks, but no thanks. Just what some guy wants to hear, right? Oh well, I'm an ass. Does that really catch you by surprise?!? I don't mean to be an ass, it just comes sooooo naturally to me.

My being an ass is not really the interesting part of this story, so cat gets in his car and I notice that the oh, so offensive (to me at least) multicolored lei hanging from his rear view mirror was gone. Gone, Baby Gone!! I wondered if my putting my distain for it into the world (Arsenio Hall & Other Things That Make Me Go Hummm.../July), made its current absence happen? Single ladies at gas stations in the Central Ohio area, you're welcome!


Monday, November 15, 2010

~Sooooo The McRib Is Back

I've never had one. Seems hinkey. I'm no health nut. I can build some crazy ass food pyramids, over here. For fuck's sake, Nana made peanut butter fudge the other day, and this evening I've "limited" myself to one piece an hour. For the past 3 hours. Yeah. Instead of dinner. ...And I haven't ruled out a fourth piece in a little bit.

But even to me fake bones made of formed meat-y substances, seems like a baaaaad idea.

People must like 'em McD's keeps bringin' 'em back.

Enjoy, all of you freaky deaky McRib lovers.


Sunday, November 14, 2010

~My New Addiction

Sooooo a big ass thanks to D for making me hip to this site:

If you don't have any pressing engagements, check it out. Enjoy.


Saturday, November 13, 2010

~Da Am...

There is just sumthin' about the sight of my man in a duty belt and kevlar.


Thursday, November 11, 2010

~Veteran's Day

A special Thank You to all who have raised their hand, taken an oath, put on a uniform and served our nation.

Since 1919 America has marked this 11th day of November to acknowledge our Veterans. I love that our country is served and protected by millions of average U.S. citizens who, in this era, have made the choice to potentially put their lives on the line in duty to the rest of us.

Don't get me wrong, our military ain't some utopian grouping. We've done some shady shit under the color of authority, and fatigues. Abu Ghraib, anyone? We should be better than that. If we're gonna tell the world we're better than that, we must actually walk the walk and be better than that. Honestly, I think the vast majority of members of the service are better than that.

The line from Jack Nicholson in A Few Good Men rings true with me. I do, "rise and sleep under the blanket of freedom [they] provide".

Personally, I think our country doesn't take nearly good enough care of our Vets. Their service comes at a high price for their families left home as they are deployed. Worrying if your soldier is alive 24/7 ain't easy on a person. That doesn't even take into account the extra work load left for those at home to absorb in their absence.

Soldiers are returning home with more catastrophic injuries than would have been survivable years ago, and we're not giving them the full support they deserve for their sacrifice. The suicide rate of both active and former soldiers is skyrocketing. Outpacing battlefield death rates, in fact, and we haven't quickly enough, or successfully enough addressed that.

We owe people who serve in our armed forces everything we'll enjoy today. Our every freedom we'll probably take for granted today.

Hopefully we'll all take a moment to remember that our freedom isn't free and thank a Vet for providing it to us.


Wednesday, November 10, 2010

~Happy Birthday U.S.M.C

A lil' musical birthday salute to our U.S. Marine Corps. Semper Fidelis!!

...Or as, I donno, maybe Dad taught me, "Semper Fi, do or die!" I've always had a soft spot for the Marines and Navy. Dad served Marines in Korea, Papa served in the Navy during WWII. Neither of them were the gungho wearin' of logo'd garb, or talkin' about back in the day types. Although, Dad has started flyin' a U.S.M.C. flag in front of his house of late. But I've always had a special affinity for the jarheads and sailors. I'm sure it's kinda like, liking the football team your dad or grandfather rooted for, ya know?

Disclaimer: I have nuthin' against those who serve in other branches. But mentally, they're on my military JV team. A special shout out sorry to my HS homecoming date, who retired outta the Army. I honestly mean zero offense. Really.

Anyhoo, without further unnecessary ado:

HAPPY 235th Birthday U.S.M.C.!!

(P.S. This song also makes me wonder if perhaps, Chely Wright, or whoever the writer of the song is, is a poor driver and that's why she got flipped off? Hummm...)


