Showing posts with label Ponytail Peculiarities. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ponytail Peculiarities. Show all posts

Friday, March 18, 2011

~St. Patrick's: As It Was

St. Patrick's Day, per usual, brought crackedout'd-ness.   Even in my emotional misery wacky shit doesn't rest.

I'd been extraordinarily wishy-washy about doing anything at all.  Until the very moment the phone rang.  On one hand I just fuckin' didn't want to.  On the other hand, I knew if I didn't go St. Patricking I would likely never enjoy it again.  And with St. Pat's being my favorite of all of the days on the calendar, and the fact that I'd already missed the past two St. Pat's I felt like I had to at least try to do it.   Until this week I'd whole hardily been on the, "I'm reclaiming my St. Patrick's Day" kick.   

This time last year Papa started to take his final turn.  The year before that I had attended LB2'd's bacholorette party on the 17th.   Held at a mexican restaurant.  What's my problem with mexicans, their food or their delightfully boozy drinks?  Answer:  Nuthin'.  Except for the fact that sitting at El Guadalajara Mexicali Agua Uno Pistola Grill (and the totality of the spanish words I know) isn't exactly the proper surroundings for St. Pat's, now is it?

My friend Beannie and I had made a plan to St. Patrick's last week, before all of the ta-doin's.  And I felt like I simply could not let him take this St. Pat's from me.   So out we ventured into the world of St. Patricking.  

Spurred on by our first round of a shot of Jameson's and a beer, don't worry, of the non-green variety.  (I don't know why I don't like the idea of green beer.  I just flat out think it's wrong.  And I'm the girl who's been known to use food coloring just for shits and giggles.  I've given my Godkids blue mashed potatoes before.  ...If it got 'em to eat, what the hell, right?  Why wouldn't purple butter be fun for a day?  I donno.  I just feel like green beer is sad and tragic in some way.  But I'm a freak, so...)   Shortly after communing with Jameson's, Beannie's hubby (and my last name buddy), E had the good sense to distance himself before sumthin' weird went down, as is wont to happen when the two of us hang.   Left to our own devices, Beannie and I quickly, and I would imagine, quite awkwardly, and poorly started a singing conversation with some deaf, redheaded, goatee'd cat who will now been known as "Ginger Deaf Man" across the crowded bar.  

And now you can see why Beannie and I are friends.  Why wouldn't I have a friend who also, with noooooo reason to know how to sign (neither of us know any deaf peeps) is up for badly signing to some stranger because it seems like an adventure?!? 

(FYI:  You can't hold a beer and sign.  Or hold a camera and sign.)

The three of us stumbled, (Fine.  Ginger Deaf Man seemed pretty proficient in his signing skillz.)...The two of us, Beannie and I stumbled through our finger conversation with Ginger Deaf Man.  He seemed nice enough.  He ensured that we were not beaned in the skull by the tipsy foursome engaged in a game of cornhole behind us.  (Is this wrong?  I caught myself watching to ensure that he didn't actually react to the banging of the beanbags behind us.  I'm not entirely sure why I felt the need to verify his deafness?  People of the world:  If I've told you once, then now I'm tellin' you twice;  Ima noticer.)  However, I became less of a fan of Ginger Deaf Man as the evening wore on and his chompers continued to greenen up (yes.  I made up a fuckin' word.  If Sarah Palin can, I can too.  Suck it.)  and as he kept popping into every picture snapped. 

Um.  Every fucking one.

(Beannie & E.  And, yep, you guessed it Ginger Deaf Man.)

I talked to many strangers/new people.  Some entertained me.  Some did not.  But at least none of 'em told me they loved me, started building a life with me and then dropped on me they were moving out of state in 7 days.  (Bitter much?  Oh, SUCK IT.  ...Don't I have reason to be bitter?!?!) 

I pulled a ponytail.  (Thank you world for continuing to bring guys with ridiculously amazing long ass locks into my world, er reach.)

