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Showing posts with label Random. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Random. Show all posts

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

~Regrets? I've Had A Few

Ok, I don't have many.   Which I guess at this stage of my life is a pretty fortunate thing to be able to say.  As life has presented opportunities, I've tried my best, whenever possible and/or when I've  wanted to, to say yes, please.

Play pool with Tears for Fears? Yes, please.
(I refused to call them by their names.  Strangely, they were very amenable to answering to Monkey Boy and Andrew Ridgeley.)

Drive a paddle wheel dinner cruise boat down the Ohio river?  Yes, please.  

(Turns out it's not as hard as one might think to talk Capt'n
into breaking numerous maritime laws and letting you operate a boat.)


Sport a Super Bowl ring?  Yes, please.  
(Subsequently threatening the member of the Steel Curtain to steal his ring, with the taunt that if I wanted that ring it was mine, "'cause even a fat girl could out run those knees".  --Seriously.  It's a wonder I have any friends or that people speak to me at all...)

 
Build a table because I thought I could?  Yes, please. 

(Look how impressed Uncle John is...)

Appropriate a paddy wagon?  Yes, please.


If it sounded kooky, interesting, fun and this side of legal and moral, I've probably said yes, please. (Alright, technically making a Police Officers paddy wagon your new joyride could be construed as being on the other side of legal...but damn was it fun.)

I guess, I've always figured if I'm gonna have regrets, they should probably be over things I've actually done, not things I wanted to do and passed up, ya know?

"...Now that was a bad idea" seems much more palatable to me than, "I wish I woulda..."

But even with that ethos, I've amassed a couple doozies of regrets that haunt me to this fuckin' day.

One is not cutting my godkid, Mini Me's cord.  There I was standing by the bedside having helped watched the new life who carries my middle name come outta LB2'd's vagina come into the world when the opportunity was offered to me.  In the spirit of trying to do right and be a good person, I insisted that her dad cut it, as he had the first born, godkid J. It turned out to be one of my biggest mistakes. Honestly, when else am I going to have the chance to cut a fucking cord?!?  I'm pretty sure some HIPPA law prohibits people from walking into random delivery rooms wielding scissors.  I assume.  However, if you find yourself watching One Born Every Minute (some cable show about babies being born filmed at a local hospital) and you see a BBG lurking in the background with a pair of large ass ceremonial ribbon cutting scissors, I think you'll know it's me.

In the moment, it just seemed like an honor a dad should get to say he did for the rest of his life. ...But I felt that way before they divorced and he contracted a case of terminal asshole-yness.   (A terrible affliction, with no known cure other than murder, although it can sometimes be managed with a brick to the head.)  Stupid me thinking the honor should go to someone who would always be in her life.  Turns out ol' Aunt BBG is the one who's still in the kids lives.  STUPID. STUPID.  STUPID

Now I wish I had a wayback machine so I could go back and snatch those scissors right outta the doctors hand kick DI in the balls and cut that cord my own damn self.    

The other biggie is when I took a flight crew to the airport, back in the day when a hungover flight crew could give a Big Brown Girl the entry code to the tarmac so she could drive them to their jet. I suspect post 9/11, Big Brown Girls can't just drive around on the tarmac of a major metropolitan airport without causing some massive shutdown and being hauled in by Homeland Security. The flight crew was kind enough to invite a lil' Big Brown Girl up to see the gaudy awesomely tricked out MGM Grand jet up close and personal. While they were showing me the cockpit and the gold plated this n' fine corinthian leather that, they asked if I'd like to hang out to meet their passengers.

Tres nice out of them. I mean we're talkin' about some probably overly chatty and smartassy stranger girl they'd known for 20 minutes, who hopped in the hotel van and took 'em because there were no available bellman/real drivers at the time. But nooooooooooooooo. I felt like I shouldn't abuse my field trip from my real job at the hotel where I was working at the time. That I again, should be a good person, I thought I should head back....  Fuckin' sense of responsibility and work ethic!!!  Damn parents and their good parenting.  So I left. Missing my chance to meet Jerry, Phil and the rest of The Dead boys.

