Monday, August 29, 2016

~ What Your Cool Ass Aunt Wants You To Know About College

College, for most people, is the first time you get to spend any real time with people who aren't exactly like you.  I know you're a unique snowflake, and all.  It's the first time you're not gonna be surrounded predominately by other peers who grew up in your neighborhood.  Who's parents have jobs like yours do, who shop at the same Old Navy you do, that have, like you, spent most of their days in their zip code. 

In the coming weeks you'll cross paths with people who don't look like you, don't hold the same religious beliefs (or non) that you're familiar with, or eat the same food you have been weaned on.  Go, say hello.  Offer them a piece of gum, or whatever adults in training are doin' these days, which I, as an old ass wouldn't presume to know.  Saving both of us embarrassment.  You're welcome Meet them.  Listen to them.  Knowing people who are the you of the other side of town is fine, don't get me wrong.  But knowing, and coming to have a greater understanding of the people who are you from the other side of the world, or other side of the political spectrum, or social economic setting?  That's where you learn your world view. 

Views are limited by experience.
Your world view, how you interpret your place in the world, how you formulate your political feelings, how you recognize injustices (and are able to in turn do something about them), how you do the math to understand the sum of the how the world works, etc., is about to be altered.  Prepare yourself.  Not everyone has the ability, or desire to notice or embrace such challenges. 

It's like your world view of transportation.  When you were three your field of reference was a big wheel, when you knew more and were older it was a big kid bike, now it's a car.  You knew cars existed when you were 3, but none of the considerations you automatically cycle through now (when you put the keys in the ignition) were factors in your thinking and perception of getting from point a-to-b, at the time.  That's how life works too.  (And why it's important to always be willing to accept all varieties of info as they pop up.  [You have a good head on your shoulders, you'll be able to come to your own conclusions about things, the important part is the exposure part, the open to discovery part.]  Can you imagine bein' all, 'nope, I like my big wheel, I don't wanna know about the next layer of info 'n opportunities?  Jetsonmobiles?  Eh, no thanks.  Fact:  That sentiment doesn't sound any less ridiculous when applied to life.)  You know all someone can know about being a teen and high school, you view the world, and it's workin's through that prism.  But that's only an accurate view from where your standing in life, from your narrow vantage point you've gathered to date.  Today you begin the process of taking your world to the next level.  (ProTip:  You'll learn some people never enlarge their view beyond that point.  Sometimes due to lack of opportunities, sometimes out of comfort and laziness.)  You fill in the view (pick up the peripheral details, notice the nuance) by expanding your wealth of knowledge (not preconceived notions, but actual experience and interactions).

You, Jon Snow, know nothing.

Yes, you've managed to assist your parents in keeping you alive.  But, let's be 100%.  It's only been a relative short amount of time and under pretty specific conditions.  You've demonstrated that you can to some degree manage to not kill yourself with your poor decisions.  It's why the world forces you to prove your abilities with a temporary permit before you have free reign.  This is your educational/career-y/life-y temp permit.  The step you have to take before being received as a 'real adult'.

Everyone has led you to believe that college is about learning book things.  (Fact:  If I don't underscore that of course it is, your mother will certainly punch me in the throat the next time we see each other.)  But never discount the value of the ancillary things you learn during these years.  In class you're learning the building blocks of your future career.  Outside, however, you'll learn the building blocks of a fully formed you find the opportunity to decide, and program yourself with the habits to make yourself the type of person you're going to be when you envision your ideal grown ass self. 

Here are some other helpful as fuck hints:

Step out of your comfort zone when choosing friends.  (check) 

Sex.  Sex is to college as peanut butter is to jelly.  Lots of opportunities are going to present themselves.  In large part, by 'opportunities', I mean alcohol.  You'll be in close confines with people who are new and exciting, feelings and/or chemistry is gonna bud and the next thing you know (surprise) you are pants free.  I know your folks have mentioned it, but sometimes, just sometimes it takes a different voice to say it before you listen (at least that's how I am);  BE SAFE.  No excuses.  If you can manage to plan to not be out of Mt. Dew, or gas in your car, or without that thing you consider a big fucking deal you are mature enough to not let sex have a chance to kill you.  The fact that you didn't go to class topless lets you know you're capable of adhering to common sense rules of life. 

