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Showing posts with label Pics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pics. Show all posts

Friday, January 13, 2012

~Gifts Of Booze & Friendship

The other day I swung into the booze store to buy some Grenadine (What can I say? I heart  Shirley Temple's [recipe].) when I noticed a display for Cotton Candy vodka. Being obfuckingsessed a lover of cotton candy, this interested me immensely, immediately.   It seemed like a wonderful and potentially horrible idea. One one hand, I can't imagine that's really going to be as good as I want it to be. And you can't really mix cotton candy vodka with, um anything.   At least nuthin' I can think of.   So it doesn't seem like a very practical addition to the BBGbar.

...But on the other hand, it's cotton candy flavored booze y'all! And let's face it there is absolutely no fuckin' way I can live a life knowing there's cotton candy hooch out there and not give it a whirl.

However, as would exactly be my luck, they were out of it. (a single 1970's Indian by a trashy road tear sloooooowly drops down a BBG cheek)



However squared, as would be exactly my luck I returned to BBG HQ to discover this:

(Surboozyprise!!)

It's sadly not everyday you return home to find a gift of booze.  Now the freaky deaky thing about it is that it magically arrived at the hand of one of my great joys in life, a friend. I'd love to tell you which friend, alas at BBGWorld press time I actually don't know who the responsible Slim Shady party is.

But I know it's someone either on this exchange or someone who saw this crazy ass conversation:


(Who knew there were soooo many flavorful boozy options? 
Apparently, everyone but me.)

As you know, I love, love, love to bitch and complain another joy in my life about random shit, but I also try to be cognizant and aware of the good stuff too.

And some of the best 'stuff' I have are my friends. Of course because I am self centered me I believe this is because I do such a good job picking friends. (Which is probably one of those things people shouldn't say out loud. ...Oh well, you're not exactly here for should's n' shit.  At best this is a place of keepin' it realsies.  At worst a comprehensive cautionary tale of shouldn'ts.   Should's and perfect's are on some other blog, good luck.)   It's why almost all of my friends like my other friends. I only really roll with cool ass, good people.

Update: Cotton Candy vodka is AWWWWWWWESOME!!


(If things start to get slurry up in here you'll understand, right?)


So an Open Letter to my friends~

(And no, I'm not really tipsy and gettin' all mushy. I've only had one shot and you know a BBG can hold her booze better than that.)

As you know, I make a pretty big distinction between friends and acquaintances. Acquaintances are fun to be around. But a friend, while fun to be around is something to be valued. Some of you I talk to daily. Some of you are I see far too infrequently. Regardless, you are my friend because you add to my life. You bring me laughter, comfort and crazy ass stories apparently booze. You've been generous of heart and spirit or offered some kindness, grand or small that I treasure. Don't get me wrong, if one of you wins the lotto and wants to make a substantial monetary gift to BBG Inc, by alllllll fuckin' means.   But the reality is that some of the words you've spoken, words you probably never thought twice about, have been true gifts to me. That some of the most minuscule interactions and random times we've have together are shining little stars in the night sky to me. They're beautiful and sumthin' to be appreciated.

I don't say it often enough to any of you, well, because, look how fuckin' awkward I am at it--  even with time to think before some crazy confluence of words comes tumblin' outta my mouth, but for the official record:
  • I care about and love you.
  • That doesn't mean I think you're perfect. Some of you are asses (Jorge Estrada, Evil E, Jeffery Dahmer, Potatohead, etc.), but I care about and love you anyway. Trust me, I'm fully aware that you all take the same approach with me. (Again, just keepin' it real.)
  • I think of you more often than you know. In fact, the other night whilst hangin' in the hot tub I spied a shooting star. My wish was healthy and happy for my peeps. (I always feel like a self wish is greedy.) 'I did B with X so-and-so' or 'X reminds me of [insert friend name here]' is a daily occurrence to me.
  • You are important to me.
  • I wish we hung out more.
  • I appreciate you just the way you are.
Oh yeah, and...

(Not a big fan, but how could I not toss the song in?!?)

In other random acts of recent kindness, I also received some sunshine this week.  I'm more blessed with good eggs in my life than I have a right to.

While it ain't a gift of booze deeelightful, delicious, debauchery inducing booze I hope knowing that I value you gives you a wee buzz. 

Be good my peeps (that includes to yourself).

(Glass selected because it made me feel like a giant.)

Cheers, my friends!
(& Thank you to my mystery booze bringer!)


P.S.  Haaaaappy Birthday Lupe Estrada!


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Friday, January 6, 2012

~Crazy Ass Cat

(Apologies;  I meant to post this yesterday and, well, look what didn't happen....  My double apologies that this post actually kinda requires a bit of homework.  You'll find the 'Abandoned Babies' [link below] is helpful background to this post.  Normally there isn't a pre-req for post enjoyment.)

Well, there's been another crazy cat incident at BBG HQ.

A couple of years ago I had what can only be described as a completely cracked out cat experience while hangin' in the hot tub one winter night.  (Abandoned Babies Are A Buzz Kill & Other Minutiae).  It was very quickly followed by another weird kitty experience.  (All Things Catty [aka: The Meow Roundup]

...So as you can see, historically my feline interactions have been sketchy at best. 

I don't know what this new year has in store for me, but I have been able to ascertain that expecting normal cat relations in '12, is evidently utterly outta the question. 