Yep.

Private jet.

No outsider people.

A nice gold plated spread of crudette and brie. And The Grateful Dead.

Jerry died about a year later. I've kicked myself for not sticking around ever since.


...So, yeah, Frank. I know what ya mean.


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Sunday, July 10, 2011

~Ugh. I Can't Believe This Day Has Come...

For those of you unfamiliar with my stance on firemen and the fire service, I will direct you to a lil' posting called Fuckin' Firemen  (which is the long version = find under label: Po-Po Love or July '10 archive.  I'll be riiiiight here when you come back...).  However, I'm bettin' if you'll do a wee bit of reading between the lines you'll probably be able to guess my feelings by the title itself = short version.

For those of you already in the know, or intellectually gifted, nay, superior enough to already be of the right same mindset, you know that sharing what I am about to announce is, as V.P. Joe Biden would say, a big fucking deal; 

I, BBG, being of sound mind and body,
do hereby declare that I will resist my natural urge to stick my tongue out or say snarky things about firemen (fire service) for the period of one excruciating full week.
(I will then immediately resume regular BBG SOP.)


No.  I have not recently experienced a significant head trauma. 

It is in appreciation for (code name) Fireman* disposing of the bug carcass, and apparently cleaning my shoe resulting from the other days very unfortunate events (Traumatic Ta-Doin's: Dusk Till Dawn (click).   ...And now you know exactly how freaked the fuck out and disturbed I really was by the creepy ass bug incident of '11.

(Other than the rare button down or polo,
this is the 1st time I have ever seen Fireman
not sporting a fire logo shirt of one sort or the other. 
In 7 years.  1st.  Time.  Ever.)

Also in appreciation for doing the right thing and highlighting his Semper Fi-ness, rather than his other poor career choices.  Oh.  This is gonna be harder than I anticipated...


* I know this is the least creative code name ever.  My apologies. 


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Friday, July 8, 2011

~Traumatic Ta-Doin's: Dusk To Dawn

(Attn:  Guys!!  GAP/Guy Assistance Program has been postponed due to teacher trauma.  We will resume class perhaps tomorrow.)

Last night I was noodling around BBGW HQ and sumthin' catches my eye.  Now the BBGW HQ is generally a fairly dim place (no BBG's a dumbass/dim jokes please!  ...This is traumatic.  You can tell from the title.), I don't like the bright, glaring interrogation lighting so many seem fond of.  Because of my 10 watt preferred existence, I had trouble making out from a distance what the sumthin' no good was that I could see on the ceiling.

As I stood up and walked over to investigate I assumed it was a wayward moth who had illegally gained entry into my home, which dismayed me immensely.  As I flipped on the big ass fluorescent overhead lighting, illuminating the room like the sun itself, I discovered that it was some kinda creepy ass, too many legged and possibly double headed muther fuckin' bug. 

After quickly making mental note that this is one of the worst things about being single, I realized that I really didn't have any options here other than girling up and taking care of the horrible situation.  So there I was, there I was, like a modern day boobed McGuyver trying to come up with a way to take care of that damn bug.  I surveyed the room and the first thing that seemed like it might be helpful was the can of Scotch Guard I had used earlier in the day.  Spritz...crazy ass bug ceiling scurrying...BBG skittering...spritz... crazy ass bug ceiling scurrying...BBG heart racing and further skittering...  That however only resulted in the ceiling being pretty well water and spill proof.