The other thing about sex you need to always carry with you?  When not to do it.  Pop Quiz:  Would ya engage in gettin' it on with someone who was stinky?  I mean, stanky, not ya just finished workin' out and you're sweaty as hell, like B fucking O.  Nope, of course ya wouldn't.  Congratulations!  You have the ability to decipher when it is and isn't ok, or in your best interest to have sex.  Use this superpower to decide under what conditions you participatin' in sex is appropriate.  You know not to rape people.  But don't take your eye off how quickly you can find yourself in positions (which all of the sudden seems like a bad choice of words, but...) where under the light of day, and/or sobriety, or when phased by an attorney could be up for debate.  Keep yourself out of such situations.  This isn't achieved by magic, you're going to have to use your ability to decipher when it is and isn't ok.  And you're going to have to be do so when Jaegermister is telling you that, you. can.  do.  a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g. 

The rest about sex and the college dynamic you'll figure out.  The other things are skinned knees and bruises.  These things are the life and death-y shit. 

Drugs and Booze.  I don't know what the world looks like on campus in 2016.  But for sure they haven't ceased bein' around and easily available since my day.  You're going to do what you're going to do, try what you're going to try.  None of us can prevent that.  As Smokey the Bear says, only you can prevent forest fires.  You're surrounded by the availability of drugs, but only you can decide whether or not you're willing to burn down the forest, (either through clumsy fumbling or on purpose) or not.  Choose wisely.  If as an adult you want to be the person who knows how to make the right call in life-y situations?  Your practice at it is now.  Be aware that the ramifications of those choices are ones that can haunt you and put things you want for yourself in peril for the rest of your life.

A friend owns a bar in BBGville, as their
daughter started her freshman year she
took the warning to heart so much so
that she taped her drinks closed.
Q: Who's more of an expert about the
dangers and the reality of booze bein'
tampered with than someone who's a
professional on booze AND people.
Heed this shit.
As for drinking?  (Other than the obvious, don't drink and drive.)  The major rule of thumb is don't be that guy/girl.  Don't be the girl with her head in a bucket sitting on the couch.  Don't be that guy who thinks that running through traffic slapping cars, or pickin' fights after a couple-a pops is acceptable.  It's douchbaggery and I'm not sure what the girl-y equivalent is, but it's that.  Know your saturation point.  If you're dancin' on the bar but still have control over reason and prudent judgment, that's the sweet spot.  If talking back to a police officer seems like a good idea, or hoppin' behind the wheel is probably ok?  You aren't in control of you, tequila is.  ABC:  Always Be (in) Control (of you).  (Even if it's only the core functions; stayin' alive, remaining un-maimed, and without a date for a court appearance.)

Use the buddy system.  For the same reason it worked in kindergarten.  Two heads and four fists are better than one (two).  To this day I use the buddy system.  How else do you think I've managed to resist slapping all of the people who've legit deserved to be slapped all these years?  A:  Friends capable of talkin' me out of being me for my own damn good.  #Invaluable

To steal a corporate tag; Just Do It.  Take every opportunity to grow and expand your universe you can.  Ok.  Not every.  Avoid things that are likely to result in a trip to the ER, jail or morgue.  I know you can't anticipate the result of every decision you make, but your family has already equipped you with the ability to see downrange in a host of situations you've never been an active participant in.  You know the answer to 75% of what might present itself, the variable is the other 25% which is comprised of your willingness to effectively manage your decisions.  In addition to expanding your personal circle and point of reference in the world, try things that might not be natural matches to your known skill sets.  Check out a club or team that you're not already good at, or knowledgeable about.  Even when you're not learning something directly beneficial to your career goals, lessons applicable to it can be gleaned from what seems like unlikely and surprising sources.  Volunteer with an organization where you'll meet and serve people living circumstances your unfamiliar with.  These years are the cocktail party years.  Lots of trays of new-to-you foods are passing by.  Indulge in what passes by because you've never been exposed to it before.  Maybe you won't like it.  Maybe it'll become your new favorite.  You won't know until you give it a whirl.  If you leave the party without trying the different things being offered you'll just be hungry and unfulfilled.  Manga.  Take a bite outta life.