I started to put this together as I noticed a blob in front of one of the windows in the BBG HQ hole (aka: basement, or more accurately BBGcave [<--if Batman can have a cave I can too.  Suck it.]).  As I closed in on the window I determined that the blob, was in fact, a cat.  I watched it watching me for about an hour, apparently 60 minutes is the maximum length of time a human can be surveilled by a free range cat, without contemplating some sort of Itchy & Scratchy scenario.

I'd just hopped off of the phone from telling Nana what to watch (aka: checking in on Nana without her knowing I'm checking in on her daily), who after being alerted to the current crazy cat situation advised that I hold Uncle John up to the window to frighten the cat away. 

Now normally, a Nana idea is a good idea. 

...But this time?  Oh, this time it was a...


...As it turns out, a pretty bad fuckin' idea.

What actually happened was this...

I gathered Uncle John and lifted him up to the window which is about 6" taller than me.  And because I need him to be able to see the cat, to in theory, bark and scare the cat away from the window forever, I had him facing away from me.  I realize that sounds like a fairly innocuous tidbit, however what I failed to process before I put this into motion was that turning Uncle John away from me is one of the ways I let him know he's in trouble.

If he gets into something or does something against the BBG HQ rules I pick him up facing outwards and take him to where the d oh double g crime was committed (tp/paper towel eating, miscellaneous drawer breaking into, etc.).  So from go Uncle John is not pleased with this whole pickin' up facin' away bidness.  He goes completely stiff.  Riiiiiiiiight about the time that he notices that he's now face to face with a cat, who by the fuckin' way is now aggressively meowing at Uncle John through the window.

(Surprise!)  This causes Uncle John to freak the fuck out. 

About the time I felt him clinch his lil' doggy toenails along the skin on my chest leaving lengthy thiiiiiiiis close to breakin' the skin scratches was when I remembered that Uncle John is afraid of cats.  (Again, I'm not saying Uncle John is a pussy, those cats outweighed him!)  So, of course he wasn't gonna get all, bad ass/I'm gonna kick your kitty ass on the cat.

Realizing the error of my ways, I put him down to take a gander at my newly created chest scratches which were already turning into red, welt-y's outlining (in-lining?) the v-neck t shirt I was wearin'.  Once I determined I wasn't bleeding I looked over at Uncle John who had taken sanctuary on the couch where he stood traumatized shaking.

Now, Uncle John is busy reliving some doggy PTSD and the asshole cat is on a constant meeeeeeeowathon.  Meeeeeeow....Meooooooow...Meeeeeeeeoooooooowwww.  Defuckinglightful.

(Sorry.  I wish I was a better picture taker, however, I don't know the proper
setting for through a window/dark/under the deck with a dark free range cat. 
Those two glow-y things are creeeeeepy cat peepers.)

With my only other possible plans being something that PETA would definitely NOT sanction, I opted for a squirt bottle filled with water, opened the window and started aggressively squirting the cat through the screen, like a stone cold freak saying, "out damn cat!"


(Look at meeee tryin' to be modest!  I know it doesn't look like
much, however I took this snap 4 days after the,
as it will now be known, crazy ass cat incident o' '12.)


Skat Kat insolently just fucking sat there the first few squirts but finally was successfully shoo'd away.  It's been about a week now and I haven't seen the injury inducing free range cat return.  Good kitty riddance.

I'm hopin' my scratches leave soon too.  Fireman, when he saw 'em hopefully devilishly asked, "what is that?  Is that a map?!?", eyes big as saucers.  ...Making the cat is not the only asshole in this story. 


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Friday, December 30, 2011

~Fuck You, 2011

Here we are again, tick-tocking down the last few hours and minutes of another year that is about to officially become history.  And that makes it officially time to say; Fuck You '11



I don't want to seem disrespectful of the year.  Plenty of nice and lovely stuff happened this year.  Trust me, I am fully aware every day how much I have to be thankful for.  The blessings (big and small) in my life are, frankly, more than I deserve.  But there have also been a plethora of super shitastic things, that I for one, could have done without, thank you very much.  

Each year I like to do a lil' mental round up of what the year brought me as I prep for the new things a new year will bestow upon me.  Here, for the official BBG record are some of the high and low lights of 2011:

~Ing's.  This has been the year of the 'ing(s)'.  From jeggings, to planking (which begat owling, that begat  horsemaningTebowing and batmaning;)

~Thanks to AnonD, I learned how to make the worlds best kick ass chocolate chip cookies.  (Recipe)  Because I helped, I earned a new title, 'The Primary Whisker'.  Opps!  Am I cracking a code?  If we're bein' honest, it probably shoulda been the primary eater.

~A local 'feel good' story unfolded (and then quickly disintegrated) with the discovery of the golden voice, Ted Williams who found momentary national fame for morphing from an addiction riddled homeless beggar to the voice of a Kraft Mac and Cheese spot aired during the Super Bowl.  ...And then just as quickly from the voice of creamy cheezy goodness to an addiction riddled, 'what ever happened to' cautionary tale?

~In other local ta-doin's, this is the year I had to hear the news announce that some schools would be closed not for snow, (ice, heat, fog, wind chill too low <-- all of which have happened in my lifetime), no, for wild animals roaming.  Lions, tigers and bears, free ranging due to a unstable individual making bad choices.  (56 exotic animals on the loose)

~I was rreminded how many people love me, in big ways and small. And all I can say is, WOW!   And, of course, THANK YOU.  And I know that I am a colossal pain in the ass.