Turns out my multi-legged nemesis would require more effort (and bravery) to defeat, so I moved on to the next item in my impromptu bug killin' arsenal, a hand vac.  I grabbed my little, 'I've got a small mess' vacuum and held it up to the ceiling, thinking I would be able to suck it up and be done with this whole verrrrry scary situation.  Of course, this brought with it, it's own set of BBG fears as I, being familiar with Murphy and his muther fuckin' law could easily envision creepy ass bug scurrying down the vac and touching me.  A fate I didn't know if I could ever recover from.  Ever so carefully vrrrroooooooooom, vrrrrrooooooom...Apparently the sucking power needed to kill a bug was asking too much of my vac.  Dismayed (and shaky from nerves) but not defeated I moved on to the air freshener I saw a few feet away.  Short version:  Creepy ass bugs don't give a shit about fresh cotton air freshener.  Turns out fresh cotton air freshener is like angel dust, or PCP to crazy ass bug.

Now things are seriously bad and I know what I have to do.  Off comes the sandal I'm sportin' and I manage to knock it off of the ceiling, now I am in a fight for my life!!  Now it's on the same footing as me and I know is creating some exoskeleton/Talaban like attack on me....WHAAACK!!  Accompanied by a BBG/6 year old little girl scream.  (I'm not proud, I'm just reportin' the facts.)  I lifted the shoe, which I quite possibly may never wear again, to see the biggest pile of bug guts, goo and legs I've ever seen.

Because I've been so traumatized by the events of the past 90 seconds I find myself unable to attend to body disposal and return the shoe to it's make shift bug headstone spot until I can deal with it and I shakily sit for a well deserved and now much needed smoke.  As I try to clam myself from the ta-doin's I can feel water attempting to spill outta my peepers.  Upon realizing that I am on the verge of tears, I start to giggle at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.  ...Which is the exact moment that my phone rings.  LEM is on the other end and sweetly immediately gets all, "oh, no what's wrong?", as she knows that I'm not some cryin' chick, and I'm sure because the last time she heard me cry was when Papa was sick and dying.  I very quickly assured her that I nothing was wrong as I tried to gather my wits enough to recount what had just unfolded at BBGW HQ.  It was one of the worst experiences I've had in a long while, which I know signifies that I lead a charmed life and shouts:  BBG is a bug whimp!

When the rush of adrenaline subsides and after my LEM chat, I make my way to bed.  Feed Uncle John a baby carrot, a strawberry and several blueberries as a nighttime snack, making my 15 lb schnauzer the best nourished being in the house.  (Unless of course you consider my intake of Dew, Cheez-It's, 3 pieces of bacon, a cookie and a Peppermint Patty as nutritional...)  I am one of those awful sorts who insists on the tv blaring all night.  Honestly, if I wake up through the night to find the tv off, it causes a visceral reaction of immense anger.  I generally fall asleep with the remote in my hand.  I generally wake up with the remote in my hand.  Mainly, because I find that if I wake up to the chip, chip, chip clinking of late night poker I start thinking of ways to strike out.  "Striking out" is of course code for concocting a plan to kill someone. 

This morning I woke up around 06:30 and my uber present remote was no where to be found as I was stuck on CNN (good morning Robin Meade).  I looked everywhere in an attempt to get to my local news station, too stubborn to actually touch the tv and change stations.  Under sheet, moved pillows, searched under both sides of the bed.  It's now closing in on 08:00 and I still have no fuckin' clue where my remote is, or how it made it's get away during the night.  Needless to say, the past 10 hours or so at BBGW HQ have been pretty damn sketchy.  And traumatic. 

I'm hoping today takes a much more upward trajectory.  And that I'm able to locate my remote before I return to bed tonight. 

Trauma be gone damn it!

May you have a bug and trauma free day and may it be filled with easy access to your remote.


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Thursday, July 7, 2011

~Curtains!!

A little sumthin' I spied in Nana's 'hood:

 
Questions:
  1. Why wouldja select this curtain? 
  2. To hang in this window? 
  3. At this level?
As with all things, in lieu of actual truth, I make up my own BBG truth.  After nanosecond consideration, I have decided that some lil' old lady who likes to go topless resides there, and this provides her with juuuuuuust the right amount of modesty.  ...Which of course, is a little weird.  But let's face it, my making up truth is not as weird as the reality of these damn curtains.


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Wednesday, June 29, 2011

~Quoteable Noteables

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

Until now my peeps!

