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Thursday, June 30, 2011

~Dick O' The Day/Gold Star

I haven't handed out a Dick O' The Day award in a while.  Although NOT for a lack of a myriad of viable potential recipients.  Today I rectify that situation:

In daaaaaaaamn, that's pretty fuckin' drunk news
 


As to not be a stone thrower, lemme say that A) drunk driving is wrong, bad and dangerous.  2)  That if you've ever been out and had a couple of beers and headed home, you know this is a 'there but for the grace of God' thing.  ...Of course, ya also gotta admit that being one over and still thinking your ok to maneuver your motor vehicle is one (bad) thing and the drunkeness needed to be able to drive completely unaware that Bernnie is in the car with ya, is a horse of another color and requires a special kinda set of dick making decision skills. 

Also outta Don't Mess With, and because I like a little yin with my yang:

Being from a non NBA part of the my state, I don't follow too much about anyone or anything associated with it.  Therefore, I have no feelings about new champs/Dallas Mavericks owner Mark Cuban.   After seeing this:  Mark Cuban Pledges Reward in Rape Case  It's a statement I can no longer make.  Good on ya Mark Cuban-  Gold Star!!



Don't be a dick. 
Go for the gold.


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Wednesday, June 29, 2011

~Quoteable Noteables

Not too long ago I mentioned a favorite quote of mine being so stellar that it was in the BBG Top 10.  Of fuckingcourse I had no actual list. 

Until now my peeps!

Yes, that, in passing statement prompted me to officially compile my favorites.  Quotes so powerful that many serve as a compass for how I (try) lead my life.  

So here you go (in no particular order):

"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you...you're cool, fuck you."  ~Scarface (Half Baked)

"You deserve what you accept."  ~Unknown Incredibly Wise Person

"All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing."  ~Sir Edmund Burke

"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.
(Yes, I know it's the exact same concept.  I like 'em both.  Suck it.)

"Is that dog a fox?"  ~Unknown Drunk Girl 
(It was a dog.  The dog of the homeowner of the house were were at.  It was a beagle.)

"Each betrayal begins with trust."  ~Phish (Farmhouse)

"Ha-ha" ~Nelson Muntz

"Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards."  ~Kierkegaard

"I'm in charge of me"  ~Me

"The only thing constant in life is change."  ~Francois de le Rochefoucauld

"If I speak to people calmly and clearly, I can articulate my position — especially if they can see the safety is off."  ~Unknown


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Monday, June 27, 2011

~Reunion-ing v2.5

I feel my reunion officially began Friday night with the drunken dial of a classmate I've know since the 4th grade, checkin' to see where I was, as she felt I should have been at the hometown drinking establishment where she and a few other classmates found themselves randomly congregating.  It warmed my heart to get a little outta the blue 'your being thought of' sign.  (Isn't that so corny?  Alas, 'da World ain't a corny free zone ya'll, so suck it.) 

It got me thinkin' about the fun I knew I was in for the following night. 

I know there are lots of people who feel very much like, 'I didn't like those people then, I'm not goin' to see them now', or I don't even know?  Maybe they feel like a reunion is another chance to be judged or sumthin'? 

"They" exist and if that's what ya feel that's totally valid and shit-- to each their own...but I do not get it.  At all. 

Of course any time you're not sitting in a room alone somebody's judging you.  I know who I fuckin' am so what do I care about what someone else thinks?  A:  I do not.  (Ok, obviously, I care what people think about me, frankly it's one of the main reasons I haven't shanked anyone yet.  Er, I just mean, I guess I don't care what anyone thinks about my four wheels that get me to and fro, nor what anyone thinks about my thighs, or how many to the left of the decimal point my savings reaches.  That I couldn't give a shit about.  ...Heeeeeeere's BBG:  Like it, love it, hate it, ignore it-- those are the options, your pick and I'm pretty cool with whatever ya choose, ya know?)

Digress much? 

Anyhoo, if you are staying away from your reunion rethink it.  I can almost promise that unless you actually attended school with this chick:

Your classmates really want to see you and that you'll have a great time seeing them.  I'm not sayin' you'll leave and want to institute an every 5 day contact schedule or anything, but I can say you'll have a good enough time that you'll wanna see them again in 5 years. 

Per Nike:  Just Do It.

(Per BBG:  Just Fuckin' Do It!!)

Here are some of the things that may happen if'n you do:

~You may find a new/old friend.  I've had this friend request for fuckin'ever but I could not place that face and the name was hazily sketchy to me too.  (In fairness, in my minds eye he's still 11, so this grown up FB pic meant nuthin'.)  Some of you may know my litmus test for Facebook friending is:  1) Friend people who are actual, real, honest to God friends.  B) Friend people you like and who you have or would share a beer with.  Nobody else gets in.  Therefore, this cat didn't make the cut.  While reunioning I introduce myself to some guy with fanfuckingtastic pants, who was there with a classmate, he tells me his name is Xxxx XxXxxxxxx (code name: Burberry) and it is this same FB request person I've ignored for the past year and a half.  Turns out he, along with his twin brother and I went to Our Lady of Bad Catholic Kids together!  Plus, we were having a PBR so friend request accepted.  Welcome Burberry!

~You may find yourself making the boy (codename: Fuck Truck, which FYI and I don't know why I feel the need to make this full disclosure I have no direct knowledge of.  He drove this cool ass rockin' mystery van back in the day.  It was just always referred to as the fuck truck.) you asked to Sadie Hawkins, who rejected you and broke your lil' teenage BBG heart (well...as much as your 15 year old heart can be broken...) cry.  Ok, technically I didn't make any water pop outta his peepers, but apparently I gave him such a hard time that later he felt compelled to make things right when he grabbed me and pulled me in for a 25+ years later smoooooooove 80's couples dance.  Yeah, baby, ya know the one.  Arms around his shoulders/arms around her waist combined with the slow circular shuffle. I laughed so hard.  And then spent some introspective time considering what the unyielding need and internal delight of making others feel uncomfortable says about me.  Conclusion:  Ima ass. In further make right-yness, Fuck Truck bought me a beer, so I guess now we're even.  (Note to Fuck Truck:  I do still have a story about a broken towel rack.  That ought to rate a hug and beer at the next reunion, right?)

~You may do the splits.