~2011 opened my palate to several new things:  1st Fruity Pebbles.  (Love them!)  Nonpareils.  (Hated 'em.)  Shamrock shake.  (Severely disappointed by Ronald's offering.)  Wheatgrass.  (Wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.  Sweeter than expected.)  Quinoa.  (Really surprisingly liked it.)  Silk milk.  (Thumbs down.)  Hostess Pudding Pie (I thought it would be flaky goodness.  It was not.)  Pomegranate juice.  (It tasted like if a grape and a blueberry had a baby.)  Whole wheat pasta.  (I'd rather eat actual dried and hardened glue strips.)  And Chik 'N.  (While not bad, soy based connective tissue is kinda creepy.)

(We can make soy based mock connective tissue,
but still no wayback machine?!?)

~Yet again, I remain flabbergasted and saddened that science and technology haven't been able to invent a 'wayback machine'. 

~Got my heart brrrrrrrrroken.

~Got my revenge and made a new friend.

~Engaged in a lotta schadenfreude. Mainly at the expense of one of Virginia's newest residents. The score since he's been there? One earthquake. One hurricane. One super early ass and quite unusual winter storm warning in October. Free range zebras roaming the streets. ...It ain't a plague of locust, but none of that seems like a good sign.  It's called karma, asshole. Enjoy it. I sure as fuck am.   Good luck, Virginia.

~I heard 9,9,9, more frequently than a week long Hitlerathon on the History Channel.  Farewell, pizza man Herman Cain. 

~The BBGWorld hit 10,000 visitors.

~Finally, 2011 offered an option for when you can't decided if candy or booze is the answer.  Or perhaps when you're ready to make the step of gettin' lit at your cubicle.  That's right, kidz, vodka gummies.

(Health nuts should probably use vitamin gummies.)



~My first gray eyebrow hair. 

Dear 1 Gray Eyebrow Hair~
I accept that you are here as a reminder that I'm gettin' old (& that I'm STILL ALIVE). In theory I am happy to let you live and share my face with you. Frankly, I find your single whiteness randomly interesting, however you seem to insist on bein' all helter skelter and incapable of not pokin' out and pointing skyward, and I'm not ok with bein' Andy Rooney. *Pluck!!*
♥,
Me


~We became the home of World's Biggest Meatball (Finally.  Last years BBG eyewitness account of the near miss)

~Dodged the rapture twice this year (May 21st and October 21st).  So thank you Harold Camping and your predictions of the end of days for teaching me I just might be invincible.  Or that I am part of the 'left behind' (at least I'm in good company, I mean, you're here too.)

~Nana became tech savvy.  Ok, that might be an overstatement of the situation.  Nana has made some semblance of peace with the laptop.  Watching a DVD is out (it took all of 3 minutes and one ejection and putting it back in to determine that this wasn't happenin'), but she can Google, email and read her local paper. 

~NASA provided me with an escape hatch from some of the assholes roaming this place.  Helloooooooo Kepler22b!

~Uncle John tried to kill me.

~This is the year someone tried to tell me how to run my blog.  (...Guess what's never gonna happen?  Bueller?...)

~michigan won.

~We learned the names Casey Anthony, Rebecca Black and Jerry Sandusky. 

~I learned of the magical existence of natatoriums.

~For the first time ever I lost a nail.  Completely down to the bed.  (In happy nail news:  Thankfully a new one replaced it.)

~Continued to be stalked and amazed by the existence and seemingly popularity of by pink rides:

(Why would a person do this?)


~Ponytail'd men, for the 3rd year in a row continued to cross my path:
    (Engaging in some St. Pat's ponytail pullin')

~Got some new lives to corrupt in Eden, Sammy and Asher.  Congrats to Mrs. Steven Tyler kissed my ass (<-- really, I've seen pictures) and her hubby K1.  Two kids have never been so wanted, or will be so cherished.  And haaaaappy 1st boy congrats to Lupe & Jorge.  Those are some lucky ass kids.



~Gone too soon...

 
A pioneer in how women deal with breast cancer.  Before Betty Ford they were words that were whispered.  After Betty Ford it became something that was fought.  Betty Ford was also the catalyst behind Amy Winehouse's biggest hit and getting many of a celeb clean and sober.  



Heavy D. 


...Now what will we do?  RIP Heavy D.



Smokin' Joe Frazier. 


I once met 1/2 of the Thrilla in Manila duo (Ali being the other, for you non sweet science followin' peeps) at some black tie fundraiser shin dig.  It was well after his boxing days, more the heyday of his BBQ days.  He seemed nice.  I mean, as long as I smiled, giggled and nodded in agreement, at least.  Honestly, I never understood a word he said.  The "discussion" made a strong case for headgear in the ring.


We lost Charles Napier this year.  A name you might not recognize, but Silence of the Lamb's fans will never forget.



And Oprah, who while still alive did leave the airwaves this year.


As I put in a Facebook update:  Well Oprah, you did many things over the past 25 years...built a school, got Tom Cruise to jump on a sofa, gave away some cars, introduced the world to a Phil and an Oz, birthed book clubs, carried fat in a wagon, but ya never could get Nana to stop callin' you Ofrah.   


So good bye year.  