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

So here you go (in no particular order):

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

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

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

"He who passively accepts evil is as much involved in it as he who helps to perpetrate it. He who accepts evil without protesting against it is really cooperating with it."  
~Martin Luther King, Jr.
(Yes, I know it's the exact same concept.  I like 'em both.  Suck it.)

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

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

"Ha-ha" ~Nelson Muntz

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

"I'm in charge of me"  ~Me

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

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


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Sunday, June 19, 2011

~Jostled

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I've said it before. 

I'm sayin' it now.

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

Boundaries people, BOUNDARIES!!


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

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

(BBG and Dad)


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Friday, June 10, 2011

~Food Porn

This is pork tenderloin:

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

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


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Thursday, May 12, 2011

~Goodbye Ol' Friend

Well...the remote finally drew it's last breath.  It lived a good looooooong life.  It worked out regularly, as you can see from the numberless and nameless buttons. 
(RIP Old Remote 200? - May 2011)

~Obituary~
Remote, Old
Born sometime in the 2000's was a state of the art digital magic cable box tell-er what to do-er who performed diligently for many years of service to BBG.  Until that fateful day it was dropped for the 32,000th time when it suffered a fatal battery hold-y in-y flap break.  Survivors include;  BBG and two AA batteries.  Services will be closed to the public.  In lieu of flowers contributions may be made to:
BBG Shits and Giggles Fund
c/o BBG
123 Fake St.
Somewhere, Ohio

In happier news, please join me in welcoming the new version:

(Born May 2011)

 
It even glows.


(Evidently,  I do not know the proper camera setting for glowing remote in a
not a very bright room.  Or maybe how to keep the camera still? 
Who knows.  Either way, sorry.)




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Friday, April 29, 2011

~Trying Not To Step On Worms

If you see me after the rain walkin' and lookin' sad.  I'm not.  I'm trying not to step on worms.  Worms, which by the way look an awful lot like fallen pine tree needles. 

(Squishy worm - right, innocuous pine tree needle - left)

I don't have any real issues with worms.  They have their jobs.  They, for the most part, leave me alone, I mean, I've never been attacked by a worm or anything.  I'm not even scared of 'em.  I've picked them up.  I can even put them on a hook if I'm fishing, although, I must admit, I do try to tie them to the hook more so than actually pierce their lil' worm bodies, not that I've fished in forrrrrrever.  I'm just sayin', I'm not heeb'd and jeeb'd out by them. 

I'm so ok with them that my plan is even to have one of these new fangled cardboard coffins so the worms and bugs can get to doin' their jobs tout suite.  I really don't have any problems with the the line-y, inching along set.

Except for the concept of stepping on them.  That totally freaks me the fuck out.  The thought of splitting a worm in two under my sole is just too much for me.  And then having to somehow clean my shoe before I walk back in my place spreadin' wormy guts and goo as I go?  Hellz to 'da no.  I'm not havin' any part of it.  And if I have to be looked at as the sad girl walkin, so fuckin' be it.  

(Big ass worm encountered during short ass walk.)

Now, I wear a 10 to a 11.   ...I know, I know, I have big ass feet.  Guess what?  They hold me up, so suck it.  Plus, it's not called the Lil' Petite Girl World, is it?  Anyhoo, as you can see that's one big ass worm.  Imagine looking up (not looking sad), walking and not noticing this guy as you squish it in the middle.  Grrrrrrrrrrr.  Oss.  Just thinking about it makes me think of the story of the lambs in Silence Of The Lambs.  I can hear the whines of worms!!   Alright.  That might have been a wee over the top, but it was kinda fun, wasn't it? 

Happy Weekending!  Avoid the worms.


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Tuesday, April 19, 2011

~Before I Have To Change The Name Of The Blog To BBG's Craptastic World... (aka: Things That Made Me Happy)

So before you think I'm going full time bitter, I want you all to know that I have had some BBG appreciated stuff happening. I'm tryin', contrary to popular belief, to accentuate the positive. (Am I the only one who remembers that song?)