I stickered people.  For those of the uninitiated, when I'm in a large crowd for fun occasions (tailgating, St. Pat's, etc.) I often like to put stickers on people.  A) I think it's fun.  2)  I'm wearin' one.  If'n I'm gonna look like a freak, guess what, you are too.  III) It's a great way to keep track of who I've visited with, and allows strangers to feel like they're good to talk randomly to other strangers who are wearin' the same symbol.  Win/win/win, right?

At some point I looked down to find that right where I felt like my pinkie toe, (yeah, the 'weeeeeee weeee weeeee' one, on the you guessed it, same foot as my earlier drama trauma) kinda hurt, was crusted in dried blood.  What happened?  I. Do.  Not.  Know.  Just a new fanstatical piece of this week that is trying to kill me... 

We checked out one more place as we made our way home(s).  For some reason, er no reason, really, it's a place very close to my pad that I'd never stepped foot in. 

But that didn't keep weirdness from blooming once I did step foot over the threshold.  

It was a pretty sparse crowd and we had plenty of hanging and congregating options.  From the group of people surrounding a table close to the door came a voice that hollered, "I know you!!  You two worked at xplace."  Beannie and I, who had indeed worked together at xplace, like, a decade ago, stopped.  Looked at each other.  Then to E, as if he'd somehow know anything about the weird-o-rama unfolding and looked back to the table emitting these words.  And then they said were our old boss' sons.  Once we looked at them and put them in context we were absofuckinlootly delighted.  The boys and their friend had worked in our office a few summers when they were in high school.  I couldn't believe we were seeing these kids, or that one of 'em was 27.  It was a mind blower for realsies.  They seemingly remembered everything, asking about all kindz a stuff and people, some that neither Beannie nor myself had thought about in yeeeears. 

(Former 16 year olds, Beannie et moi)

We noshed on some pizza.  I gotta tell you that piece of ewwy gooey, cheesy, doughy goodness may have saved my life.  Given my booze consumption ratio, by all rights I should have felt craptastic on Friday, but I didn't.  I woke up at 5am feelin' fine baby. 

So the 2011 St. Patrick's Day lessons learned?

  • Pizza can save your life.  Or at least you from a hangover.
  • Booze apparently is the answer.
  • Weirdness will happen.  Always.
  • That I should really explore using this magic box to look up one of those interweb-y 'how to' videos to see if that might make me a better signer.  I learned signing from a book. 
  • Clearly, I can not resist a long ass ponytail on a dude.  I just think it's a hoot.  And I feel compelled to yank it.
  • Seeing people who you once knew as a 16 year old, now as grown ass adults, makes ya feel old. 
  • Even St. Patrick's Day can be kinda sad.  Even when it's being kinda fun.


Monday, June 21, 2010

~Weird & Random (aka: Ramble #1)

As I drove into my hometown, I spied a tot, maybe 18 months, standing on the sidewalk. Tot was butt ass nakid. Not a shirt. Not a shoe. Not a diaper. Parent-y looking folks seemed to be troubled by this zero. Uh huh. Welcome home BBG.

A few blocks away I see this cat ambling down the street. Well, hellooooooooooooo caucasian, chunky Prince.

Oh, it was only 88 degrees and approximately 152% humidity (but that is just a guess based solely on the increasing frizz factor of my locks), so, yeah, I'm gonna go with Purple Rain O' Stench.

I spent some time visiting with Nana and later darted out to an establishment serving only the finest barley and hops to the grey poupon-y-est best our community has to offer. Clearly, proven by my presence. HA! (Hummm...Why is that Denis Leary, "I'm an Asshooooooooole" song now in my mind?!?)

Anyhoo, there I am. There I am, not having any idea if I'd see any familiar faces. My "planning" was sketchy at best. My plan for this evening was something to the effect of 'hey FB peeps I'm going to be in town at x bar on x day @ x o'clock', therefore I wasn't too surprised that as I glided over to the outside bar that I recognized a grand total of noooooooooodamnbody. I ordered a beer and sat down thinking, 'well, dumbass, you can have a drink and if no one shows, leave with your dignity intact even though you are obviously a loser no one wants to see'. Which in all honestly is probably only half true. The Paul Harvey rest of the story is that I haven't even lived back home in 23 years. (Yes, fuck you very much I did use a calculator to determine that fact. Math teachers and parents everywhere are mortified.) And this is maybe the 10th time I've gone out there in almost a quarter of a century. A goodly number of my friends from there now live elsewhere. Plus, ya know, people have lives and obligations not revolving around me. I know, hard to fuckin' believe, yet true. So the pool of people this "invite" applied to was fairly small. So, loser/old and outta touch, you be the judge.