Baby New Year, I'm ready for all of your 2012 goodness, bring it.



Dear 2011,
I'm out.
Love,
BBG




Haaaaaappy New Year!!







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Tuesday, December 20, 2011

~Bah Humbug?

Yowza.  A full week since the last post.  I don't even know the last time that happened.  I seem to be having a difficult time gettin' into the yuletide spirit.  Which in turn made it hard to sit down to type some interesting entertaining thing worth reading.  Finally, I opted for the truth.  I'm settling in to what is.  And that is, is that I may be bah humbug?  No specific reason.  There's no extra, out of the ordinary drama trauma going on. 

I just find myself feeling rather blah.  (I guess that makes me blah humbug?)  Fortunately, and I guess serving as proof that misery really does loves company, I happen to have several friends who are for various reasons having the same Fa-la-la-la-la La-la-la-blah season. 

Last year was my first Papa-less Christmas, so it was sad.  The thought of how the previous Christmas my family had been complete and now was missing one of it's best parts weighed heavily on me.  It was the first sad Christmas I'd ever had.  ...And I've spent Christmas in the hospital.

(- Stolen from my Mom's archives -)


But last year even though there was an inherent, sad undercurrent, I had a sparkily new love and thought I was possibly on the brink of setting off on the 'forever' part of my life.   (Refer to 3 Things Last Friday Brought Me [click here] in your BBGW hymnal for how that worked out, or here's the short version; It didn't.)  So this year, while I'm more settled, I suppose really, more accustomed, to the fact that Papa is gone.  This year I feel the contrast of a, being alone (uncoupled up) Christmas vs. a heeeeerrrre's your new happy life Christmas of last year.  

And while I was never really good at math, I do know that 2 somewhat shitty Christmas' in a row = Blah Humbug.

I'm not alllllll gloom and doom.  It's not like I'm planning a Very Brady Suicidal Christmas or anything.  But it is probably a little telling that this is my favorite YouTube of the season:

As Nana advises, if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything, which explains my radio blog silence for the past several days.  I don't wanna be the Debbie Downer who's bummin' folks out.  T'is not how I like to roll.  I've been trying, by doing nothing, mind you to shake my blah humbugness.  However, as Somp says, "you can't help what you feel."  But I think to some degree you can help how you mange how and what you feel, so I therefore I have vowed that I will not actually kick Santa in the balls.  And am actively trying to focus in on the good stuff of the season. 

For instance, yesterday I was happily stunned when I received an email from someone I haven't seen since, oh, 19fucking82.  Being a serial random emailer myself, it was the highlight of my day to be on the receiving end.

I'm looking forward to having Nana over.  I'm looking forward to Nana's  I-can't-even-describe -how-good-it-is chocolate pie.  And of course, to spending low key family time with Mom and her main man dude (who I MUST find a code name for!).  And to getting to see some friends who will be around over the next several days.

To put my early Christmas present of mild malaise into perspective, I just had to talk AnonD off the ledge, who after calling someone a "dumb little cunt", whilst threatening to "kick her little cunt ass", (from 4 states away) before finishing her off with a, "what a dirty nasty butt", for good measure.  Now the two salient details you should know of this story are:  1) The 'someone' she refers to totally deserves such ire.  B)  I don't know that I've heard AnonD use the word cunt more than twice in 20 years.  Let alone 3 times in a sentence.  As we wrapped up our conversation she finished with a, "Uggggghhhh.  Christmas.   I can't wait for it to be fucking over."  Ahhhh, that's the Christmas spirit.  Makes it seem like I'm lil' more mid line on the Ebeneezer Scrooge scale, right?

Perhaps today is the day I succumb and put some Christmas decorations up.  I mean, it seems like 12/20 is shit or get off the pot time for stockings and wreaths, ya know?  Decisions, decisions...


Lastly, (<-- which I like to throw in as an homage to a friend), an ode to Hanukkah which begins tonight:

To my Maccabees~
Enjoy pleeeeease,
Your festive 8 nights of light.
Get your dreidel spinnin' right.
Here's to tasty latkas to bite,
and Hanerot Halalu's to recite.
May your Hanukkah be filled
with love and good cheer.
And from this day forward
may you never know a tear.
So mazel tov, my peeps
as you light the menorah, get funky fresh
go wild and break out a hora!

Haaaaappy Hanukkah!!


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Monday, October 31, 2011

~Halloweening

While not my favorite holiday, I do enjoy Halloween.

I am, as I'm sure you would imagine, one of those grownups who likes to dress up.  This time of year makes me think about how much I loved my costumes as a kid.  I loved them all.  The store bought, hot ass sweaty, rigid mask with the rubber band pinchin' my skull and the homemade costumes.  I was fortunate enough to have a crafty Mom & Nana who didn't believe in half assin' things.

As a grownup girl I've been the Great Pumpkin, a clown, a boxing nun* (based on a hand puppet I just had to own.)



I've been an angel.  (Wow.  A poor typing rearrangement of letters almost made me obtuse.  Glad I caught that before one of my dumbass friends found it and gave me a deserved new nickname!)  I've been SuperGirl.  Because of my enormous love for my pillow stuffed and belted around me giant ass pumpkin face overlay and a stem hat, I've also been the Great Country Pumpkin (I added cowboy boots) and the Great Drunkin' Pumpkin' (I added copious amounts of booze). 