For instance, there I was, there I was (a little present for my pal Beannie), on the highway traveling east, when whaaaaat popped on the radio?




Hellz to 'da yeeeeaaah! 

Followed up by a lil':



You should have seen me rollin' on down the road singing at the top of my lungs, head bouncin' back and forth, fingers tappin' on the dash and steering wheel. Hot damn was I one happy BBG! I musta looked like quite the freak. Thankfully, I'm a quick driver so folks don't get much of a chance to gawk at me when I'm busy makin' a fool of myself on the highway.


One day while engaged in my favorite pass time shopping (sorry, that's only funny [and known sarcasm] to the peeps who actually know me, as I fuckin' hate to shop. For any thing. It's just never been my gig. I want to be in and out, no doddling, efficient stuff acquisition and then o-u-t. And don't get me started on the concept of "window shopping", as I assure you I find it even more of a totally fucking inexplicable way to spend ones time.), I ran into local news anchor and Teddy Ruxpin doppelganger, Jerry Revish.


For some unknown reason lack of control I felt the need to tell him (no hello, or introduction) that I'd met his dog several weeks ago. And as if that didn't seem kooky enough, that he was verrrry cute and seemed verrrry nice. (The dog of course.  I was not hittin' on Teddy Ruxpin.)  In I'm sure what was some sort of internal quest to believe that perhaps the BBG stranger verbally accosting him spoke of some other dog, he asked which one as we both said his d oh double g's name. (Good googily moogily, for some other unknown reason I feel the need to protect the sweet dogs privacy by not mentioning his name. I am such a fuckin' freak.) He asked where we met and I told him, kept walking and wished him a nice day.


The funny (to me) thing was that when I met his dog a third party introduced me to the dog and told me who he belonged to, and I can remember thinking, that I wouldn't do that, or want that done to me for security, well, I guess privacy reasons. ...Honestly, the this exact reason. I mean reeeeally, does Jerry Revish need strangers holding random pet conversations as he shops? However, it did cause a wee chuckle as it sunk in with me how peculiar that exchange was.


I also had a buddy visit one evening, Dole Pineapple, who brought me Peeps and wine. How awesome is it to receive a gift of Peeps and booze?!? I was touched by the weird and curious combination, mainly because if I'm trying to perk someone up they're probably receiving something weird and odd in composition. 

(I have to hold onto the Reese's eggs until Easter.  And then I'm gonna eat the hell outta those
you got your chocolate in my peanut butter/peanut butter in my chocolate eggs.)

Another day I hopped on the freeway and spied this old school truck in my rear view, I mean ooooold school.  But it was so far (and getting farther) behind me I couldn't get a good gander at it.  But I did, more quickly than Johnny Law would probably have appreciated, catch up with this fun to see ride:


(I know.  Not the best picture.  Cut me some slack, I was drivin' after all.)

I've also received a bit of joy from the words like "beautiful" and "gorgeous" that have been bandied about by Dr. S in reference to me.  Obviously, indicating that Dr. S may want to go ahead and make an appointment with the optometrist, but a welcomed BBG boost none the less.

I also have some happy, happy, joy, joy for others, including LB2'd who celebrates her 40th today.  I've known her 1/2 the time she's been alive.  There's been  lot of tears, a lot of pizza and booze, a little vomiting (her part, not mine.  Did you forget who the BBG is?!?  Besides she's all of like 104lbs. so that's gonna happen over 20 years, ya know?) and a couple children, but waaaaaaay more split your sides, catch your breath laughs.  So one big ass Haaapppy Birthday LB2'd!  You are a blessing in my life. Good on ya to another of my besties and blessings in my life, AnonD who has taken a step in doing something to give herself a better life, to which I say awesome (and congrats!).

We'll see what this week brings.  In the meantime a lil' history lesson:



 







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Thursday, March 10, 2011

~Fr. Drunky Boozy

Now I've been tipsy a time or two. So who am I to throw a stone from my glass house? But really now. I'm pretty fuckin' confident I've never invoked Oprah's name.