Tuesday, November 9, 2010

~Just Like Rock Stars

Saturday found me momentarily reliving my youth.

Awwwwww, fuck. Who am I kidding. I relive my youth every morning when my peepers pop open. But this weekend did find me down on campus watching bands, swillin' PBR and foraging for food at the Waffle House at 2am.

A nice contrast to the 25th H.S. reunion bit of info I had received the day before. Holy shit! A quarter of a century?!? Waaaaay to make a BBG feel, er, not young...

I love the even Steven-ness that surrounds us all. The yin et the yang of it. If'n we're able to recognize it.

I'm slapped by the world with the email alerting me that I'm not young. Then given a reminder that I ain't ooooooold.

Off to campus we trekked like the hipster, cool kidz we are. (HA!) The main reason was to see one of Double D's sons, who plays in a band, hubbed in Chicago. It's the second time he's played here since Double D and I have been together. His boy has a really good voice, very talented. I get the biggest kick outta seein' how Double D beams as he plays guitar and fronts the band. I love how, hummm...I don't have a real phrase for it, so I'll make one up-- dad focused he is.

At some point I found myself enjoyin' the show and with it being our "Special Day"-- our monthly reminder of the day we met. It's not like a monthaversary or anything, um, 13. No gifts or anything, just a day that we do what we want. We celebrate by remembering goodness that's happened, or that we've noticed in eachother in the past 30 days. It's just a little acknowledgement of why it's special that our paths have crossed, and reminder that we're lucky. Kinda who knows if we'll be together six months or 6 year from now, but we're happy now. And that's enough to be special. (Should I have issued a sappy alert? Suck it.)

Anyhoo, he's proud of 'em all, his other boy and daughter, but this son is the only one I've witnessed Double D getting to see exercise their artistic muscles live and in person.

We had a grand, grand time. His son's band was awesome. The other two bands were fun and entertaining too. And I'm not generally the, I love life music sort...

The only BBG negative was the size of the crowd. Ugh. I hate being jostled and having people in my bubble, er, personal space, for the uninitiated.

Double D commented on how tall I was in my heel-y boots before we left the house. He's accustomed to me in my warm weather staple, flops. But this ain't my first rodeo. A nearly 6' big brown girl comin' at ya tends to spur crowd movement better than when you're shorter, in flats. Sorry, small fry girls. And guys. I passed by one guy who only came up to my boobs. Sadly, I caught myself putting my hand over his head, ya know, like ya do when kids are scurrying about. As soon as I did it I felt kinda bad, but it was just a reflex...

After we rocked it out we headed to the Waffle House. Helloooooo ham & cheese omelet, hash browns and a vanilla Coke! Food after a few cocktails is always wonderful. I don't know why that is, but it's true. Scrumdillyicious 'fo shure.

(Did You Know? I have my own Waffle House paper hat. It lives over the visor in my ride. Just in case I have some emergency Waffle House hat situation pop up, I guess.)

Some douchebag H3 driver and his merry band of tipsy people came in just before I finished my yumminess, announcing loudly and slurrily, "lets get this party started!" This is when I announced that we needed to scoot, before I wanted to put my fork in that guys eye. (See KidRock, you're not the only one on the brink of badness at 'da House.)

I got to enjoy 1am twice due to the time change. Super.

I got an extra hour of sleep.

We didn't trash any hotel rooms, but otherwise, just like rock stars...

Weird, random:

Dear Stranger Lady at the venue,
It was a slide-y, latch lock. The kind where you slide the doohickey into the metal ring on the wall side of the door. There is no real uncertainty of whether it's locked, or not. It is actually f-o-o-l proof. Really.

So next time, don't be so pissy when someone walks in on you, pants down takin' a tinkle, exposing you to passers' by. Lock the fuckin' door, dumbass. Your embarrassment is your own drunk ass fault, not mine. It's a door not a stall. Nobody knocks at a door. We can't see your feet under the door. We twist a handle. If it's locked we step back and wait. Sometimes we do a lil' 'don't tinkle now dance/hop around'. But if it twists, we open it. 'Dems tha rules toots.