~You may feel some new boobs.  ...I thought to myself, 'I didn't remember (codename:  9-to-5) being so chesty'.  That lil' gem of internal dialogue was followed with, 'well, it's not like I spend a lot of time checkin' out other girls racks, I've got my own' and quickly continued on with my general tomfoolery and shenanigans.  Later someone unsolicited mentioned they were new.  Due to my chronic assyness and acute lack of appropriateness, my response to that news was, "I taught her how to use a tampon.  I'm gonna touch those tits."  Needless to say and embarrassing to admit poor 9-to-5 (who for obvious reasons will now be referred to as Dolly) found herself allowing a BBG to get to second base during a subsequent conversation.   Dolly asked how they were?  Honestly, I don't know.  I don't have a lot of experience with boobs, other than deez boobs.  (somewhere in mid-America a big brown girl cups her ta-tas and giggles by the glow of her computer)

~You may find that your classmates bring some fun ass spouses to the mix.  Several made me think, 'if I lived here I'd totally be friends with him/her too'.  Which is really nice to be able to say about strangers.

~You may learn that several of your classmates hold positions of importance in city government, education and other fields, which will make you think there is sumthin' seriously wrong with the world that lets someone who you've seen beer bong be in charge of anything.

~You may have self discovery.  You may find out that you're a hugger.  I always say I'm not a hugger.  Apparently this makes my pants on fire.  I hugged everybody.  Literally.  Wait.  I shook one hand.  All others were hugged whether they liked it or not.  Serious biz, how wrong must that one hand shaker rub me?  I also was reminded of how much of a flitter I am.  I took my seat for dinner.  Every moment before and after involved me flittin' here and flittin' there.  I really enjoy a big buncha friends.  Too often I'm in smaller groups of friends thus ruling out flitting opportunities.

~You may notice that when you look around the room you see grown ass men standing with their arms draped around another talking and doubling over in laughter, how comfortable it is to be with people you have history with.  Even if it's been forever since you last saw them.  Observing how much has changed, and how out of touch we've all become (hectic lives, geographical distances, that we are old enough that FB wasn't around so you just lost contact with people, etc.) that the bond is still there, really caught me off guard for a moment and touched my heart.  Don't get me wrong, the girls were havin' a grand time too, but ya kinda expect girls to be a tad more demonstrative in their affections with one another.  Even now thinking of seeing the guys like that kinda makes my eyes well up.  Fuck off people.  Fuck off.

~You may be magically surprised by how real everyone is.

~You may make a drunken dial.  Perhaps to Joshua Tree.  Once I said "nice to meet you" to the wife of a classmate she told me that we'd met before, that she had gone to our HS (a couple of years behind us) at which point I asked her last name back in the day.  That's when shock and awe and drunkin' dialin' ensued.  When I met one of my besties, Somp a million years ago at my first radio job, she told me one of her friends from little girlhood had moved to my hometown and attended the same HS.  I recognized her name but couldn't put a face together.  Until Saturday it had always been a smallworldness between us, Somp and me.  I was sooooo pleased to add the final component to it when I officially met her childhood friend, EK.  Even though Somp was camping at Joshua Tree where I suspected cell reception was limited I felt EK and I had to give it a whril.  I knew hearing our voices together would be a surprising delight for Somp who as she later told me, knew EK married a guy from our hometown, but didn't know that he also had attended our HS/my class.  Small ass world! 

~You may have to compose an email containing the line, "you should know that you are incredibly lucky I didn't slip you the tongue when you asked me to smooch you. ;-p" 

~You may learn about people passing.  I was saddened to hear of the deaths of 4 of our classmates.  I had known about a couple but had not heard about the others.  Gone too soon. 

~You may find that you are standing between parents of toddlers and grandparents who years ago walked in the same graduation procession, which I think is a spectacularly wacky combo.  It just underscored how different our lives have become, yet how much we enjoyed one another as we chatted, reminisced and giggled our way through the evening sans awkwardness.

~You may find yourself singing karaoke badly.  In strict adherence to my main rule of karaoke (do it outta town).  I tortured my classmates twice.  Once on my own, once as part of a duet for the Clint Black and Wynonna classic, 'Bad Goodbye'.    


(Irish For Life, 2011)
~You may have sooooo many good n' funny stories that you have to limit yourself in your blog.  Seriously limit yourself.

~You may find yourself saying, "I've had a grrrrreat time" and "I'll see you in 5 years!!"  I did.

Special thanks to all of those who pitched in to organize and put together our reunion, and to those who traveled so far to go home to grab a beer with some folks they hung with a quarter of a century ago. 

A big ass I missed you to all who didn't attend. 

Lastly, a shout out to my folks who on cops/nurse salaries sacrificed to send me to a place where I met such good kids.

P.S. Thanks to those of you who mentioned that you keep up with 'da World.  It came as a complete surprise to me.  A surprise of the most delightful sort.


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Saturday, June 25, 2011

~Kick Ass Dill Potato Salad

I mentioned my kick ass potato salad a few postings ago and Anonymous asked for the recipe.  File under: happy to oblige. 
Boil red potatoes until desired tenderness.

Additionally you'll need:
  • Mayo
  • Sour Cream
  • Dill
  • Those lil' onion thingies
Combine mayo and sour cream.  Some recipes call for half sour cream/half mayo, personally I go for 1/3 mayo and 2/3'rds sour cream (scale to the amount to cover potatoes cooked).  Configure any damn way you like. If you like a heavier mayo taste go heavier on the mayo and lighten up the sour cream.  There is no wrong, only what you like.  The true amount you'll need will depend on how much you think will be needed to coat the amount of potatoes your cooking, and you can add in more if you find you need more at any time.  Generally, I find about a cup of mayo/sour cream mixture will cover 3-4 med. red potatoes. 

Add dill.  If you like dill add a couple of tablespoons.  If you love dill add more.  Again, I'm a more the merrier, so I use a ton.

Lastly, finely slice these buggers. 

Honestly, I'm soooo not culinarily inclined that I'm not even sure of their real name (hence the photo).  I use about one stalk (minus the actual bottom onion-y part...but only because onion is not my favorite thing).

Cube potatoes, combine with mayo/dill/sour cream mixture. 
Cover and refrigerate.  Let sit overnight.  (I know you think you think specific amounts and measurements are the most important steps, they're not, but letting sit overnight is.  Yep, really.)   Salt and pepper to taste.  Enjoy the hell outta!

Alright Anonymous, I've done you the favor of sharin', please do me the favor of reporting in when you give it a whirl.  Merci.