My favorite slurry statement, er, according to the reporter, "threat", is:
"Oprah Winfery's gonna have her fat ass down here and you are gonna have your ass up the wall." 

Outstanding!!

In the spirit of Lent, peace be with you, Fr. Drunky Boozy.  I have a feelin' you're reeeeally gonna need it.


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Thursday, February 3, 2011

~Funnin' With Facebook

Sometimes I think I should try to be less me.  Me Lite, if you will.  Full on, hard core meeeeee, for plenty of people, is just too the fuck much.  I know I'm a handfull.  The world is probably a better place with me on 'good behavior' (...yes, I am capable of restraint and being good.  Suck it!).  Me free probably causes too much ruckus.  However, the reality is that being good me is hard work and can not be sustained for extended periods of time. 

Thus, the following tale is not a display of me being on self imposed restriction...

Background:
When I was five?  6ish?  I regularly walked home from my elementary school with another classmate.  His name was First name Last name.  --Even I'm not a big enough bitch to actually call out someone on the interweb for all of time and continuum, for something they did when they were still letting glue dry on their palms only to peel it off and dig on the grooves (aka: palm print), mastering shoe tying and eating sammies with the crust cut off.   However, in full disclosure, when I tell the story in real life, I do use his full Christian name.  Ima big fan of using the entirety of someones name, but that's a wackadoo rant for a different day kids. 

Also, in full disclosure, when I tell the story it sounds a lot like, "and muther fuckin' First name Last name kicked me in the fuckin' eye."  (Sorry, First name Last name.)

How often does this story come up? 

Well, early last fall Double D and I took a field trip to my home town.  Drivin' around seeing the, er, highlights.  Ya know, the two houses I grew up in, the best pizza in the city, schools I attended- which is exactly what we were doing when we rolled up to a stop sign.  I stopped, as required by law, and motioned for him to look at a particular corner and said, "right there, that's where muther fuckin' First name Last name kicked me in the fuckin' eye as I bent down to tie my shoe" as I gestured at my right orbital region.

Flash forward several weeks?  months? later when one of my friends (and Facebook friend), a guy who I've known since high school, DJP (who I also went to summer school with-- thanks algebra!! and college with), as the Facebook news feed told me, friended a guy named First name Last name.  

Being the noisy sort, coupled with the fact that DJP has seen some BBGness in action over the years, I had no compunction about sending a random email asking the following

BBG:  Is your First name Last name a brown First name Last name? Report back and I'll tell ya why. It's ridiculous, as you can well imagine.

DJP:  you're right... it is super fucking ridiculous as i did imagine, he is a brown First name Last name but i wouldn't rule out a white First name Last name out there in there world either...but in this instance...that right.

Once my super sleuthing was done, I shared with the esteemed DJP that his new Facebook friend had kicked me in the fuckin' eye when we were kindergartners.  (Again, you're welcome, First name Last name!)

So I've found myself having some sleep difficulties of late.  Going to sleep fine, but then waking up 20 minutes, or two hours later and being wide the fuck awake.  I know.  Boo, right?  So being awake, and without supervision, as both Double D and Uncle John were communing with the Sandman, I found myself left to my own devices and on Facebook.  

I then, quickly found myself hitting send at the conclusion of one cracked out and random email to First name Last name. 

Yep.

(...If I could help it don't you think I would?!?)


To:  First name Last name
Subject:  I just want you to know...

I can still remember you kickin' me in the damn eye at the corner near Mrs. Knisley's house, as I bent down to tie my shoe on our walk home from (elementary school name). Yeah, that's right we were 6 and I'm still holding a grudge!!! (kidding) No worries if you don't remember me, it was, after all, a loooooooong ass time ago.