Damn straight you're afraid.  You're being thrown into the unknown.  It's natural.  I'll let you in an adult-ing secret...  Whenever you do engage in something new there's fear.  This applies to everything.  (Fact:  Not 'everything', just things you have no experience with yet)  I have friends who have never been in the hospital and are uneasy (to functionally rendered immobile by being petrified) of medical-y settings.  I first remember being hospitalized at 9, so the process has never really been new to me, therefore I'm not afraid of any of that.  It's not new.  The faster you recognize that walking into a room full of strangers at college is scary only at first and then that's a thing of the past (because you've gained the security that you know what it's like), and that you can apply the same logic to sky diving, starting your first grownup job, or getting serious with someone, or any of the other 3.2 million things you'll be faced with over a lifetime that will be 'new'  and therefore easier to remain status quo about because ya don't know how to manage the fear and unease of change.  Learn the tools that work for you to overcome such trepidations. The fall flat on your face is easier to rebound from at your age.  When I see people my age who never really learned that lesson you can see in disparate areas of their lives how it's held them back from experiencing as much of life as they should/could, and stunts their ability to deal with things in productive/grownup ways.  On their jobs, in their love lives, in their sheer aptitude for being able to grab life by it's balls.  Again, don't be that guy/girl.  Everybody's afraid.  Only ballsy people decide not to allow that to be an impediment to their quest for doing what they want. 

Go forth and be bold.  You are going to crash and burn, because you are not a robot.  (Congrats on bein' people.)  Even under the best circumstances with the best intentions and using your best foot forward, I'm sorry to tell you, but swear that it's true, some fucked up shit is gonna happen to you.  It's how you rise from the down and out place that helps secure your place in the space.  How you're viewed, and how you view you.  To get a lil' less Seuss-y...

...The phoenix is revered, because he rose from the ashes.  Nobody remembers, or mentions how he got there, only how spectacularly he emerged from the flames.  BE A FUCKING PHOENIX.  Always. 

Mind the mental.  A good amount of mental illness presents itself in late teen to early adulthood.  What seems like fun loving and a lax sense of knowin' what's good for ya, could be a sign and a symptom of an undiagnosed, or mismanaged ailment.  Sussing out mental illness is difficult for Drs, so no one expects you to manage such mental minutiae, but do be aware that what when the outlandish is suggested, occasionally it's going to be less let's kick up our heels and more of a red flag.  Also, you (& your new classmates) are accustomed to the support system in your life, which has been family, friends, teachers/coaches.  College is made extra overwhelming because you don't have that built in system at as easy access as you once did, and ya haven't yet built a new support system.   Until you're roster is filled with your new day-to-day system remember to be kind to yourself as you staff Team You.   

The last thing you should know is that college is not for everybody.  And like with all other things, sometimes you know it's a non-fit only after you've tried it.  (Ask anyone with a divorce or a 'lower back tattoo'.)  College is meant to be hard.  Its main job is putting you through your paces in preparation for the next step of your life. (when we take off your life-y training wheels)  But college is not the only and absolute path to a lucrative and fulfilling life.  So don't ever think that this is the only option available to you.  The Most Fact-y Fact of 'Em All:  As long as your eyes pop open in the morning you have options.  And people who love you.

You are in charge of you.

(BBGW Readers,  If there are any glaringly integral omissions drop in a comment [it takes a village, yo].)


Thursday, August 25, 2016

~ Lettuce Entertain Me

I resist a lot of urges.  Mostly in the name of staying out of jail, the ER and/or the morgue.  Sometimes in the quest to achieve proper adult-ing, or not lookin' a complete fuckin' fool at any given moment.  As the saying goes, the struggle is real, yo.

Yesterday I was faced with such a decision.  Go with my natural inclination, or use reasonable judgement? 

As I meandered the produce section I momentarily vacillated between romaine, for Caesar salad, or iceberg for a wedge.  For the gazillion-th week in a row I chose iceberg because, bacon.  I started reaching for a head when I stopped, pulled my BBGhand back and silently started asking myself if I should buy the Stewie lettuce?

Or, like a real grown up select lettuce not based on its cartoon doppleganger-ness. 

(Ok.  Because, bacon.  Annnnd salad shrimp.)

(As you've probably already surmised) I tote ta lee bought the Stewie lettuce.  I felt a lil' like a modern day member of the Donner party as I lopped off a piece of Stewie's head for my nourishment.  Maybe tomorrow, grownupping.  Maybe tomorrow.