Yet milliseconds after sitting down and having this lil' inner dialogue moment with myself and I spy someone mentioned in 'da World before (Ahhhhhhh... entry, I don't know? Maybe April/May-ish? Look for the title if you give a rats ass.), if you have a good memory, you may remember him from such films as, 27 year Air Force vet who saved me from redneck/thug a while back. "Mr. (Insert Last Name Here)", which I only call him because it kinda ticks him off. And also because, 27 years of serving our country, well, that just deserves a bit of r-e-s-p-e-c-t, ya know?

Next thing I know a pal who I've known since the 4th grade walks in. Not only have I known her that loooooong, we lived just a scant few suburban blocks from one another. Her mom was the secretary at our elementary/middle school and so I pretty much carpooled with them every day for 4 years. We sang 9-to-5 and My Baby Takes the Morning Train a gazillion times back in the day. I had my first sunburn on a sand bar with that girl on a camping weekend with her family. We saw E.T. together. We haven't been close since H.S., but we go waaaay back and she's good people.

The three of us hadn't been there long when a gaggle of bikers rolled up. Hogs a every one of 'em. Some very much smacked of part-time riders, others were full-time/ride harder's, they were livin' the life. There were a lotta tats going on. One of the gaggle immediately intrigued me enough to prompt a, "hey you!" as he bellied up to place his order. One finger wiggle later and he was within arms length and (toot-toot) I gave his pony tail a little tug. I donno. I couldn't help it. We also met one of his cronies named "Highway". Yep.

(Childhood chum, Ponytail biker et moi holding said ponytail. I assure you that's his happy face. He had his hand on each of our shoulders. Funnily enough, the photo op was not my idea.)

While there I also shared a moment with the Big Wig Head Police Dude in our hometown, who I've known since I was a wee lass. I shit you not, I evidently had a serious eye for talent. I had school girl crushes on a grand total of 5 hometown police officers during my pre-teen/teen years. One is in charge of our city department, another is the BWHPD of the county force. Back in the day when I was all kaleidoscope peeper-ed about them they were but patrolmen.

Then an ex-beau appeared. We were having a wee visit when he tells me he's getting hitched. (Again, not to be bossy, but please refer to Happy Wedding Day, or something very closely to that titled entry for background.) He's 49, 50ish now, never married. Don't get me wrong. We dated two times. Wait? Three times? At different points over the gee, 15ish years we've known each other. "We" obviously weren't meant to be. Accepted. Bitter about it? No. We've turned into friends, in fact as recently as when Papa was dying he was there for me, so my bad feelings about him are zero. He and I are good in the proverbial hood. But really now? News Flash: He's getting married? AND I'm having my first Papa-less Father's Day weekend. Ugh. Shot please. I told him I was happy for him, and I honestly am. He's a good guy and I want him to be happy. But you know who the fuck else I'd like to see lobstered up and happy?!? Yeah, this Big Brown Girl!!

A bit later someone who, and I can't explain why, but he's someone I don't know well. Hell, it's probably fair to say I barely know, showed up. Here's the rub...I immediately liked him the first time we met at a party, maybe 10 years ago, through my friend Beannie and her friend who happens to be his cousin. Yeah, I'll wait while you diagram it out. ...Ok got it? I can usually get along with most folks who cross my path. I'm generally nice to most people I meet. But really off the cuff like 'em? Eh. I can't tell you 12 things about this guy, but he's always struck me as a stand up sort. Even though we met and have always seen each other here in the "big city", we are from the same hometown. Boom there he was. He's having a rough as hell patch after losing his daughter earlier this year. It/he has weighed on my mind to an inexplicable level vs. our actual level of friendship. With it being his first Father's Day without a child, I was so happy to see him out surrounded by his friends. I can't imagine how hard that must be, but I know it ain't easy. At. All.