Happy Potato Salading!!


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Thursday, June 23, 2011

~Want A Reply To Your Intro Email? 'Cause It Seems Like Ya' Don't. (GAP)

Welcome.  Settle yourselves.  Ok, we've talked a bit about photo selection and profile content.  If you were absent either of those days, scroll your ass down on the right hand side and click where it says GAP/Guy Assistance Program.  Today it's all about sending an intro email.


First and foremost, it's important that you remember this one salient detail:  Don't fuck it up.

I can not express to you how crucial not fucking it up is to the success of your emailing experience.  No.  I'm not kidding.  I know that's pressure.  Guess what?  Up your game.  I don't know any other answer that isn't bullshit.  It's Darwinism in action, the strong survive and thrive.  Guys who know how to not fuck this up are the guys getting the girls you aren't even getting replies from.  The level by which you must up your game is directly proportionate the level of girl you hope to attract.  Harsh?  Cold?  Yes.  Know what else?  True.

You'll never have to 'do work' (thanks, Big Black) for the low hangin' fruit, (Awww, look at me trying to be kind to sluts, "dancers", gold diggers, girls with substance issues, girls with daddy issues wait?  Are those all one in the same? and those with dangerously low IQ's).  You can do great with her with your JV worthy efforts.  A "heeeeeeeyyyy baby", and an offer of a buttery nipple shot will probably get the job done.

But if you're shooting for a girl who has her shit together, knows a little sumthin'-sumthin' about the world, a modicum of class, well, your "heeeeeeyyy baby-in'" ass is going to be stuffed.  No sir, you're going to have to demonstrate your skills of charm and ability to exchange pleasantries in a gentlemanly manner to even get your foot on the court.  Let alone get a chance to make a basket.  Man, you are going to have to come at an elite level for the higher quality girls. 

Here are some examples of what not to do:

 "You look like you have a great bod....I'd love to see more. Holla"
Somp:  Is this really the way to begin a conversation?....and I LOVE the addition of "Holla" at the end.
BBG:  If you wouldn't walk up and squeeze a girls knockers, instead of introducing yourself, then don't lead with naughty.  Sure, you won't get smacked in an email, but ya know what you also won't get?  A reply.
Result:  No response.
Why:  An overtly naughty approach signals that you think she just might be a slut.  Unless she is a slut this will be seen as a turnoff and an insult.  That coupled with the lack of effort put into the email will yield no reply from any self respecting chick.   No effort, no reward.  X # of emails received only strong, serious contenders advance to the next round.  Sorry, scrub.


"Hi Im (protecting name of guilty), You have amazing lips . Whats your secret?"
Somp:  Lip balm? Exfoliation?  A nice tinted gloss? ....not sure how to answer this one.
BBG:  ...And because you don't, you won't
Result:  No response.
Why:  Because really?  What can she say that isn't assy?  If the only other reply, other than assy is silence, guess what?  Shhhhhhhh.  Why is she going to spend 5 minutes sending a cordial, "best of luck" type email to be kind,  when he could only invest :06 seconds in his email?  Do the math.  1 sentence =  0 reply.  Make a cheat sheet if you have to.



"hey there, how are you today pretty lady?"
BBG:  What am I even supposed to say to that?  (harp-y music and mysteriously appearing bank o' fog signifies you are about to cross over into Fuckneverland...)  "Thanks for askin', I'm almost done with my period, I'm thinkin' of having a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch and if the quality of my day and the emails I'm receiving don't improve, I'm strongly considering a glass of wine this evening.  Oh, and I plan on giving my dog a bath.  Gee, how 'bout you?"  I mean, come the fuck on. 
Somp:  'Oh, I'm good. How are you?' This is about all I can offer in reply....and I think we all agree, this is NOT witty banter. Is this really all you've got? This is how you're trying to grab my attention? I don't expect a novel as an intro email, but try to say SOMETHING that will intrigue me and pique my curiosity about you. Otherwise, I'm left to believe you're going to be a total snooze to hang out with.
Result:  No response.
Why?  Perhaps it was offered from a good place (see!! I really don't want to be a bitch.) and was genuine, but it just comes off all smarmy, player-y and not in the least bit engaging.  You don't care about my day.  I know you don't care about my day, so what are you doing?!?  Not getting a reply is what.  If we can avoid being a bitch we're gonna.  Even if that means we run the risk of you thinking we're a bitch for not responding.  It's a bitchy-22 you've put us in.  Congratulations.


"call me 216XXXX64X0 do live in Xxxxxxxxxxx"
BBG:  (stares blankly, refusing to break own personal best for most 'fuck's' used in one sentence.)
Somp:  While I appreciate a man who isn't dragging out the process (ie: emailing for weeks but never meeting), I find it odd when guys just throw out their phone number to every girl they see online - before determining if there is even a mutual interest. Comes off as...I don't know.....either desperate or lazy....or maybe both. Besides, it doesn't appear like you're really trying to connect with someone when you make absolutely no effort at all.
Result:  No response.
Why?  Really?


 Uh, yeah, guy in back with your hand up?  No, no, you..the one sans pants. 

(wonk, wonka, wonka, wonk)

Good question. 

Yes, it is possible to pen a successful intro email!

It doesn't even have to be a big ass ordeal, behold:

"Hi XXXXXXXXXX !!!! i live in Xxxxxxxxx too! Maybe we're neighbors! I think it's important for neighbors to know each other....just sayin'.. ;)"
BBG:  Kinda made me giggle with his ease and playfulness.  Additionally, it showed he actually read my profile and that I mention the necessity for close geographical proximity.
Somp:  See - no novel necessary. Just something catchy that shows you're paying attention and possibly have some measure of a personality. We're really not asking too much.
Result:  Response
Why?  It was gregarious, respectful and yet playful, and without being vulgar or over the line showed a level of interest on his part.  It's a fine line all too many penis people have trouble deciphering.  Good enough to find out something more, and isn't that the point of the intro email?


"Hey there, We're both in Xxxxxxxxxx so you gotta love that. I'm not a soda person either - but I AM an outgoing, adventurous person.
In fact, I too went to see PRINCE at the Forum. Stevie Wonder was our suprise guest as well as Shiela E. Who did you have your night as a suprise??
Please give me a shout...you look FUN! How's your weekend going?  -Xxxxx
Somp: He built a case. He gave me a reason to reply. He cut through the clutter, if you will and set himself apart from every other "hey baby" in the inbox.
BBG: Engaging, and he highlights commonalities in both experiences and general 'likes' you both share, showing he took the :30 second to actually read your profile. He comes off as interested and interesting.
Result: Response
Why?: Because he gave a reason to invest your time in a reply. He gives a clue to his personality which allows you to get a feel for if you might jive. This email is interesting, all positive and gives an opening to begin a conversation.