Tuesday, August 23, 2016

~ The Life & Times Of Uncle John

Our 1st day together, Uncle John at 14 wks
For close to sixteen years my sidekick was a 15 lb. schnauzer.  The first time we met I knew he was supposed to be with me.  I was holding this 14 week old lil' fluff ball and the next thing I knew he got super squirmy and fell into a barrel of bunnies on display. 

I remember looking down on him among a herd o' rabbits thinking, you break him you buy him.  He wasn't broken, but his independent spirit of knowing where he wanted to be and making it so, made me think he was for me.  To tell you the truth it was one of the things I liked most about him.  He didn't feel particularly needy.  He'd love to be cuddled up with ya, if he wanted to be cuddled up, and when he didn't wanna be bothered with that noise he'd get up and go where he wanted to be.  I respected that.

Bring your dog to work 2000
From the time he came home with me he, with the exception of work, (photo-y ahem) mostly, came along with me as if he was package deal.  After having met him here in BBGville, a friend living on a lake in Akron, actually invited him not me up for the weekend.  "Can Uncle John come up x date?", she and her hubby asked.   ...well, yeah, ya know, if I can come too.  Which I loved, actually.  I loved that he was considered a good houseguest enough that people didn't hate that that big brown girl was bringin' her dog all the damn time.

Dog is my co-pilot
He really got around.  I always loved having people ask after him, which after having him whilst working in three separate offices during that span (in addition to friends who knew him under other circumstances) made for a good number of inquisitive human friends.  He didn't know a stranger, and was a pretty mellow pooch.   

Uncle John was loved and treasured every day.  Even when he was being an ass.  He lived a life with entirely too many toys, the freedom to be on any bed, sofa or chair of his choosing and a never ending supply of blueberries, carrots and celery treats.  Scritchy-scratches and head pats were in abundance daily.  As were ridiculous, one-sided conversations that often involved swear-y words peppered in just for fun.  

I knew Uncle John dying would be terrible.  Mostly because that
ass punked me on numerous occasions, like, waking up to this sight.
I, naturally started the process of freaking the fuck out, he lifted his
head and looked at me like, psych, bitch. 

The illustrious, Uncle John was named for the Grateful Dead song, Uncle John's Band.  It's been a year since he died, I haven't listened to it since. 

Uncle John watching his 'big screen'

Uncle John and his friend, George
Before Uncle John became part of my life (I never liked the term 'owner', as someone who if they would have been born in an earlier era would have been owned, it just never sat right with me.  Nor did parent.  The phrasing I preferred was, 'person'.  I was Uncle John's person.  The part of the operation with opposable thumbs and driving privileges.) several in my family thought a dog was a baaaaad idea.  Like, actual scoffing happened.  And, granted, based on my history with keeping plants, and myself alive, both being somewhat sketchy, I can see why.  
He was my first grownup pet.  So, 'are you sure that's a good idea?' was a valid question I heard more frequently than I would have liked.  Not to sound cocky, but it was one of the best ideas I've ever had.  Every good day was made better by his presence and every shitty one was made more bearable.  Somehow he had a full belly, toys, treats and a dry, warm/cool place to be without effort or care one, and yet I was the one who had the better end of the deal in the situation.  (...And I'm the one who had to clean up his doodles.) 


Every day was a fun new adventure and Uncle John was spry until his last moments.  Nothing had made me think anything was wrong, or that the day would end differently than any of the past 5,800+ had.  About 2am we went to bed, Uncle John scampered up the stairs, as I walked in the room he kinda staggered as he neared the bed and then he coughed up blood and made a terrible painful sound.  I picked him up and blood continued to come from his doggy nose.  I instantaneously and instinctively knew he was dying, and I knew there was nothing I could do at 2am that would change or help the situation.  I could see that things were unfolding fast enough that getting to the vet wasn't an option.  Nor was calling someone to come over.  So there we were, sitting in a dark room, me rocking him, telling him what a good boy he'd been, how much I'd enjoyed our time together and how much he was loved and would be missed while giving him kisses and crying. 

After the sun came up I called my Mom and her hubby, and AnonD.  AnonD took Uncle John to have his doggy body taken care of, for which I remain thankful.  I still haven't taken possession of Uncle John's ashes.  He stays at their house.  Not because I don't care enough to bring him home, but because it seems too painful to bring him home.  (He's with Rocky, Ace and Gus, AnonD's dogs who have passed.) 