I was in (hometown) over the fall, showing my guy around town, where I grew up, schools, etc., blah, blah, blah, and as we were driving towards (elementary school name) I looked over at that corner and told him about "First name Last name kicked me in the eye right there"...your welcome!! Yes, now he wants to kick your ass. Nooooooo. I AM TOTALLY MAKING THAT LAST PART UP. Anyhoo, hope the past 35?ish years have treated you well.
-BBG


Low and behold, I received a reply.  A non, 'who the fuck are you, crazy ass lady?', reply.  

First name Last name:
Wow I was just talking about you at work how could I not forget you. Hell I remember when you lived on (one 1/2 of my porn name, you know the 1st street I grew up on). How have you been?


Thank you Facebook for putting me in touch with someone I haven't seen since the 4th grade!  Thank you DJP for always, never questioningly participating in my random reindeer games.  Thank you First name Last name for overcoming your youngin' sketchy behavior and apparently growing into a cool ass dude. 

Like I say, I know I should try to be good more often, but daaaaamn, being free me makes for much better stories.  Ok...by "better" I clearly mean weirder. 

Peace out peeps.

 






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Thursday, January 13, 2011

~BBGW: The Truth As I Know It

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

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

Ugh.

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

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

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


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Wednesday, December 8, 2010

~The Colonel Wouldn't Like This

Really, KFC?!?!?

I can't just have honey?



I gotta have some manufactured, poly infused, fructose freak show of man made goo?

Seriously, I have to surmise that paying for all of the vendors, for all of the steps involved in manufacturing "honey sauce" is more costly than payin' some patchouli'd up hippie to collect bee pee.

Fine. I know it's not actually bee pee. And that A) all hippies aren't patchouli'd up and 2) that probably most honey comes from big agra and not ol' time-y farmer Joe.

But really. Don't I have enough ways as an American, to get weird ass, unneeded, bad for me chemicals in my body through my regular diet? Do you really need to put it in me in some other way? Good fuckin' googily moogily.

I suspect the Colonel would be displeased.

In I was displeased a few weeks ago news:


It was in the low 40's and it was quite windy. And this old man sans shirt looked ridiculous. And cold. It was disturbing to my eyes and soul. Rule going forward: If'n it's cold enough to sport polar fleece, it's cold enough to rock a shirt, hoss.

In other, and yet still displeasing news, Double D has acquired a case of the creepin' crud. Again. I once again have administered soup. I sure hope he's feelin' better in the morning. I feel terrible for him. And even though I have noooo idea if he has a cold or flu, because I have noooooo idea of the real differences betwixt the two, I'm glad I had my flu shot. And that my thus far superior immune system continues to fight off his germy germs.

I'm optimistic that something interesting, pleasing or cracked out will happen tomorrow. (somewhere in Ohio a BBG crosses her fingers)


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Friday, December 3, 2010

~Gift Ideas (aka: Things You Probably Didn't Know Exsisted)



...Soooooo there's that
. Can't cure cancer, but we can develop jeans that seemingly make an eye wink and simultaneously draw unneeded attention to some bad, bad asses. Or is the design of the jean that makes the asses look so bad? I donno? Chicken...egg.




http://www.perpetualkid.com/the-worlds-largest-gummy-worm.aspx

Yeah kidz, it's a 2" long, 3 lb. gummy bear worm. Both my friend PC and I agree that it looks like sumthin' far more phallic and naughty sex toy than a gummy bear should be.




http://www.thinkgeek.com/caffeine/candy/c8d6/

What could be better than your favorite jerky lover alllllll amped up on an extra 150mg of jerky'd up caffeine? Apparently Perky Jerky is flavored with guarana. Isn't that bat doodle?!?




http://www.amazon.com/Hand-Wireless-Controlled-Gesture-Display/dp/B001T3JF7Q

...Now, I can see the use for the givin' the bird hand sign (one of my favorite signs as you can imagine), but for the life of me I cannot imagine under what circumstances I, or anyone else would need to display the shocker gesture while driving?




