Monday, January 31, 2011


Regular, standard issue weirdness will resume shortly.  In the meantime, if you haven't seen this, watch it.  The whole thing.  Yes, it's 10 minutes you're never getting back, but it's a strong and important message. 

It might save your life.  It might save mine.

Please share with anyone you know who texts and drives and any new drivers. 

(Thanks to my friend PF3 for sharing on his Facebook.)


Wednesday, January 26, 2011

~Ron Swanson For Emperor

I believe the fictional character, Ron Swanson, of NBC's Parks & Recrecreation, is a modern era sage. 

I've never really been much for bandwagon hoppin'.  I prefer to subscribe to my own thinking, rather than adopt someone else's mantra.  But I gotta tell ya, Ron Swanson makes some damn good points.  If he wrote a self help book, or had a talk show, I think I would be in.  Whereas, I don't feel the same way about any of the talking heads, "experts" and guru's so pervasive in the media these days.

Some of the assertions of the Swanson Pyramid of Greatness include:
  • Skim milk.  Avoid it.
  • Self Reliance.  Trust yourself.
  • Crying.  Acceptable only at funerals and the Grand Canyon.
  • Handshakes:  Firm.  Dry.  Strong.  3 seconds.
  • Skim milk.  That's right, it's on here twice.  Avoid it.
  • Haircuts.  3 acceptable styles:  High and tight, crew cuts & buzz cuts.
  • Fish.  It's barely a meat, it's closer to a vegetable.
  • Honor.  If you need it defined, you don't have it.
  • Stillness.   Don't waste energy moving unless necessary.
  • Rage.  One rage every 3 months is permitted.  Try not to hurt anybody who doesn't deserve it.
Seriously, it's an agenda I can back. 

Dear Ron Swanson,
To steal a phrase from David Cassidy, I think I love you.


Tuesday, January 25, 2011

~Shoot Anybody You Have To

...Those are the exact words Double D hears each time he leaves with kevlar velcro'd to his chest and a duty belt 'round his waist.

I just like to plant that extra seed in his mind that if he even thinks for a split second he should shoot someone, that he should trust his instincts and pull the damn trigger. I know he's highly trained with almost two decades of experience, and is in charge of himself, and doesn't need my help performing his duties.  But one more reinforcement that the main responsibility of his day/night is to come home to me can't hurt. If someone threatens that I want them dead layin' on a morgue table. Period.

To those who never actually have to really wonder if someone they love will live through their work day, it might sound odd, or harsh to say that if somebody else has to die, then they gotta die. But for those who live the life, it's the every day uneasy norm.

These days, sadly, there are far too many LE loved ones dealing with their officer not making it home at the end of their tour.

In a 24 hour period ending Monday, two LEO's were killed with another 9 others wounded in various situations across the nation.   14 LEO's have been killed the first 25 days of this year.
I've said it before, (May St. Michael Watch Over 'Em/May 2010

May St. Michael watch over 'em.


Friday, January 21, 2011

~Chore or battle?

Some people (I donno?...most people?) look at dealing with snow as a chore. I, in another grand display of my freakdom, in terms of how things strike me, look at it like a battle. Each significant snow event a battle royale.  And kidz, I am Iron Mike, General Schwarzkopf and Andre the Giant all rolled up into one. I become the BBG real life counterpart to Denzel Washington in Training Day.  King Kong, uh, snow ain't got shit on me.  Bring it muther fucka.

I like the logistics of how to launch my plan of attack. Ya can't just rely on brawn, ya gotta use tactics and smarts.  For instance, if sleet is expected I like to plan for a small layer of snow to be on the surface before it ices so that there's still snow in between and can easily all be shoveled away. If'n ya leave no layer of snow then you're just dealin' with ice, which is a bitch. 

I do recon by studying the called for accumulation, and timeline of it's expected arrival to decide how it should be dealt with.  Will it be doable in one shoveling?  Or if it'll take a couple of smaller/lighter shovels to avoid having to manage many heavy inches at one time?  To me it's all about the war plan, how I can most effectively manage Mother Nature's flaky stuff given my resources of time, brainpower and physical sturdiness.  It's the goin' to battle of snow management that I love. I love the physicality of beating it into submission with my muscles and shovel, it makes me feel strong.   (And let's face it, it's the only exercise I'm gettin' this year, so I see it as a win-win.) 

Plus, then I get to try to outwit what Mother Nature came to the mats with, with a perfectly timed, even, and without being overly applied amount of melt.  I love the smell of melt in the morning!