Yesterday when I woke up I thought to myself, this is the last day Uncle John was with me.  They've been, for various reasons, some pretty shitty 365 days.  I've hated each one because he's gone, and I've been thankful on each one that he had a life that only had had 5 bad minutes at the end.  We should all be so lucky.  And so missed.

Other Uncle John Posts:


Friday, August 19, 2016

~ The Curious Case of Cocks & Cars

I'm helping my bestie, AnonD with their (Mr. AnonD) new house rehab and moving.  By 'helping' I mean doing absolutely nothing.  In the literal, not figurative sense.  (I wanted to help with the fire place painting.  I can paint.  I was already sitting on a stool.  I felt very confident that I could whosh-wosh for a while and be helpful.  I was wrong.  The kibosh was put down on that plan before I could really even completely float the idea out loud*.)

What's actually transpiring is that she's doing things, and I'm shadowing her with a tumbler of ice water and said stool.  Essentially I'm the Official Gabber In Chief of the project.

In the name of progress we headed over to the storage unit temporarily housing some odd's 'n ins.  I'm checkin' out the new 'hood I'll need to be familiar with once they get settled, takin' in the sights, noticing the weird (we passed a blue house, which had blue curtains. Or as it is now known, 'the blueberry house').  I'm riding shotgun, head on a swivel when I spy an ol' school Toyota MR2.  The sighting prompts me to go a diggin' in my pocket for my phone.  I ask AnonD if anyone is behind us 'cause I wanna snap something.  There's not.  I do.  And I'm like, 'maaaaaaan, it's 2016.  Ya don't see an MR2 everyday!'   Like, I had just spied a centaur made of a unicorn intermittently shitting cotton candy and peeing cherry Slurpee standing by a rainbow motioning me over.  Like, I was giddy, y'all.

(Toyota MR2 Info Ya Probably Don't Care About.)

AnonD's response?  Obviously, mocking laughter, and the querry,
"How do you not have a dick?"  

(Fact:  I do not have a dick.  But it's often been said I've got balls.)

Now, I'm not a gearhead as such.  My practical knowledge about cars ends with powering out of curves turning the key and filling the tank.  I used to love watching Top Gear.  (The v.BBC used to be my fave.  This year TG 'Merica won out.  [we'll try again next season, Matt LeBlanc])  Plus I've been to two car shows (one oldies, and one all Italian vehicles) and once to the annual BBGVille Auto Show.  Not exactly the resume of someone likely to be made so giddy by seein' a particular set of four wheels that they're compelled to take a picture. 

The thing she doesn't know is that the MR-2 was only the latest set of wheels to grab my attention. 

When I was a wee lass my Dad had an orange MG.  'Had'.  ...Until I was about six and fully outgrew the option of occupying the 'back seat'.  (Sorry, Dad.)  So last week it was this that I found picture worthy:   

Sometimes the subject is obvious. 

Sometimes it's not.

Exhibit A:

If, 'sweet ass Tesla' is what you're thinking you're missing the true gem of the picture.  I see a Tesla 'round these parts almost every day.  But look behind the Tesla, stopped at the light, across the street, second lane over.  That?  That's an El Camino in all its early days of cross breeding cars glory.

I'm a real sucker for the hard to find playing (trading?  [someone with a dick would probably know that]) cards like this Datsun 280z(ed, for BBGW UK-ish readers) not easily found since 1996 when they stopped rolling off the line.

And this ol' Dodge Omni (or Plymouth Horizon) which wrapped up production in 1990.

...Honestly?  What the fuck else am I to do when I see a ladybugmobile?  (cllllllliiiiick)

Or the other car in question is busy taking pictures of me

Or when you suspect an Uma is stalking you at Target?

(It's my own vehicle-y version of PokemonGo-ing.)  Things deemed unworthy?  The Rolls from Friday, the Bentley I was behind at a light yesterday and the Lambo I eyeballed last week a block from BBG HQ.  But I sure as shit captured the misfit toy(ota) I spied (sans a back window, in a downpour).  Priorities.

So, yeah, I have a secret, it's not a cock.  Shhhhhhhh.  It's a secret car capturing compulsion.