(You can ever soooo slightly see the Great Pumpkin costume - Click Here/2nd pic)

But my favorite adult costume was two years ago.  Inexplicably I had an overwhelming desire to be the big brown Bee Girl.   Ya know:



Why?  I.  Do.  Not.  Know.  But I did.  It has now eclipsed all others as my favorite.  Mainly, of course due to it's sheer ridiculousness--  It was an old school, random pop culture homage to a semi popular-ish band and their one (I'm too lazy to Google to discover if that's true or not, so kindly grab your grain of NaCl.) hit.  And it was a crazy ass idea to think it was even a good fuckin' idea to be the Bee Girl, as both a fat ass and a grownup.  But you know what stopped me?  None of that.  Nope.

Behold, for all of your mockery and ridicule, have the fuck at it:

(What were the odds that some random song from
1993 would pop on the radio 10 minutes after arriving
at MBG's party I was ruining attending?)
  [re: photo inclusion; You're welcome PF3]


Tonight I will be participating in the annual tradition of going to AnonD & AnonR's to help hand out candy.  AnonD and I sit on the front porch to critically assess costumes hand out candy.  AnonR pops out to grab candy and say hello from time to time.  AnonD and I catch up, eat too the fuck much candy as we ooooohhhhh and aaaaaahhhhh over the treat wantin' tykes.  I also serve double duty by running the fog machine.  While I'm lookin' forward to that, there are things I'm not looking forward to...

Each year I inevitably see two things I don't want to see.  1) Slutty tweens.  I expect to see an array of adult slutty Strawberry Shortcakes, naughty nurses and the like.  I do NOT however expect to see whore'd up pre-pubescent girls inappropriately dressed.  (Attn: Parents-- START FUCKIN' PARENTING!!)  And B) Babies trick or treatin'.  Listen, if Halloween candy actually poses a choking issue, that kid is too young to be trick or treatin'.  I understand your 9 month old makes a cute pea pod, but you carrying it around the neighborhood taking candy from people?  That you're gonna eat?  What the fuck?  You're a grown up.  Get your own bag of candy.  You'll have exactly the type of candy you like and I won't think you're an asshole.  I get you wanna show that you had sex off your baby, I'm just sayin' maybe you could walk it around giving a piece of candy to your neighbors.  Social.  Showin' off your tot.  And people will think you're super nice.  (And, again, not an asshole.)



*The year of the boxing nun the party I attended also included a Jesus and a priest.  Talk about an unholy trinity...  First of all, our intern/Jesus came as Jesus because I had named him (as I am wont to do)...Jesus.  I would pretty much only refer to that poor intern (who's real name I can't even begin to remember) as Jesus.  Except for when we were in front of clients (or similarly real people), when I would call him Jesus in Spanish.  (aka:  Hey.  Zeus.)  I'm not a complete ass after all.  Anyhoo, the priest, for some reason had an enormous fake cock.  God, I wish for the life of me I could remember why the priest had a big ass fake johnson, but needless to say somewhere out there someone has a photo of a big brown boxing nun on her knees givin' fake holy head to a priest.  With Jesus a step away watchin'. 


...Well.  Now that I've creeped you out and giving you a sight your eyes may never recover from shared waaaaaay the fuck too much; 
Haaaaaappy Halloween!!


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Monday, October 17, 2011

~And The Hunt Was On

As last we left off, I was engaged in a deeeelightfully wacky scavenger hunt whilst house/dog/carsitting.

Items retrieved include:
  • Mini Mt. Dews.  I'm 99.44% sure were placed so that I could feel like a giant when drinking them.  (P.S.  I did.  P.P.S.  It was fuckin' awwwwwesome.)
  • These things that I'd only seen on TV prior to discovering (making me super excited to try 'em!):
(They tasted just like I thought they would.  Like a host/wafer/Jesusbiscuit
[I possibly have made the last up.] with nonpareils, hard chalky nonpareils. 
Honestly, I kinda really liked 'em.)

  • Some Mike & Ike bubble gum
  • Magazines
  • Pringle's
  • Barrel O' Monkey's (Jealous?!?  Yeah, that's right I got a Barrel O' Monkey's.  Suck.  It.)
  • Mini candy bars
  • A blow up bop-it type toy:
Sadly, this wonderful and entertaining turtle toy had the life expectancy of a goldfish.  A sad, overheated, livin' in dirty water, possibly rabbies ridden goldfish.  (Dear Anyone new here:  I am fully aware aquatic life neither carries, nor is susceptible to rabies.  I enjoy making things up from time to time for my own personal merriment.) 

Yesterday I blew it up and bopped (punched) it a few times, causing Abby Cadabby (Mom and her code nameless main man's lil' d oh double g, to skitter for shelter and safety, while Uncle John jusssssssst fuckin' stood there.  Lookin'.  Like, 'what could be weird about this situation?'.  (Which may be very telling of poor ol' Uncle John's BBG HQ existance...)  I wouldn't swear to it in a court of law or anything, but I think I saw him shrug his wee doggy shoulders. 

(Side note time:  A big ass shoutout to my Mom, who sat there, watched her grown ass daughter come in, sit down and proceed to blow up an ages 3 and up latex turtle and begin to play with it and didn't immediately Google the local straightjackeotorium.  Lady, I bless the day you were born.)