I enjoy gettin' all geared up, in proper snow war dress*-- not too hot, not too cold, not too constricting, etc. Proper weapon, er, shovel.

(*Proper dress for me includes this silly hat.  I believe all grownups should be required to wear a fun hat during winter.  Yes, I look ridiculous in it, it makes me look like a pinhead.  But a warm ass pinhead.  And when I put it on, I feel happy.  So SUCK IT!)

For me, there is a certain satisfaction of having a clear, and I mean, completely clear drive and walk way(s). It's to me, akin to how having a few social graces and good posture is a sign of good breeding. Honestly, those who don't clear their snow, not due to health/medical/age reasons, I think are lazy asses. Yep. And, that you don't take pride in your dominion, plus it seems like a bad safety issue. But that's just me.  Ima snow snob, as I have just this second discovered.

I love to look out the window once I've beat back my snow foe holding my smiley face mug of hot chocolate admiring the fruits of my battle plan. 

It's even been suggested that I could just leave the task to the service provided by our association that "clears the snow". Technically, they do, but only driveways and they use a truck and a plow, so it's never really all cleared and the truck leaves big ass clunky tire/ice prints all over your drive. And, well, that's just not acceptable to me, and I have the power to control it so why shouldn't I have it just exactly the fuck as I like it?!?

It's no chore to me.

I enjoyed my battle with the 5" bestowed on us yesterday.  The driveway is clean as a whistle.  I'm happy as a clam.  Yep, a BBG clam in a silly hat.  And unlike last snow that saw fit to sucker punch me by causing me to fall before I even made it through the threshold out to the garage with a fall down the same 'ol steps I walk up/down a gazillion damn times a day... The only casualty was a nail.  A small price paid for victory my peeps.  A small price. 

Snow:  if you've got it enjoy it.  Hoorah!


Wednesday, January 19, 2011

~Gold Star: Southwest/ You're A Dick: That Guy

Several things strike me about this story.  The fact that reasonable judgement, and what one would think would fall under 'general human kindness' is such a big deal because it has become all too uncommon these days, is probably the greatest.  Sad, but true. 

"Rules", either enforced in society or self imposed, are mainly there to keep the system working. To keep we, the people from gunkin' up the works.  To make sure we don't die, or to keep someone else from hitting us in the head with a brick because we're doin' sumthin' stupid. Or some other valid reason.

But there are times and situations where right and reasonable should superseded the rules.

Southwest pilot who told the passenger, "We held the plane for you and we’re so sorry about the loss of your grandson. They can’t go anywhere without me and I wasn’t going anywhere without you. Now relax. We’ll get you there. And again, I’m so sorry." ...See, he understood. And was sensible and brave enough to do the right thing when many wouldn't have.  It took 12 minutes and a good character to do something reasonable and right. It does make me wonder how so many others just don't get it? 

The person who cards me when I buy smokes? --And I know this is trivial in comparison... He does not get it. Super duper that I might look younger than my internal rings, but no one with the ability to fire a synapse and rub a lil' gray matter together perceives that I might be under 18. Hence, displaying a colossal lack of common sense (and time waisting) vs. "the rules", on his part. I say; Fail.

I not railin' against rules, I'm railin' for common sense, decency, fairness and compassion for the others. I mean, "do un to others" is a doable thing, ya know?  Good on Southwest pilot for showing it.  Gold Star!

In yin to that yang news:

The newly sworn in Governor of Alabama, on MLK day none-the-less, included the following statement in his inaugural speech:

''Now I will have to say that, if we don't have the same daddy, we're not brothers and sisters," he continued. "So anybody here today who has not accepted Jesus Christ as their savior, I'm telling you, you're not my brother and you're not my sister, and I want to be your brother."

Wow. Nuthin' says, 'I'd like this guy to be my brother' better than the winning combo of intolerance, condescension and judge-yness. Spectacular Governor, your parents must be proud. Dumbass.

P.S.   Happy Birthday to my friend, codename Jeffery Dalmher.


Monday, January 17, 2011


"He who passively accepts evil is as much involved in it as he who helps to perpetrate it. He who accepts evil without protesting against it is really cooperating with it."  
~Martin Luther King, Jr.


Sunday, January 16, 2011

~So, I Sez To Uncle John...

..."you smell very cherry", as he kissed me squarely on the nose.

In longer than I'm comfortable admitting, but am, I thought, 'why does Uncle John smell very cherry?'