Quasi Related Posts:

(* I am deeply appreciative of how cognizant AnonD is
of keeping me alive, and using better sense than I can always manage to exercise on my own.) 


Thursday, August 11, 2016

~ This Week In Good Reads


Monday, August 8, 2016

~ Sew. This Is Happening.

I want to make this absolutely clear;  I do NOT know how to sew.

I can't read a pattern, or tell you what a dart* is.  I've never had an interest in sewing or a class.  In fact, I once had to throw away a dress because I couldn't get the two buttons I needed to reattach to do their fuckin' jobs appropriately.  As has been mentioned here before, I am not a hobby person (a weird ass 'n rambly post veering into the subjects of [naturally,] divorce and Tears For Fears).  I participate in no crafting of any sort.  Unless ya count that I paint my own nails every week or so. 

However, behold this fuckin' top I made:

JC Penney, are you seein' this *pay
attention to the pocket* action pose?

Honestly?  I don't even know what made me think I could sew sumthin'.  I suppose it was a combination of seeing clothes and just not being happy with some aspect;  ...I'd like the style hate the pattern or color.  Or, I kinda like that top, but I'd be totally sold if it had a square neckline.  And mostly, (because I don't like to carry a purse) 'I wish that dress had a damn pocket.'  One day I decided life is too short to not have things go your way, especially when you probably can do somethin' about that shit.  I figured if I could drive a vehicle and a forklift, I could drive a motherfucking sewing machine.  (A peddle and an engine is a peddle and an engine, rinse and repeat.)

Being one of those, if I put my mind to it, it's practically already done, sorts, I naturally started by making a potholder dress. 

I marched my ass to my local Jo-Ann store (Jo-Ann Store shout out.  BBGDisclosure:  They [nationwide] used to be my customer.  [Hi, JoanM!]  #AlwaysLoyal) picked a fabric that made me happy.  And it was on.  While I had zero experience, or even rudimentary knowledge, I set out on my, as I referred to it, figurin' it the fuck out 'science experiment' with the mindset of building (as opposed to sewing).  Building, putting things together, spatial orientations, how things work relative to the other pieces/components is how my mind is inclined, whether it be building somethin' tangible, or buildin' in the abstract and/or personal realm.   

  • That one time I decided I could build a table.  (Yea, bitches, a table.)
Wait.  Am I the Big Brown Mimi
(from the ol' Drew Carey Show)?
Once upon a time there was a dress that had become one of my faves.  It had a bow (as a closing mechanism on the shoulder).  It makes me feel like a present when I wear it.  What the fuck more could you ask from a garment?  I used it as a rough guideline, and ta-da:

(Pillowcase dress video)

Obviously, it's not a masterpiece of a frock.  Martha Stewart ain't gonna give me a medal or anything.  Hell.  It might fall apart tomorrow.  But I have a dress today, that I didn't have yesterday.  That I made with my own two damn hands, and the audacity to manage my life under the I-do-what-I-want rules   I feel festive in it.  And, admittedly, like a big ass toddler, which (Fact:) I, sadly don't feel as bad about as I should. (shrugs)   

Top attempt numero uno
The dress begat the notion that I could make a top too.  Once I created the top I remembered that if I hadn't have been a dumbass I would have made it with pockets.  Hence the black and white circle top, new and infuckingproved with pockets! 

The latest sewing miracle is this fine ass pair of jammy shorts.  (I don't wear pajama's for sleeping purposes, so due to my tooliteralism I don't feel right even calling 'em 'pajamas'.  I believe in bein' free when ya sleep.  Hotel, hospital and visiting others being the exceptions.)  I more, although probably less followed this [short video] recipe and sprinkled in some of my own personal tastes, like adding elastic and making the fanciful ruffling on the bottom of the leg. 

Who am I to think I can elastic?

Today's lesson?  Don't let the fact that you don't know how to do something keep you from
trying that shit. 

(BBGLegalDisclaimerThis helpful as hell tip does not apply to sword swallowing, fire eating, lion taming, running a band saw, or any other activity where an 'opps' would easily foreseeably result in death, hospitalization and/or legal action.  Bippity-boppity-boo.  I renounce culpability in any unfortunate events you may experience based on this recommendation.)  