After a probably too damn long period of time few minutes of playing.  ...And of course after making my Mother stick her finger through a turtles tail and whack it around a few times, likely for seeing something else shiny or sparkly I sat it down.  We continued to gab away and all of the POP!!  Turtle toy that I hadn't even named spontaneously exploded. 

RIP Latex turtle 
Sunday, October 16, 2011 - 4:45pm
--to-- 
Sunday, October 16, 2011 - 4:58pm

Always in my heart.


Of all of the things I found durring my Adventures In Sitting (click here), perhaps the most surprising was a lil' sumthin'-sumthin' I spied while looking for um, well, I'm quite the wordsmith something (remote?).  I'm pretty sure that somewhere on YouTube if you type in "WTF" you'll find footage (<-- complete fib) of a BBG, somewhere in middle America, in a room alone with two dogs witnessing the biggest double take ever.  Followed quickly by actual ol' time-y peeper rubbin' to ensure that I was seeing what my synapse's were telling me I was seeing.

Behold:


In case you also find yourself thinking whaaaaaat, lemme clarify that:



So, yes.  I am leaving you today with big ass squirrel balls.  That's right.  It's squirrel ball Monday kidz.  And may it be the best one ever.


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Tuesday, October 4, 2011

~Tatanka, Tires, Glow Stick Dildos (& Apologies)

Saturday AnonD swung by after errand running to pick up Uncle John who was heading over for a doggy sleepover while I hit the road to have a sleepover at LB2'd HQ, about an hour and 1/2 away. (FYI a trip which can be made at 04:30 in the morning, at least, if you are told a new life is about to pop outta your besties lady business, in approximately 45 minutes.  ~My apologies to Buckeyeland law enforcement.)

There are several (too many?) houses I visit that are de facto BBG annexes.  Homes where even though they technically belong to others, I treat as my own upon my arrival.  I know where everything is.  I know where my stuff goes.  I'm free range coming, going and doin' whatever the hell I please places.  Those you're visiting, but not a visitor locations.  I love those places.  (And their owners.)

Anyhoo, I spent some time with the Godkidz catching up, getting school pictures, seeing new accomplishments, even got to do some ohhhhh and ahhhhing as Lenz prepared for her Homecoming.  It was all very wholesome, in fact Little House on the Prairie was discussed, oddly enough.  After the requisite fancy dance pictures were taken and Godkid J and Mini Me were fetched some food and entertainment for the evening, the grown ups (LB2'd, Hubby To Be #3 et moi) headed out 7 minutes down the street for some adult fun, which I think as we all know turned into a randomness-o-rama.

That probably started when we inquired about the "tatanka sauce" listed on the menu at the college adjacent establishment.  Weirdly, last weekend Dole Pineapple and I were hanging out when the conversation turned to tatanka and resulted in the both of us gittin' all Dances With Wolves wit it making the hand signal for it, a la Kevin Costner (nee, John Dunbar). 


(Damn you Google for not having a
pic of him with fingers as horns!)

("Tatanka", so says the timeless classic Costneriffic epic, is a Native American word for buffalo.  If you're curious, feel free to relinquish 17 hours of your life to watching Dances With Wolves to verify the veracity of my description.  I dare ya.)

We were all a beer in when we frightened amazed our blue hair'd, facial pierced, flannel wearin' waitress when spontaneously both Hubby To-Be #3 and I took fingers horns to head as we queried what the fuck tatanka sauce was?  Because A) we're old and 2) our waitress was born into a world where everyone has always had a phone in their pocket, not only was she taken aback by our synchronized hand gestures, she also had not fuckin' clue one what it meant.  Putting us in the impressive position of not only being assholes, but being teachers of pop culture history.  It was a proud moment indeed.

(Side note:  Tatanka sauce, as it turns out is kick ass goooooood!!  Especially with deep fried green beans.  ~My apologies to all foodie and health nut readers who are now repulsed to discover that we will actually batter and deep fry any veggie.  But it does keep one of the B's in Big Brown Girl, so suck it.)

A high school friend, who I saw at my recentish reunion (Reunion-ing v2.5 click here) who also lives in the area joined in our tomfoolery, which was deeeelightful, as one of my all-time favorite BBG hobbies is looping my friends from one area of my life with other friends from another.  It's indicative of the cool ass nature of the people I select as friends that they all seem to get on great when I combine them.  Are all people I know gonna wanna go on to be new best friends?  Well, I donno about that, (more power to 'em if the mood strikes) but they all seem to like each other well enough to want to be included next time shindigery breaks out, and that's good enough for me, ya know?


Her arrival, apparently ushered in some new and interesting additions to the clientele.  I found myself surveying the new arrivals when I noticed this guy with glasses (however sans a fuzzy ball topped chapeau) who was wearing this wonderful chunkily horizontal striped orange and light gray sweater.  Prompting me to proclaim that I found Waldo.  (~My apologies my wasting time online reader, I am kicking myself for not snapping a pic.)

Soon we were being given some PsyOps potential for future audio-torture musical offerings entertained by a local "artist".  Prompting Hubby To-Be #3 (H2B#3) to show his appreciation for the emo/lounge-y guy doin' a cover of Adele:



All the kool kidz where present and accounted for...

...Or so I thought when I first noticed this guy (which when you see a man who seems to have two plastic cocks hangin' off his belt will happen pretty fuckin' quick).