So I wander upstairs, where I keep my cherry Lifesavers, in my bedside table for middle of the night coughs or need of sweet.

And Scooby Doo mystery solved:

So long cherry Lifesavers.

Uncle John with one of his trademarked, 'who me? wrong? whaaaaat?' looks.

He's lucky he's so damn cute.

(Uncle John turned 13 on Christmas)


Thursday, January 13, 2011

~BBGW: The Truth As I Know It

A falling cell phone will land in the dogs water dish. Even if that means the phone has to take a crazy ass bounce and a completely unnatural trajectory on it's way there.

Yeah. That fuckin' happened. I watched it all go down in the kitchen in slow motion, yet, not slow enough that I could actually do anything to prevent finding out if a cell phone floats.


So one new cell phone later all is good in the hood, after a brief and panic stricken moment (ok, full day) that I thought I'd lost all of my contact list.

After livin' with this new phone for a few days, I have found out I'm older than I think. Apparently, the keys are too damn small. It makes me a bit sad to find this detail out, but it is certainly the hallmark of getting too old. Next thing ya know the BBGWorld is gonna be filled with nuthin' but stories of how much gas and bread were back in my day, how far I had to walk in the snow to school and diatribes on Depends. Don't be surprised if some time soon I have to change the blog name to the OBBGW (Old BBGWorld. You have been warned.) ...Maybe I'm just a giant? (crosses fingers)

I'm sure (hopefully) this is just a period of adjustment, ya know, gettin' used to the new set up of the phones letters and numbers. I'll keep you up on this...


Tuesday, January 11, 2011

~Guys Night Infiltrated

Yeppers. Double D has guys night. Not every week, usually once, occasionally twice a month. Me? I don't mind. As I told him a long ass time ago, a girl who isn't down with you getting away and hanging with your buddies is either; A) insecure (in herself, you, or the trust and boundaries of your relationship) or is 2) resentful of the time and energy you're spending elsewhere, or with other people; which really means that she is resentful because she feels that she isn't getting your best, they are.   

For a myriad of reasons I do not feel either of those ways about him or us, soooooooo have the fuck at it. As, except for work we spend all of our time together, what do I care if you're off three or 6 hours a month doing something that doesn't even interest me in the first damn place? Hanging with your pals? While I'm doing something I enjoy? I do not. In fact, I say it's a total win-win.

I like guys night. I catch up and chatter away with a friend or two. I'm givin' myself a mask or doin' my nails. Watchin' trashy tv. And 37 other whateverstrikesmyfancy things.

Plus, I have already have extra BBG only time when he works special duty. Guys night is the only BBG free time he gets. And I know me... Heavens knows the poor guy deserves some me free time!

Last week however, all girls were invited to guys night.  (one of the 4 guys is moving our of state)  As I'd never been to the track, and am always down for new, I was in. When I asked what the appropriate attire was and he laughed as he said, "there is no track dress code", I knew we weren't exactly talkin' my minds eye of a Heart to Heart episode goin' to Del Mar. Bubble burst.

After coming up with an outfit I felt struck the proper note for the track set (the central Ohio version), we headed out.

And then I became even more staunchly for guys night not being for the gals.

Turns out, several things (in no particular order):

  • I, evidently, do not understand horse racing.
  • The 999 tv screens all showing a different race across the country is too much for me to keep track of, or pay attention to.
  • I am bad a picking winning horses.
  • People who hang out at the track on a more regular basis, and just by visual assessment alone, I'm guessin' daily, look sad. Even when they win.
  • Snacks are a possibility, only if the lil' food counter is open. If they chose to close early you are shit outta luck.
  • Apparently one should pick on criteria other than likeability of the horses name.
  • Understanding all of the statistics and data in the little book that shows all of the horses, jockeys, trainers and owners for each horse in each race is, for me, seemingly infuckin'possible.
  • The people watching opportunities are endless. And awesome.  Wait, fuckin' awesome.

The wife of the elder statesman of the unofficial mini man club (the number of men, not the actual size of them. Note: None of the guys are diminutive, all are of average height.) told me she hadn't been to guys night in like four or 5 years.

I didn't hate guys night, but I did tell that lady that I'd see her in 2014, which is probably about as soon as I intend on returning.

I chose to place my bets with the man who had the most spectacular and horrible rug. I thought that if he was unlucky enough to have such a terrible, terrible hairpiece, perhaps he would bring luck in some other way.  Not lookin' like a complete fool clearly wasn't his strong suit, so maybe his strength was as the keeper of some gambling good mojo. Alas, no.  Nine ill selected races and $18.00 later it was done. 