Friday, November 5, 2010

~And Now It Starts

I've barely dipped my toe into November and I find Christmas is already being forced down my throat. Ugh.

Christmas is a very nice time of year. Family, friends, and all the rest of the hub and bub which is the season of warm fuzzy's.

I'm not anti Christmas. My problem with it is, "it" seems to try to force me not to enjoy today. Why does it want me to miss out on all of the potentially grand days between now and then? Hellooooo, Thanksgiving. And THE GAME.

I feel like a 25 day ramp up is ample and sufficient time to kick off the holidays. Anything more, to me, is overkill. Oh, and fuckin' irritating.

So imagine my sheer delight (just threw up a bit in my mouth), of pulling up to the local K Rogers to do a lil' grocery-ing to find this:

Et tu Kroger?

The cashier even sent me on my way with a chipper, "happy holidays". Don't worry, I didn't actually slap him.

As if that's not efuckin' of the local radio stations has started programing Christmas songs 24/7.

Any guesses on which station I won't be listening to any time soon?


Thursday, November 4, 2010

~Old 8x10

...One of my favorite Randy Travis songs.

Which apparently is soooooooo popular that there is not one single vivdeo of Randy singin' it is on all of fuckin' Youtube for me to share with you...

This is one of those times I wish I was what "they" call, computer savvy. I've got it on the Pod, ya know, the Nanotechnology, and it's downloaded on my pc, yet I have no earthly idea of how to magically make it happen here.

Stupid BBG.

So 67 years ago, May-ish, maybe? I donno. Whilst Ikea-ing it with Mom & Nana, several picture frames made it home with me. A couple 8x10's 3ish 5x7's and maybe 4 4x6's. Black frames, white matting.

I decided to make some "art" to hang around here. I use the term uber loosely, obviously. Nuthin' I've ever taken a pic of actually constitutes art. But when I watch HGTV shows they tend to have things hangin' on walls and I thought I should too.

The decorators and construction peeps make everything seem so doable. Hence, my "I'm makin' a table" project of '09. I made that table (see Fuck You 2009/December), but it sure didn't happen in a half hour!

So, in my mind this was gonna be an easy breezy project that could be easily accomplished and add a nice personalized touch of things I like, or at least found interesting on that particular day I snapped it...


It's turning out nuthin' like that.

Several weeks ago I sat down, perused my photo options and made some selections. No people, just scenes I've seen and captured.

I spent several, several days with the magic picture ordering/customizing page open fiddling with black & white vs. color and all that hoosafudge.

(Funny. I picked out my motor vehicle in, oh, about 45 mins. Yes. My name is BBG and I am a dichotomy.)


Finally, I settled into my game plan for the selections. Completed my order and hit send.

Shouldn't things be getting to the easy and breezy part now? Nope. I pick up the photos, which should be pretty straight forward. Again, nope. Pic-man can not find my order, offuckingcourse. So I'm there forever. At some point silently wondering what would happen if I just started screamin' like a banshee at the top of my lungs? Restraint, prevented me from finding out.

When I make it home with pics, I unwrap the frames. Which generates two blood producing paper, factually, cardboard cuts to my hands.


And then I learn a life lesson.

(Q: Why must all of life's grand lessons be a pain in the ass?

Dear World,
I swear, I will pay attention and learn, even from good things. There is no need to make every thing a fuckin' thing.

Apparently, you don't order the size of the frame, ya order the size o' da hole. Which, with hindsight and dumbassedness being 20/20, I see was a mistake. It's not even like the prints were crazy ass expensive, just like $12, but the time and effort invested to have this clusterfuck. Ugh.

Lesson learned: Order the size down which is of the hole opening. Got it.

If you didn't know, congratulations! Here's your opportunity to learn from my ignorance in all matters framing, without it being a pain in the ass to you. You're welcome.

I've been so disgusted with myself I have yet to find the gumption to reorder in the correct sizes.

Ain't that sad? Really, the whole fuckin' ordeal is craptastic.

To end on a positive note, I think I like my selections and I think once sized properly, will look smashing. So there's that...


Tuesday, November 2, 2010

~Election Day

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