Exhibit A:

(After)

Oh, after what?

After Blue Hair'd Waitress (BHW) stops by our table.

BBG:  Do you know what Sideshow Bob has hanging off of his belt?

BHW:  Who?

BBG nodding towards this outrageously wild, fro-y curly topped tall guy a table over.

BHW:  Who?  Mike? (kinda pointing)

BBG:  Yes, Sideshow Bob.

Followed by my "come here Sideshow Bob, whatcha got goin' on over there?"  (Yes.  I am a shy and shrinking violet of a girl.)

Apparently, they were not, in fact, a grand display of his sexual proclivities, as I had surmised.  After a brief interrogation chat, it turns out they were a fantastical light show on the go, behold:


(Sideshow Bob doin' it to it groovy LED style)

The joint was still filling in with the, cooler-than-any-of-us set, when we headed home at the very decent and respectable hour we did.  As we drove away I couldn't help but wonder what other sources of entertainment people that lil nondescript spot on the map was gonna draw.  I do hate missing out on adventure and cracked out situations.

I also hate to have to get all back in time (outta my head Huey Lewis and the News!) wit it, but I need to wrap up story time...

So on my journey over to LB2'd HQ, I noticed that my ride seemed to be pulling.  I knew that it could mean an alignment issue, but I couldn't recall bangin' into something, so I took all good medical show advice on making a diagnosis and thought about the adage that when you hear hoofprints think horses not zebras.  Deciding to start with seein' if my damn tires were properly inflated.  (<-- Girl Smart Move)

As I rolled on down the interstate I started to consider that while I have my own tire gauge, know how to use it, know how to put the air in myself...I.  Just.  Really didn't fuckin' want to.  Thus, making my "helloooooo" to H2B#3 sound a lot like;  "I need you to do sumthin' manly for me.   Blah, blah, fuckityblah, possible PSI issue...  Now before you answer, know that I'm fully capable of doing both the checking and the filling but that I just don't want to."  (<-- Horrible Horrible Lazy But Honest Girl Move)


(Filling the BBGmobile - Good egg:  H2B#3) 


Since he was already workin' all of the fillin' tools (BBG translation:  the air compressor), H2B#3 ended up checking and filling the tires on his ride and on LB'2d's too.  He told me one of LB2d's tires was pretty low as well, so he was glad he'd checked/attended to it.

BBG:  So what you're sayin' is I just saved your wife's life?  (You'rrrrrrrre welcome LB2'd). 

Making my take away lesson:  Laziness saves lives!!

Weekend:  You were festive and fun, and really what more from you could a girl ask?  Thank you.


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Monday, September 19, 2011

~Report: New Age (So Far)

My new BBG age has been interesting.

First I should say, I had a very nice day o' birth.  In I gotta tell ya news:  All of the people who took time outta their day to jingle me up and wish me a happy day and the Facebooky and blog-y messages I received, really made my tiara wearin' day.  I don't care if the following statement makes me an official geek, sporto, motorhead, dweeb dork, or not, but I like to be truth-y sooooo;  It feels good to have those lil' reminders and tacit acknowledgements that others are glad you're alive too.  Not to get all Sally Field ("...you like me, you really like me...") wit it, but I count that stuff as a blessing in my life. 

The evening started with a brief phone chat that had me standing in my Underoos (Note: Not actually Underoos, sadly.), looking bewildered and befuddled at all of the contents of my closet,  answering the benign query of what I was doing with an unduly assy; "attempting to not be nakid".   Upon AnonD's arrival, I was well on my way to full on testy that due to cool temps I was being forced to wear jeans on my special day.  I don't have a grudge against jeans, I don't hate jeans and want to kick jeans ass or anything, but they're just not my thing.  I'm happiest in a sundress and some flops.  But spending the evening being bitter because I was chilly didn't seem like the prudent thing to do, so fuckin' jeans it was. I actually had to have a come to Jesus with myself along the lines of, 'if you're wearin' a tiara, your outfit is not exactly the first thing people are gonna notice about ya'.   Accept.  Move on. 

Once I came to grips with my clothes we wandered out to a local alcohol serving establishment.  A few minutes later we were surprised joined by Blond Maria and MKO, who is in from Nevada visiting the fam for a couple of weeks.  Hangin' with fun (and funny) folks was a great present.  Drinking began, cracked out conversation and immense amounts of laughter commenced.  It was simply fanfuckin'tastic.


(AnonD trying to avoid being put in some
stupid blog, MKO and Blond Maria)

At some point one of the girls mentioned our child waitress's ass, apparently it was perfect.  They lamented about the level of perfection girls like us, (aka:  chicks of a certain age) can not without the assistance of a plastic surgeon, or a deal with the devil, achieve.  I, perhaps due to the power of the tiara, offered up a semi tipsy reminder that we might not have that ass, but we're still here and that ass can't doesn't know if it'll ever be lucky enough to get here (this age), so cheers to us (clink-clink-clink-clink) and our imperfect, but still alive asses. 

We encountered several random other people.  Including this guy:

(O - H!!)   
(--For those of you not in the know, that's not "Oh", that's "O"  "H",
it's a Buckeye thing that once uttered automatically elicits an
"I"  "O" response from anyone in earshot of your O - H.
In math-y terms:  O - H +  I O = Ohio)

He made it into the mix when MKO spied him and made comment that she had the exact same shirt.  And that because of it's letter placement it gave her O nips.  In a small ass world turn of events, this guy works for the company who makes the Oriffic nipple t.  I can't recall his name, but obviously can only surmise that it is in fact, Somefirstname O'Nip.