As we all know I ended up chatting with several of his friends. One of whom apparently, I went to grade/middle school with. File under: Small Ass World. And someone else who I christened, (Insert the next suburb from me here/where he resides) police officer. Was he 5-0? No. I decided that would be his name based on his hair cut. He answered to it so whatdo I care? I may or may not have poked (personal message to DAMN- I am sorry. I can now see a pattern of my poking behavior. I don't know what this will actually change, but they say the first step is admitting your problem, so I understand.), and by that of course I mean, did poke, a local boy done good, who pitched for several Big League Chew teams such as the Reds, Giants & Rangers. A fact I was unaware of when I put poking into play. Not that having had such info prior would have likely prevented my finger jabs. But for some reason it does make it all the funnier to me.
Tomfoolery at an elite level, no? Maybe I could go pro?
Stop 1 on the BBGWorld Weekend Tour complete.
The next nights gig tale will have to wait. I'm in charge of me and I say it's my bed time.


Thursday, December 31, 2009

~Fuck you 2009

For reasons, which will go left unsaid. Mainly, so that you don't leave here today thinking, "geez...she's a whiny ass Whiner McWhinerson". None the less, let it be known, near and far across this land, that I am absofuckinglootly thrilled that 2009 is going bye-bye.

I know I'm not alone in giving an entire year the finger. It's been rough for many of the folks I know. You name the area of life and I know someone who has had some issues in that department in '09.

But at the stroke of midnight that's all over baaaaaaby!!! A kiss, some champagne and I'm flippin' the switch. My mantra going into a new year is; "new year, new mojo". Say it with me...NEW YEAR, NEW MOJO! There it's 'out there'.

I'm taking twenty 10 by the balls kids. By. The. Balls. Nothing radical like a resolution in the making or anything. (I don't believe in resolutions. When people ask, I tell them my resolution is to make no resolutions. Hell, at least I know 3 months from now I won't have to feel guilty because I didn't live up to some unrealistic self set expectation. That alone makes not making a resolution worth it.) But rest assured some things are going to be shaken up and capitalized on in '10. For starters, I may (or may not) have just thought up my million dollar idea. While I've never officially invented anything, who says I can't? Just because I haven't done something doesn't mean I'm incapable of doing so, right? I'll keep you up on this as it evolves.

Before the ringin' in o' the new year, here's a wee recap of random things that happened in '09:

-First manicure
-Danced (a term applied extraordinarily loosely in my case) with a man with a ponytail (braided, none the less!!) down to his ass. Thus causing me to use his ponytail like horse reigns and whip his ass. What? Like you didn't do that...
-Introduced the usage of the term "Baldwins". As in; "I was over there chattin' with the Baldwins", when referring to a grouping of multiple bald men.
-Got some new lives to corrupt. Welcome to the world Lily & Jack!
-Diagnosed my mothers recently discovered illness. During my initial conversation with the doctor I asked if it could be x. He assured me that no, it could not be x. Three days, 5,076 tests later and he determined that she has, you guessed it, x. This was one occasion I certainly hated being right.
-Papa became bionic with a newly installed pacemaker. Not quite the $6 million dollar man, but that's ok, he's priceless to me.
-Gaudy, tacky magnet collection increased with acquisition of Beijing and Prague.
-Made a table

-Performed an amazing, considering my actual skill level of handyness, half bath redo.

  • Cue angels singing

-Painted the living room, kitchen, my bedroom, the upstairs bathroom and downstairs tv room.
-Installed flooring in basement. ...Yeah, I got all kindz a Bob Villa in '09.

-I asked if deer have wishbones. I'm not proud. It was my own lil' Jessica Simpson, 'chicken of the sea' moment. (Why, oh why is there no wayback machine?!? We're a land that has given us Tang, Stretch Armstrong and The Bangles, how can it be that we haven't created an undo button for life's lil' mishaps?)
-For yet another year, continued to be disappointed that there is no wayback machine.

I guess that's about it... Kinda sad, no? And now I think you understand why I'm so pleased to see zero-niner to be put away.

NEW YEAR, NEW MOJO!! Bring it.

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