I am glad I experienced it.  And I am happy to leave it as the inner sanctum of the dudes.   I still find myself shakin' my head that a horse named One Eyed Willie would let a girl down. 


Tuesday, January 4, 2011

~A Sugar Bowl IS A Bowl

Cotton? Fiesta? Orange? Rose? NOT bowls. Ok. I've seen oranges in a bowl, but it's called a fruit bowl.

This time of year I find myself slightly, albeit probably overly, perturbed at the monikers of the bowl games. In my perfect BBGWorld, bowls are actual bowls. I find it misleading and disingenuous. It sticks in my crawl. I just want things (and people) to be what they fuckin' purport to be. That's all. Is that too much to ask? It taints my post season enjoyment of a game I'm not particularly knowledgeable or passionate about.

Tonight is the Sugar Bowl, while not the big daddy National Championship BCS game, at least it is a bowl. Nay, a bowl we can be proud of because of it's accuracy. The Big 10 has not fared well on the national stage this year. And by "not fared well", I mean have managed to lose every single match up in an epic craptastic display over the past few days.

Hopefully the Buckeyes can break that streak. Although, I find myself not uber-ly confident as we never seem to be able to adjust to the speed and spread of the SEC. But a girl can hope and dream. And do a shot o' Beam.

In the name of being part of the solution and not the problem, I humbly submit my suggestions for potential bowl sponsors and names:

-The Orville Redenbacher Popcorn Bowl
-The American Standard Toilet Bowl
-The Campbell's Soup Bowl
-The General Mills Cereal Bowl
-The Pyrex Mixing Bowl
-The Chiquita Fruit Bowl
-The Hidden Valley Salad Bowl

Honestly, my names and sponsors are better matches than the real bowl games--
Kraft Fight Hunger Bowl, Bowl, R+L Carriers New Orleans Bowl, Beef O' Brady's Bowl, to name a few.

Until we can have Bowl naming reason in this country, I'll leave you with a hardy, Go Bucks! Bring home the Sugar Bowl!!


Razorbacks broke a few of our players, and OSU practically killed me with their lack luster play in the 2nd half, but ultimately pulled out a victory. Kudos Coach Tressel & team!


Monday, January 3, 2011

~The Inaugural Weekend

I rang out the old year hanging with D & R, their three chocolate labs and Uncle John. D made a most excellent dinner. We watched Dick Clark, sadly slurrin' his New Year greeting for I donno, the 113th year? I feel, um, guilty? No, that's not right. Assy? Yes, assy saying it, I know it's not his fault and is a hallmark of a stroke, and I'm sure it was a display of some of his best speech yet, but it's time for Dick to be seen and not heard.

I'm sorry.

I said it.

I mean it.

But I don't mean it to sound as harsh as it might have.

He's become my livin' breathin' Charlie Brown. I just feel sad when I hear him. Or in the case of Mr. Charles Brown, see him. (I know Charlie Brown isn't supposed to make people feel bad, but he makes me feel sad and down when I see him. I don't know why. I have no issue with Pigpin or Linus.) I just feel it's time for Dick & Mrs. Clark to be seen waving from across the room at the appropriate pre-ball drop cut away. But no more speaking. Please. It's for the best.

D & I had to too lengthy and too fuckin' funny conversation on mules. Specifically, that I don't want to know how they're made. Don't ask. Let's just say giggle tears were involved.

Other than that it was a low key, but fun night of hanging out with friends. Of course my low key still involves wearin' a new year tiara and tootin' horns. But other than that, low key. I'm old, what can I say?

Double D, who had to work special duty and I marked the Greek New Year with a smooch before he left. I thought we might even get another chance to mark Hawaii's New Year, but we fell asleep like eight minutes too soon...

After 5 hours of sleep we kicked off 2011 with a Waffle House breakfast. Awesome. As we were makin' our plan, I thought we should get movin' before all of the people started stirin' for the day. Double D was like noooooobody's gonna be up and at 'da House on New Year's Day. I, however, being familiar with a hangover a time or two over the years, knew the WH would be packed to the gills. I mean, when you're hungover, Grease IS the word!

Breakfast was followed by a day of football watchin' with some light napping. As it was one of the first actual two days off weekends for Double D in, well, I don't know fuckin' when, it seemed like such a luxurious way to languish the day away.