Alright guys, you now have examples of emailing/introductions going right and yielding the results you're looking for (a reply) and things to avoid like the plague. One last tip for today... The dreaded closed ended statement/question. (Avoid!   Avoid!   Avoid!!)

Closed Ended: Do you like dance clubs? (answer possibilities: yes/no)
Open Ended: Which dance clubs do you like to hit? (answer possibilities: endless possibilities -You'll know whether or not she like dance clubs at all immediately, plus you'll know exactly what kinds of places she digs and how that compares to your likes. Plus you've actually started a conversation.)

Closed Ended: You are beautiful. (reply: Uh, thanks. ...But more likely none at all.)
Open Ended: Hi beautiful fellow book lover, who are you reading these days? (reply: I love XYZ and ABC. Currently I'm on a LMN kick. What about you?   ...Whaaaaat?!? A conversation is kicking off?!?)

As you can see the closed ended option is always the option giving you the least amount of info and least options of a response. Well, at least not-assy responses. Somehow many closed ended statements/questions lend themselves very well to sarcasm and mockery. Either way, your choice. You've been warned.


Lesson learned?
  • One sentence emails don't work. Don't be so fucking lazy.
  • Do include a compliment. Girls like compliments. (Don't make it naughty, unless she actually cites pricing-- then, fine, get all kinda brown chicken, brown cow up in that joint. Otherwise avoid naughty compliments. Also steer clear of cheezy. As well as too many, limit yourself to a maximum of two.)
  • Don't use closed ended questions/statements = kiss of death.
  • Do mention something. Something you liked that we said in our profile. Something you think we have in common. Something you know that might interest us. Somefuckin'thing.
  • Do use questions, don't just rely on statements. (It won't work. ...See how it's been mentioned twice?)
  • Do if you've got it use your humor. (But realize one man's humor is another persons jackassery, use judiciously.)
  • Do make it easy for a girl to reply. 


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Wednesday, June 22, 2011

~Hate Thy Neighbor

First of all, I have named her Kooky McBean.  ...Which probably tells you a lot about my neighbor. 

But just so we're clear here are some of the reasons I don't like her:


She can't seem to master closing our fuckin' gate.  Seems like if every UPS, workerman and each and every visitor can manage to close it she could too.  But nooooooooo.

Also, she plants flowers around that common tree you see.  Never once has she asked for my input on flower selection, on what I kinda feel should not be solely her decision.  In all truthiness, this really doesn't bother me as I do not want any responsibility for watering anything more than what I already have to, (she of course wouldn't know that) nonetheless, I do find it rude and thoughtless.  I just wouldn't think of doing something in a communal space without consulting my neighbor(s).

She feeds, ostensibly the birds.
Which reeeallly means she feeds the squirrels...

Q:  Ya know who can get along fine without being fed by humans? 

A:  Birds and squirrels. 

It's not like either are in danger of extinction and Kooky McBean is the savior of their species.  They fuckin' live outdoors.  They know how to forage for food in their natural environment.   You almost never hear of massive bird/squirrel deaths due to lack of popcorn and bread.   Bringing them to your deck is irresponsible and inconsiderate.  All it leads to is the rest of us having to clean up after your visitors on our decks.  Cleaning bird poo is no fun.  Also no fun?  Fussin' at Uncle John who's barking up a storm because one of those bullshit squirrels you've invited over for a snack is walkin' my fence line, which to Uncle John is an outright declaration of war.

As if that wasn't enough she also is prone to... well, I'm not really sure?  But finding this on my hot tub lid is not (good) neighborly and gives me no reason to like her more either:

(blueberry bagel bit)

I also can't stand her because she seems to find it to be the worlds biggest task to bring her recycle bin back inside her garage after trash day.  I know this is trivial, but it looks...well, trashy.  (And how fuckin' lazy is that?!?)  She'll come and go for days leaving it out.  Sometimes it's only put back in a day or two before the next weekly trash pickup.  This of course means that now if she hasn't put it back within a day of trash day, I put her bin smack dab in the middle of her driveway so that she has to get out and move it in if she wants to park her car in her garage.  ...Yeah.  I'm that bitch.

And then there's this...

One day a free range dog in the neighborhood (and reason I hate some other neighbor) got into Kooky McBean's trash, not her fault.  However, her trash was spread all over our "yard", so I got a trash bag and started to gather it (look at me tryin' to be a good neighbor!) until I spied this what the fuckery: 

(Gross Alert!!)


This, based on her other trash was KFC chicken bones.  Now kids, when I was younger I grew a raisin on my bedside table once, so I know that food decomposition is not as quick of a process as one might imagine, so I know that this kind of fuzzy, creepy ass situation does not happen in the 7 days since our last trash day.  This is nasty and gross, and frankly makes me wonder about the state of the inside of that chicks place.  I'll have to continue to wonder as I have never (not one single time) seen her blinds open. 

Kooky McBean, you're quite a piece of work.


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Monday, June 20, 2011

~Reminder: I Am Old

My 25th H.S. reunion is comin' up.  For some inexplicable reason, we had a ten and 15 year reunion, but no 20?  I've never planned one so I'm not gonna bad mouth someone for not pulling all of the hours needed to put a reunion together.  First of all, that's gotta be like wrangling cats.  Trying to locate all those folks?  Getting RSVP's back?  Planning the logistics of the soiree?... Ugh.

A quarter of a century milestone sounds like something old people go to, and yet I received an invite... (Do they not know I was carded this weekend?)  It feels at odds with my actual life.  Most days I just barely feel like a grownup, let alone someone who could be attending a 25th anyfuckingthing.  Old enough to do anything I want to...but still young enough to want to do a lot of crazy ass shit.  I don't feel old... I don't feel eighteen, but I sure as shit don't feel what my drivers license tells me. 

I mentioned to one of my classmates (summer school companion and coinkadinkaly, college mate, DJP), that while most people seem to look at the time marking milestone of 25 years as a reminder of their youth, I conversely view it as a reminder that I am old.  