* Dart
Don't say ya never learned
anything whilst visiting 'da World


Wednesday, August 3, 2016

~ Numbers Game (A Game That Can Get Your Ass Kicked)

Look.  I think I look fine for my age.  Aging is not something I concern myself with.  My eyes pop open in the morning I'm surprised and pleased.  Surprised because the ol' adage of tomorrow never bein' guaranteed is one that's always held, to use and old advertising term, top of mind awareness.  So, yeah, everyday I start from a winning position. Me: 23,721, Grim Reaper: Fuckin' O BOOM.  And pleased 'cause no matter the mundanity o' the day, sumthin' weird is gonna happen.  #Adventure  #Blessed

I have greys.  I do not care.  I mean, enough to do anything about 'em.  Comb them.  That's what I'm willing to do in their upkeep.  I can't even fathom driving someplace special, waiting for someone, sitting still (having to have forced conversations, if I'm being accurate, having to resist the urge to tell some random asshole to fuck off, etc.) having someone painting my hair for, what?  An hour?  4?  I donno.  To what?  ...Make some people who I don't know, or give but the most minimal amount of shit what they think about me at all (let alone my locks), think I'm younger?  Nope. 

There are, what every face cleanser or lotion-potion commercial tells me are 'fine lines'.  (In my head I call them fiiiiiiiiiinnnnne lines.)  Again, when I notice 'em they feel like, suck-it-I'm-still-alive-lines.  (shrugs)  So I don't really get how they are things to be ashamed of, or uncomfortable with. 

I am, however, a stone cold freak.  I get that.  And I made my peace with that long ago.  (No judgement, or shade.  Do you.  (Aggressively and with zeal.)  I swear, I don't begrudge or belittle the bottle beauties I know.  It's just not for me.  If you have to invest four hours, how many times per year?  Let's say 5.   Multiplied by? 15 years?  That's 300 hours.  I have 300 hours to give to hangin' with friends, or family.  Or snugglin' in bed.  Or giggling.  Or being kind.  Or making and executing a plan for world domination.  The hue of my hair?  Nah. 

I feel like I'm not particularly touchy about getting older.  Again, the only way to avoid it is to die.  So, ya know.  Those are the options?  Cool, then guess who's never gonna be bitchin' about another day above terra firma 'cause of a wrinkle or a sag.  Pluh-eze. 

In a way I've always kinda felt super non-touchy about age.  Exhibit A:  I lie about my age.  For about two decades I've been telling people I'm (depending on the day) 5-7 years older than I actually am.  My great-grandmother lied her ass off about her age.  (She made herself younger.)  So much so that it was a family joke.  Like, no one really knew how old she was when she died because she'd told so many different versions to so many various people and places.  ...I figure if I look decent for my age, I look specfuckin'tacular for bein' the nearly decade older that ya think I am.   (...And now you know the exact effort I'm willing to do in the name of age vanity.  Ageanity?  I'm willing to do a minor amount of math and commit a venial sin.  That's it.)  I'm just sayin', people uneasy with age and aging aren't uppin' the ante.  Generally.

To tell ya the truth?  Everything (aka: the BBGSOP [my standard operating procedure]) was workin' fine.  I'm getting more advanced in my aliveness, but I've not felt like the world was really taking notice.

Or that I'd made some Official shark jump over to the old side.  (Sure, I've been ma'am'd, but never Ma'am'd.)

...Everything was workin' fine.

Yep.  Right up until the other day.

I'm at some doctors appointment.  Somehow Labor Day plans were being discussed.  I mentioned I had an Our Lady of Bad Catholic Kidz H.S. reunion.  With a reeeeeeal quickness she chirped, "your 54th?' 

It's not my 54th.  She didn't say 54th.  ...But she did say the exact year reunion I'm going to.  And I was immediately, and completely PISSED OFF.  Frankly, I'd never considered if a long ass Q-tip could be used to shank a chick.  But here we were.

Later I consoled myself by telling me that she said this specific number because she has my medical records, which I presume in addition to a whole buncha medical gobbily gook also includes my age.  Or perhaps it's near her 54th reunion and she assumes we're in the same age range.  But the possibility that on sight I look like I should be having my 54th?  Well.  Now we're going to have to fight.  So I guess it's a good thing there's another doctor around the corner.


Dear Medical Professionals,
Watch your words whilst wearin' that stethoscope 'round yer neck.  It will make a good garrote if I want it to.
~ BBG 

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