We made the acquaintance of Corey Hart.  Serious biz men, if you're gonna be walkin' 'round wearin' your sunglasses literally at night, I have no choice but to name you Corey Hart.  In continued small ass world-dom once I christened him Corey Heart he disclosed that a million years ago had actually met the real Corey Hart and regaled us with the story.  (I like when offending people becomes fun for us.)

I judged an impromptu best head contest during one of my trips to the ladies room, what else could I do when fate puts a table of 7 guys of various degrees of bald and buzzed-dom'd heads in my path?  (Thank you fate.)

We were momentarily joined by another interesting person. 

(He said a lot.  I never understood one word. 
I'd like to blame it on the lip ring,
but I don't know if that's fair to the lip ring.)

And I was mesmerized and intrigued to discover that diminutive magical cancer sticks exist:

(Who knew?--  Yes, there are 20 in there too.)

(Teeny tiny and regular smokes.)


After many beverages were consumed, many smokes were "eaten" as MKO turned the phrase, and an abundance of ridiculous interactions with our fellow humans, AnonD safely returned me to BBG HQ, where we partook in a late night snack in the form of:

(Yummy, ice creamy Dairy Queen gooooooodness*!)

The first 27 or so hours of my new year were a ton of fun, I reflected, as I closed my peepers and went to sleep. 

A very few hours later sunshine pryed me outta my slumber.

People, I felt less than super.

I woke up thinking man, 'I did not think I drank that much.  I should not be feeling this terrible.'  ...Oh, I was makin' nice with the PBR and all, and even downed a shot of some citron-y vodka, but I not once during the evening did I think that I should be slowin' down or anything, making my acute head splitting ache and body ache a surprise.  A craptastic surprise hangover. 

The day wore on and I felt worse and worse, my thinking changed from did you drink too much, to has the final fun bell tolled?  Seems abrupt, right?  But what do I know about being this age?  I'm new.  It's only my second day.  Did this birthday push me over the edge to you're-too-old-to-be-whoopin'-it-up-like-this age?  Fuck!  I had more 'I wanna have fun times' in me.  Granted, I've had a lifetime of good times accumulated, but who doesn't want more?!?  Again, I donno what the hell is supposed to happen-- to be the new older me norm?  Maybe this is what happens when you over indulge at this stage of life?  ...This of course made me sad.

As I tried to make peace with my partying it up good days being behind me, I started to realize that my nose was runny.  (Sorry, TMI)  I searched my brain for other times I've been hungover, and if a runny nose had ever been on the list of 'Fuck, I've Gotta Hangover'.  Too hot/too coldness while I sleepness?  Yes.  (Check)  Headache?  Yes.  (Check)   Desire to evacuate the contents of my belly?  Yes.  (Check)  But runny nose?  No.  Never.  Then it became the coldover.  Maybe hangover, maybe cold.  As again, I was feeling worse by the moment, I decided that I needed a nap before I could render my diagnosis.  At the time I was still unsure whether I should be mad at myself for getting me hungover, or to be cognizant to take care of myself because I was legitimately ill, so I did what any reasonable person would do and reacquainted my head with my pillow.

And then my body sneezed.

And a friend who'd called mentioned that I sounded stuffy.

And I realized that I couldn't really taste the food and drink I was forcing in.

Even with that evidence it really wasn't until I woke from my 6 hour nap, at 9:30pm (Saturday), that I made the final ruling that yes, I have indeed received a cold for my birthday.  A fuckin' cold.  I'm not sure a cold is better than a hangover.  It's less torrid, I suppose.  Although a hangover doesn't have the lifespan of a cold.  I am thankful that it wasn't some nature sign sayin' fun times are over toots.  So if this fuckin' cold is the price to pay to know I'm not too old to turn it out from time to time, so be it.   

This cold has turned me into some shell of a BBG exhausted by returning a few texts which caused an audible sigh that even Uncle John seemed disturbed by, and prompted yet another nap.  Due to my seemingly complete inability to stay awake for periods of more than 90 minutes at a time and lacking the energy reserve needed to make any real food, I have been sustained the past 48 hours by birthday cake (both of the ice cream and cake variety), several Shirley Temples, some Pringels and bacon.  (Feed a cold, right?)

Now after my Rip Van Winkle-esque schedule of the past two days, I found myself sitting at this glowing screen Sunday night, 12:34am wide the fuck awake.  Outstanding.  Simply, outstanding.

...Sooooo it could have been better, I could have had a birthday without a cold.  However, I guess it coulda been worse, I would have hated my present to have been; surprise you can't consume booze anymore without suffering the mother of all hangovers.  So be it.  

Holy shit birthday Batman.  It's come to my attention that I had a cold last year on my birthday.  (Side note to new birthday/cold trend:  You suck.  Cease and desist.)

(fingers crossed)  See you next year tiara.  Preferably, cold free.



*I made AnonD take the rest of the cake (after I cut an obscenely large piece to keep for myself) home to share with her hubby, AnonR.  You don't give a fat girl an entire ice cream cake and expect anything other than a fat girl eatin' an entire cake is gonna happen, I newly more maturely rationalized.


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