Honestly, I need a reminder to express my grownup'dness.  ...Pretty much always.  In fact, I'll go so far as to admit that every decision I make I've fought off a more childish option.

(That's right.  No matter how poor you think my decision making skills are, surprise:  I ruled out 8 other worse/less mature ways to have approached it!) 

Imagine the possibilities I shot down as being 'too ridiculous', before I honed in on a hot dog for breakfast this morning?  Were there grownup options like cereal, eggs, toast, etc. readily available?  Ummmmmm, yes.  They just weren't appealing options to my inner BBG kid.

I'm not rippin' and runnin' like I was when I was a kid, but I still know how to turn this muther out when necessary, or when at a minimum, 'questionably appropriate'.  While I was thinking about that, it dawned on me how much effort I put into fighting my natural inclinations and into actively attempting to behave as a grown up.  A lot of the trappings of adulthood are second nature to me, but other things?  Well, I only have a tenuous hold on.  Fine.  Sometimes no hold at all... 

I mean, what else could explain my decision to have the hot dog for breakfast this morning?  I feel like one of the glories of being a grownass girl is that if I want a hot dog for breakfast I can fuckin' have a hot dog.  But I know that most of my peers are of the mind set that a grownup just really shouldn't have a hot dog as the most important meal of the day, period.  I stick with; Suck It!

Also, it's probably not a strong endorsement of my adulthood that the other night I was changing purses and as I decided on things needed vs. leave behindable*, my headlight and yo-yo made the 'must have' list.  Yeah.  It's like this and like that ya'll.



Since more frequently than I'm sure most people would sanction, I'm trying to suppress my kidness* , that I have such a strong connection with, it only makes sense that I'd be looking forward to seeing the people I spent every day with between 13 and 17.  Some of the folks I'll see I've known even longer, as we went to Our Lady of Bad Catholic Kids together in elementary and middle school. 

Getting to spend time with people who I have kept up with since H.S. (LEM, GinCat, Fidget, DJP, etc.) and getting to see people I haven't seen at all in the ensuing years is a recipe for fun I can not resist.  I love seeing how people have changed.  I love when one of the shy kids has become gregarious, when a hard knock life kid turns into the done well adult,  or when an ugly duckling has morphed into a swan.  I would love to find out that the guy I had to slug in mass for calling me the n-word has turned into a better human.   

Of course, I'd be a straight up liar if I didn't admit to being prone to a small amount of schadenfreude when it seems someones assy behavior has brought them a craptastic turn of events. ...Maybe that's some of the immature inner kid left in me too.  (Yes, I know, I'm going to hell.  But at least it won't be because I didn't truth.)

Although I haven't used the time to grow old up, a lot of time has passed since the milestone we re-une*.  (*Digression Alert:  I'm sorry, I don' t mean to get all political over here, but God Bless George Bush and Sarah Palin for making it acceptable to make some fuckin' words up.)  

A lot has gone down in the past 25 years:
  • Wham disbanded 
  • Gas was $0.89/gal
  • Hoosiers, Top Gun, Stand By Me and Wildcats were new at the theater
  • I was 'escorted' from the mens room of the theater by a member of the local constabulary for drinking screwdrivers...wait, classy, bottled screwdrivers with several other underage boys and girls while seeing Rocky Horror
  • Microsoft hit the NYSE at $21/share
  • Travelers enjoyed their last in-flight smoke 
  • I flew to visit nearly half of our great country (all smoke free)
  • We said goodbye to Charlotte Rae and hello to Cloris Leachman
  • They gave a girl named Oprah (or 'O-frah', as Nana to this very day calls her) a tv show
  • The Challenger exploded
  • I was in 11 weddings
  • I saw 2 babies born
  • Lindsay Lohan was born
  • At 20 yrs/4mos, Mike Tyson became the youngest heavy weight champ before going on to chomp an ear and get a definitely not crazy distinguished face tattoo
  • I had to deck a friend's husband, a Chicago police officer.  Laid him out in some bushes.  Told him not to get up
  • In less aggressive news, people held hands across America, although I don't remember why
  • The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inducted it's first class
  • Michael Jackson went from:
(Post Pepsi, circa 1986)

To:

To:

..If all of those things can happen in that span, here's hoping that even if some of us haven't officially turned into grownups that we find the past 25 years have turned a good buncha kids into good gaggle of adultish people and that the intervening years have been kind to all of my classmates.  Reunioning will be fun!  Hooray for being old!!

I shall leave you with our classy motto;  Party Naked

(Dear God,
For the love of you, please don't let old, saggy, lumpy, middle-aged people congregating after 25 years actually do that.  Thank you in advance.
Love,
BBG)


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Sunday, June 19, 2011

~Jostled

Yesterday I was out with Peaches.  We were supposed to be on a manhunt.  Unfortunately the only ones we saw were un-huntable for one reason or another.  Too old.  Too young.  Too wrong.  Too smelly, as Peaches had the sad misfortune of being able to report about one that sat next to her for a bit.   It was all quite something.  And by "something", in this case I mean disappointing. 

We were in an area of town that is somewhat unfamiliar to us, but was an equal distance from each of our places.  We didn't have a bad time, we just didn't have the good flirtin' time we expected.  Towards the end of the evening we were sitting at the bar, gabbin' away.  I was seated between Peaches and some guy and his friend.  Next thing I know some girl has wedged herself in the already limited space between this guy and me.  ...And she's bumpin' into me with each of her tipsy bobs and weaves. 

Now, if you don't know me, this sounds minorly irritating.  However, if you know me you know the very last thing I want is to be touched by a stranger.  An angel, sure, maybe.  But some random ass stranger?  Hellz to da no.  This is always gonna cause a problem.  I'm very particular about personal space.  I'm not one of those freaks who doesn't like to be touched at all.  Friends, family, people who I like and know are all fine.  Strangers?  No. 

I was once in the grocery line and this stranger lady was encroaching on, nay was trying to inhabit my BBG bubble.  I don't mean a little too close, I mean right the fuck up on me.  Every time I moved up she moved up.  And then I could take it no more and turned and said, "your idea of personal space is outta whack and I need you to take one big step backwards."  (FYI the look on the cashiers face was priceless.  Eyes as big as saucers.)  So this has always been an issue for me.