Sunday also started with breakfast out, this time at Bob's. (Bob Evans for those of y'all who don't hail from around here. Bob was home grown not too far from here, down between Cbus and wild and wonderful West Virginia.)

I spied this, maybe in her late 60's lady, while at breakfast:

Double D verbally admonished me for my soul stealin' sneaky peek I'm sharin' with you, while I laughed my BBG ass off. His mock indigence was squashed when I turned back towards him and saw that he knew exxxxxxxxxxxactly what spectacle had momentarily captured my attention. Confirmed when his only response to my question of, "well, have you ever seen more doodads on one persons head?!?", was "no", he might as well have signed a incident report stating he was now completely on my side on this. So that was fun for me. I like when I can drag good decent people over to my dark/warped side, even if only moment. Good times.

Then Double D sprung on me a surprise proposition of an adventure of riding down to a flea market, specifically the one one of his sisters has a booth at.

Really Double D? You couldn't share that before I put on glorified/outside acceptable pj's (a track set. I know. I KNOW! There's nuthin' more ironic than a big girl in athletic-y gear.) on and left the house with the absolute bear minimum of makeup, with my nails in need of a touch up? Reeeeeally? To his credit he did offer to swing me back by the house so I could change if'n I wanted as we were only a block or so away.

Because I'm a big girl, and don't make it a habit to leave looking really, really awful, to spare the people of the world from such travesties. (You're welcome.) Plus, ya know, no one is gonna like me, or not like me based solely on my outfit, and, oh, yeah, because I'm not high maintenance. (Most of the time.), I declined his offer and off we went.

My first flea market experience was quite sumthin'. It was a people watchin' extravaganza. I saw some characters. It was awesome. Plus we got some candy. Precisely what was needed after the feast of Thanksgiving through New Years, right? But it did offer me my other first new experience of the new year:

Well, Double D doesn't have to worry about me gobblin' those up. Eck. No thanks.

I spent a lot of time and energy trying to talk Double D into some ridiculous purchases. Why? Because that's my idea of a good time. He refused my suggestion of among other items; shooters mittens (mittens with a trigger finger nub), a life sized ninja, a Hoveround, a marijuana flowered phone holder/belt clip-y thing, a tatoo and a PR-24.

I met his sister and her hubby, who were quite nice.

I had a nice lil' roadtrip on a sunny, albeit cold ass day. Hanging out with friends and loved ones and seeing weird stuff? As the ad tells us, priceless.


Sunday, January 2, 2011

~Day One: Heavy Heart

'11 is off to a bad start 'round these parts. A Deputy from my hometown was killed on duty New Years Day.

I didn't know her, although I've had a few friends who still live back home report that she was a smart, funny and sweet girl. She was a mom who leaves behind two little kids. She was sister, a daughter and wife.

She was, from all reports, exactly the kind of officer you want in your community, apparently pulling a six year stretch of not missing a day of work. Her Sheriff, (someone who I wouldn't call a friend, but is someone who's known me my entire life [and was one of my first 11 year old Lil' Brown Girl crushes] who I run into from time to time when I find myself in my ol' stomping grounds,) said in an interview that “Her file is full of cards and letters and commendations.” And that she organized a number of charity events on behalf of the sheriff’s office. She had also been awarded Officer of the Year during her 12 years on.

She left her family to earn her roof over her head, the food in her kids bellies to service her community by helping to keep them safe and responding to their needs during her shift.

She responded to a shots fired call. At some point stopping to take a photo of a foot print when shooter opens a door, and before she could unholster, pulled a trigger.

Just a mom doing her job.

But on her job a bad day is a dead day. While any other day might be a irritating day, or a craptastic day. Even a painful or tragic one, it's an alive day. Both for the officer and their loved ones.

Her family is on my mind and in my prayers. I know how the, as I've called it, "the uneasy norm", even alive days can be for loved ones, being the kid of two officers and now the love of one. That ain't easy. Or for the weak. But the strength needed to weather the other kind of day, which I can, fortunately, not begin to fully fathom, has made my heart heavy. I'm keeping a thought and prayer for the Sheriff and the other LEO's from my hometown responding agencies. As well as another officer winged during the subsequent shootout. And of course their families.

I find myself thinking about the kids of parents who will head off to their shift today or tonight knowing that, maybe even, someone they know went to work yesterday and is never coming home to her little ones. How scary that must be for the local officers kids.

I didn't know her. But I'll always remember her, her sacrifice and her family.

Her name was Suzanne Waughtel Hopper.

Related Post:  May St Michael Watch Over 'Em

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