The gal last night is talking to this guy next to me and bumpin' into me every 2.3 seconds, so I say to her, "lemme move over" (yes, combined with the look) as I move my chair towards Peaches.  Now, I'm already gettin' ticked off and that was my hint to her to watch her drunkass self.  She said something about not knowing she was bumpin' me.  How?  Fuck if I know.  Perhaps booze paralyzes the nerves allowing you to know your touching someone?  Not being a neurologist or an alcoholic I can't say with any certitude.

Peaches went to play some music for the maaaaaybe 1/4 full joint (aka: it's not a packed/you can't help yourself type environment), and while she was gone this broad keeps bumping into me.  Now I'm strongly considering decking her, but am also trying to be a good person, so I turned to her and sez, "I don't have anywhere else to move" as I again am forced to give her the look, after she has bashed into me afuckingain.  Now she's alllllll kindz a testy.  "I'm just talking to this guy, I'm trying not to be all over him he's not my husband", (I'm still not sure what that really was supposed to mean?) "it's not like I'm trying to bump into you",  "geez, what do you want me to do?"...

(BTW nice attempt to make it seem like I'm being unreasonable or somehow the "problem" in this situation you and only you are creating.  No dice.  Parking lot???)

...Howz about stop jostling me?!?  How about you fuckin' wedge yourself between this guy and your hubby, instead of me?  How about you stand behind him to carry on, what I'm sure is some riveting conversation and he can turn to his side in his chair?  How about you stand the fuck still?  There are a lot of options available to you.  Also on the table?  You gettin' your ass beat by some BBG.

After that lil' exchange she took leave of my space and managed to stay away until we took leave of that joint. 

I've said it before. 

I'm sayin' it now.

(I'm pretty fuckin' sure I'll have to say it again.)

Boundaries people, BOUNDARIES!!


So just for the record, hold your arms out.  Fully stretched.  That's personal space.  YOU own that, unless you invite someone into it.  Got it?  Good.  No ass beatin' for you.  Resume your day.

Oh, before you go--  Happy Fathers Day to all Dads, especially mine!!

(BBG and Dad)


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Thursday, June 16, 2011

~Way To Spin It Lowes

I can see the new tag line now...

"Lowes~  Proudly pissin' off Mom's since 2011."


Daaaaaaam. 

I've never seen dissin' and taunting mothers used as a marketing tool.  ...Guess things have changed a bit since back in my day when I wrote copy.  Back then we respected the ire a person who had pushed a bowling ball through her lady parts, lactated and bled for days on end without dying could muster up when trifled with. 


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Wednesday, June 15, 2011

~Change Is Comin'

Well...it's taken years.  Since '08 in fact, for me to put an end to this nonsense:

(Too damn much change occupying space in my ride.)

Every purchase I've made since September '08 has required me to carry change out to my car because my festive sushi wallet I had to have has no coin compartment.   (And I rarely have a pocket.)  Which as you can probably imagine, has kinda been a pain in the ass the past (almost) 3 YEARS!!!

But not any more thanks to my new and groovy change purse:

(one side)



(the other)

New kick ass change purse $5.99.  Not having to carry change out of stores in the palm of my hand like a 7 year old.  Prrrrrr ice less.


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Tuesday, June 14, 2011

~Pool Day, Pool Day!!

Annual Lorna Doone Octoroon Pool Day was held yesterday.  I donno?  Maybe the past six, 7 years or so, my friend Lorna Doone Octoroon (or LDO for short), has invited me to her condo pool.  In all honesty, it's not like I'm only allowed there once per year.  Although that would be a prudent rule.  I probably have a standing, "any ol' time invite', but I know too much BBG is simply too much BBG and I wouldn't want to wear out my welcome, ya know?  Plus, once a year makes it a special occasion. 
(BBG gettin' my burn on)

One of the best things about pool day is that I know just what to expect.  It's the same thing year in, year out. 
  • Too much mid-afternoon boozin'
  • Too many girlie magazines (sorry penis people, I only meant Cosmo, More and People-ish variety.  Sorry to shatter the lil' scenario of girls scantily clothed laid back lookin' at porn.)
  • Too long spent the pool, causing ridiculous amounts of "pruning"
  • Too much sun, resulting in sunburns for everyone
  • Too many laughs

Pool Day 2011 was no exception.  In addition to LDO et moi, the other annual inclusions are LDO's grown daughter, Captain Morgan (before confusion ensues; the rum-y pirate, not some BBG code name), LDO's crazy ass good corn on the cob and my dill potato salad, which if I do say so is fuckin' outstanding.  Other than that the guest list varies year to year.  This year was a boy heavy year, which resulted in, as LDO put it, "hair flippin' flirtin' from the pool".  I recall no such thing, but am hesitant to outright call LDO a liar, as I do want to be invited back for 2012.


(LDO possibly too tipsy to hold her head upright,
BBG and floating gator comin' after us)

I made a stunning self realization when I arrived for Pool Day.  I asked if I could help do anything as she readied the food cooler.  LDO asked if I would finish blowing up her float-y.  I immediately got all, "uh...really?!?"  In my mind all I could see was my sad ass, semi asthmatic (says the girl with 3 inhalers) who also enjoys 'my retirement plan' (aka: smokes) lungs huffin' and puffin' for the next 3 days to fill this fucking inflatable.  

Then she showed me the electric float-y filler.  Now thatThat I could do.  After I spent all of :45 seconds and the effort of pushing the go button and holding the doohickey in the stem, I had to quasi apologize for the in a split second attitude I copped, but rationalized it with a--  "ya know how some times you ask people to do a favor and you hope it's not too much, to big of a favor to ask?  And ya wonder, would they tell me if xyz was an inconvenience?" 

Well, apparently, you never, ever have to wonder that with me. 

If I commit to the favor, I'm completely down with doing it. 

But if I think it's gonna entail 72 hours of lightheadedness (Double score new word invention!!) and that cold, clammy feeling just before your peepers start to tunnel into darkness before you actually loose consciousness, too much, I'm gonna balk.  ...Might not be the "proper" way to conduct oneself, however at least ya always know where we stand.  I have zero problem sayin' no.  (It's one of my best and most productive traits, actually.)  And really now, isn't that a much better spin than, I'm a straight up ass? 


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Friday, June 10, 2011

~Food Porn

This is pork tenderloin:

Or as AnonD, who cooked it named it, 'pork tendercock'

(What more could I possibly add?  Enjoy your day. ...Oh, and you're welcome for my ability to control all of my, "the other white meat" assy comments I'm self censoring.)


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Wednesday, June 8, 2011

~Continuing Ed (GAP)

Alright class, settle down, pencils out.  Last time we discussed the importance of picture selection (aka: the first 1st impression), today we're gonna take a peek at a few other integral aspects where many guys are failing. 

Badly.


Your Profile-
There are soooo many ways to fuck this up.  So.  Very.  Many.   Let's begin with the "duh's"... Spelling and grammar;  USE THEM!  For fucks sake, what makes ya think it's not important?  For at least 12 years, every day in school people tried to emphasise this point.  Why would you think it doesn't matter here? 

We're not expecting you to write a profile that could be mistaken for your dissertation, however, it also shouldn't read like a slow, possibly dyslexic 14 year old wrote it either.  Girls aren't going to knock each other over to get to the dumb boy in the room, even if he's cute.  Try a little punctuation.  Craft coherent thoughts.  Use fuckin' spell check.  God, Bill Gates and Al Gore made it for a reason.

This is real:
(sic) "ian laid back guy like going out haven fun like to go listen to live music like countrymusic and older rocken roll like to sit anround fire pit and cook outs like to go to fairs and fleamarket i like going camping and fishing like to restore old cars like to work out in the yard i have work very hard get thing iv got i like to joke around just some good old fun it is better tell truth up front to wait it to late ian looking for someone loyal and honest im looking for someone that is serious in meeting getting to know each other i dont pretend to be someone im not i like wacthing demlition derby i run few my self some women on here think that there great on here if there great why are there on this site looking for some one they think there to good to talk people need to know just ask like they say you judge a book by it cover you just might just miss a good one no players"

Holy fuck grammar Batman. 



~This Isn't An Election Commerical, Don't Go Negative:  Your profile is not the place to address your deep seeded and painful issues.  "GAMES, LIES, CONFUSION...Whats the point", "No more pussies.  Real women only, please" (-- I know we're talkin' "don'ts", but, honestly I give a bit of credit for the no problem usage of pussy, with the respect of a please.), "do any women tell the truth?  tired of the BS", "tired of girls so FULL OF THEMSELVES", "All gold diggers exit now please", "looking for someone who is not a ****"; are all great things to discuss with your shrink, or over a beer with your buddy.  These are not things to include in your profile.  Why?  Because such shit just show us that however you were burned in your last relationship(s), you've not really worked through it.  These words are the hallmark that let us know that those past unresolved experiences taint the prism by which you'll be able to see or experience anything/one new.  --And not in the 'live, learn, watch out for way' either.  But in the, 'I'm gonna make you pay for someone elses stupidity, infidelity, inconsideration, selfishness, mean-ness, etc, way'.   Guys don't want to be punished for the last boyfriends bad actions, neither do girls.   

This is real:
(sic)  "Discribing myself does no good for the person reading this discription. I can say or write anything to make myself sound great or to try to convince you to contact me, but the only way your really going to know who I am is to talk and get to know me. Dating is hard enough as it is, but when you try to make yourself something your not, then that makes it even harder. I am a good man that made some bad choices in the women that I have married. I am not scared of making a comment as long as it isnt a one sided relationship. I dont have a problem being romantic if that is what a women likes."

Cliche's are so because they are rooted in truth, you will get more with honey than vinegar.   Eliminate the negative and focus in on the fuckin' positive.  Write good traits you have or desire in a mate.  Qualities that ideally you'd like to find, not how that damn (insert name here) screwed you over.  Describe why we would want to hang out with you, not give us a reason not to.  Make you appealing. 



~Watch Your Tone:  FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP YELLING AT US. 

This is real:
(sic)  "I AM AN AMBITIOUS, FUN LOVING GUY AND I AM LOOKING ON THIS SITE FOR A NICE HONEST WOMAN TO DATE AND GO OUT AND HAVE FUN WITH GOING TO EVENTS, FAIRS,SHOPPING OR WHATEVER. I AM REAL DOWN TO EARTH SIMPLE KIND OF GUY. I DON'T LIKE TO MAKE THINGS MORE COMPLICATED THAN THEY HAVE TO BE. JUST LIKE TO LIVE LIFE TO THE FULLEST BECAUSE THE YEARS SEEM TO JUST FLY BY. I THINK LIFE IS TO SHORT TO BE LONELY. AND MISERABLE. BUT I WORK ALOT OF HOURS AT WORK AND I LIVE BY MYSELF, EXCEPT FOR MY DOG, WHICH I LOVE TO DEATH! SHE IS SPOILED ROTTEN BUT SHE IS A GOOD DOGGIE! I AM AN OUTDOOR PERSON, I LIKE CAMPING,CEDAR POINT,GARDENING. AND RENOVATION. PROJECTS AROUND THE HOUSE.SO IF YOU THINK YOU MIGHT WANT TO MEET SOMETIME AND GET TO KNOW ME, SEND ME A MESSAGE"


You'll find a wee key to the left of your left hand pinkie.  FUCKING PUSH IT.

Conversely, please don't whhhhisper. 

This is real:
(sic)   "i will like to meet someone to go out tosee a good movie,eat i love food,go to a club i like to dance and drink some just in off to make me feel good ,i like all kinds of music i think is the best thing to do to the stress go out and forget about everything that way you dont think about u problems bills etc."

Good grief.  All of those lower case "i"'s.  It strikes us as the typing of a sad sack, perhaps someone who walks around head lowered and kinda stooped over. Yes, it is the poor posture of writing.  If Charlie Brown had email, I bet he'd write in all lower case.  ...Even Peppermint Pattie didn't want Charlie Brown. 

You'll find a button to remedy this on the left hand side, again near the pinkie (and we all know that if the pinkie can make it happen, it's not too much effort), it says 'shift', hit it every now and again.



~Remember You Are Not Fabio:  Yes, everyone likes the idea of a life that looks like the cover of a romance novel, (I guess?) chocked full o' long walks on the beach, horseback rides at sunset and skipping through fields of clover.  Unless you A) happen to live on oceanfront property (George Strait shout out!), 2) own a horse,  III) or are legitimately an heir to the  Massengill fortune, feel completely free to leave such things out of your profile.  Honestly, it doesn't show that you're tryin' very hard, or are really in touch with what a girl wants.  It also doesn't differentiate you from the other 98 guys who included "walks in the rain" in some misguided attempt to woo us. 



~It's Hard To Start:  "I don't know where to begin", "I'm no good at writing this stuff" and all other variations.  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Got it.  Not interesting.  Or informative.  It's the filler in your profile crab cake, and nobody orders the crab cake because it's got extra filler.  Give us some juicy, flaky, sweet goodness and just fuckin' start already.



~Be Confident, Not Cocky:  FYI, girls don't like cocky.  Cockiness always covers for low self esteem and/or real, or imagined, perceived internal inadequacies.  A confident guy is secure in his...um....his-ness.  He owns what he is.  He doesn't need to play it up because he's solid with who he is.  A cocky guy isn't secure enough in his 'his-ness' to let that speak for itself.  Nooooo, he's gotta get all boasty and braggy about it in an attempt to lure a girl in, because he thinks his his-ness isn't enough, which always comes off as desperate and sad.  And what girl needs an added dose of desperate and sad in her life? 

This is real:
I'm online here, looking for a real relationship. I'm social, have lots of friends, but I've found the girls in LA bars are not interested in a relationship, being a couple. Moreover, I'm kind of hard to "get". I'm sensitive, totally love to be in committed relationships, believe in the Romeo and Juliet in-love-forever, hearts-race-when-we-see-each-other kind of love (and I write songs about that), but without knowing that a girl in a bar sees a tall, blue-eyed good-looking, fun, rich guy who own a couple of luxury houses on the beach, collects exotic cars, plays in a party band, works out to have six pack abs, and mastered a stock market hedge fund. So you can imagine finding a match is a bit challenging. I know the true comes out in the lyrics of the songs I write. Good stuff, here's one song I wrote:



"A Kiss, is a beautiful thing. Affection shaped and curled together. A union with blind eyes, and open hearts"...

Remember:  Confident = good.  Cocky = you spending another night rubbin' one out.



...Well.  On that note, we'll wrap things up for the day. 

Before you make your profile:
  • Decide what vibe you want girls to take away from your content.  Establish your objective.  Pen your narrative accordingly.
  • Convey something that sets you apart, that's interesting, something that shows a trait that makes us think you'd potentially make a good match.  
  • Don't be David Downer.  Accentuate the positive.
  • Do be yourself, but be the yourself that uses fucking spell check.  Make friends with periods, commas and paragraphs.
  • Make YOU appealing.
  • Include what's known as a call to action.  Cajole, tempt, dare, entice your reader to take an action and reach out to you.  Create an easy opening for her to say hello.

Next time, making contact.  Cllllllllaaaasssssss dismissed.


* Special, big ass Thanks to Somp for your "research" assistance and all 'round general cool chick-ness.    




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Monday, June 6, 2011

~GBS

Being an only child, or as I've always liked to position it, the favorite child, I'm maybe a tad more intrigued by siblings than people who actually have brothers and/or sisters.  Maybe that's how long ago I started noticing a trend in brothers, although I'm sure it happens with sisters, for some reason it seems much more pronounced in guys. 

Like I say, it's something I've noticed and paid attention to for years and I finally feel ready to share my theory with 'da World.  Now, you may read this and think me a kook, but really, if this isn't your first time in the BBGW, or if you know my ass, you probably already think I'm a kook, so... whaaaaaaaaat?!?  Yep.  SUCK IT! 

As you may know, I'm prone to thinking I have abilities that, um, a more reality based person might consider infuckingpossible highly improbable.  (Remember when I thought I could make a table?  Or that cubby hole thingy?  Having had zero experience building anything.)  Whereas, I tend to think, 'sure, there's some way to skin that cat...just gotta figure it out'. 

It's funny.  For as regimented, conventional and pragmatic as I can be about some things, I don't, or try not to limit my possibilities about most things.   Other things are a fuckin' free for all in my head.  My mind tends to think I haven't done something, more than that I can't do something.  (And for the record, that fuckin' table is still standing and doing it's table job and that cubby hole was ingenious.)

With that said, I, just like Einstein, Freud and Curie before me, I have a theory.

A theory based on absofuckinglootly zero statistics, medical or biological education or research. 

However, a theory that I strongly assert is dead on accurate based on it's merits. 

I am of the opinion that something happens during a second, or subsequent male child pregnancy.  Some kind of hormonal or wacky cell splittin', gene hinky-ness in utero that causes latter male children to run an increased risk of googiliness.  Specifically, googiliness in the looks department. 

My contention that there is a correlation between subsequent male pregnancies and as I have named it, Googily Brother Syndrome (GBS) is based on my vast medical background specializing in nuthin'.  Yet I am 99.44% sure that the first born boy of any union between the same parents yielding more than one son is more likely than not to have at least one younger brother who is affected with GBS.

Alright.

I know you think I'm talking outta my ass.  While that is always a possibility with me, that doesn't necessarily mean I'm wrong.  Know who people thought talked outta their damn asses?  A man named Albert.  Another man named Sigmund.  And a madame named Marie. 

One persons 'crazy ass' is another persons 'forward thinking' or dare I say, genius!  Before you commit to making a reservation for a rubber room for me, kindly examine the following facts:
(Older and now deceased brother)

(Younger, alive and googilier brother)


It's not even a full on handsome issue, regardless of how attractive you feel Alec is, there's no denying that some of his younger brothers clearly have GBS.
(Eldest Wayans brother, far left, with accompanying and various degrees of GBS siblings.)


Pop Quiz:

Q:  Using the GBS theory which Bee Gee is the oldest brother?

If you guessed the center Bee Gee (aka: Barry. Thank you Google) as the eldest by GBS visual elimination you are correct.



(Older then)

(Younger then)


(Younger and older, nowish)


Presidential GBS


Like I said, it's not even a cute thing.  Both widely considered cute.
But one is googiler (and younger: Owen).





See...you're getting so good you don't even need me to point out the GBS sibling anymore.

Technically, I don't know which of these cats is older...but I have a pretty good guess.

(Paul and twin Vin Deisel)

I'd encourage you to think about brothers you know in your personal life, I guarantee there's a googily one.  Feel free to report in with your findings.

Now that I've released my GBS theory for the greater good of the world, perhaps some egghead will look into this and validate it with something more than antidotal proof.  I will be very excited when I am presented with some sort of discovery Pulitzer!!  Until then, my advise is that if you have one cute boy child, it may be time to reassess your desire for further procreation.  It is, as you see a total crap shoot, with sometimes very googily results.  You have been warned.  Fornicate at your own risk.


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