http://www.hammacher.com/Product/78611

I love Uncle John. (this is not Uncle John - above) He's a terrific lil' doggy companion. And I let him have a lotta run of the house. Sleep on the bed? Sure. Lay on top of the sofa pillow back? Fine, whatever. Who the fuck cares, he's 14 lbs and seriously cute, but a dog doesn't belong on/at the table. Period.




http://www.cuchini.com/pc/The-Cuchini-Pad-1p1.htm

I'm just gonna say it, gals, if'n you feel camel toe is a big enough issue in your life that you would consider this product, please for the love of God, buy a size larger.




http://www.thisnext.com/item/246C970F/Hafsteinn-J-l-usson-Growing Hafsteinn Júlíusson : Growing Jewelry 4 Finger Ring

You say $380 chia ring, I say grass knuckles. For those without a green thumb, which would be anyone wearin' this (see, only the fingers are full of lush green grass...how funny is it if I have to explain it?!??), it claims it only needs to be watered every 5 weeks.




http://www.babygadget.net/2006/08/the_babykeeper.php

This, I'm sure, well meaning product, just has child neglect written alllll over it. It also reminds me of the contraption my Dad had to hang off of after a tree he was cutting down fell on him.




http://www.carlashes.com/

...well, I'm out. What could I possibly add to fuckin' carlashes?!?

Happy shopping.

Related Gift Idea Posts:

- All I Want For Christmas

- Gift Ideas (aka: These Exists II)
 


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Tuesday, November 30, 2010

~The Long And Ramble-y Road

Alright... Only if you really have nuthin' better to do should you start this post. Listen, when even the sharer of the story is tryin' to save you from some oddly appropriate craptastic tale, and the made up word, "ramble-y" is used as a hint in the title, you know you're in for some serious time wasting reading.

You've been warned.

If you're still here, you only have yourself to blame.

Here we go:

Thanksgiving was not as easy or fun as every other Thanksgiving I've had in my life. All these firsts without Papa. Whew. They ain't easy, kids. I know, I'm not the only one in the world to experience such things. But this is pretty much my first experience with such things, so it's all a learning experience to me.

So, here we are doin' Thanksgiving. I pick Mom and her guy up and set off over the river and through the woods to Nana's house. Alright. There was no river or woods involved, just I-70.

Double D was unable to join in due to having to work. Boo. Duty calls and all. Coming from a family of police and police to R.N, and having worked jobs myself where ya worked holidays, it isn't my first day at the somebody not being there rodeo. But still, boo. I don't like when we're apart at all (I know, sappy.), let alone on a holiday, but what can be done, ya know?

After we arrive at Nana's but before dinner, sumthin' was required from the store. Off my Mom's guy and I go. I pull into a parking spot and glance around, as I do, because as you may have already heard, I'm the noticer!! Anyhoo, this trait serves me well because I spy John Legend.

Yup. My crazy assed and adored hometown chocked full o' some of the wackiest cast of characters and situations you have ever seen is also the ol' stompin' grounds of the multi Grammy winning artist.

Now, and this is where you realize, if in fact you haven't sooner, that I am woefully unhip and tragically L7. And really, what says more dazzling square than actually using the term L...7?

My 81 year old Nana is the person who hip'd me to his existence.

Shouldn't by all that is holy, I be the one who is first in on the cool new artist types happening around me? Nope. Apparently not.

So as I say out loud to Mom's guy (who I MUST create a fake name for...), "there's John Legend", as hometown, guy done well puts his grocery cart into the roundup corral. Mom's guy looks over to see him and I say, "...And Nana doesn't like ya!" Not loud enough that Mr. Legend, ney, Stevens heard me. It's not like his head swiveled around and looked my way or anything. But still, it was unnecessary. And maybe a tad Chuck Woolery (aka: mean spirited, wrong, quasi appalling).


(P.S. or, I guess really, M.O.S/middle of script, but that's not really a thing...

Nana doesn't like John Legend. She's told me this on many of occasions in the past. And as recent as a few weeks ago she saw him on sumthin' on TV and tuned in just to see if she'd given him a fair shake or not, and to see if maybe she did like him. Nana's assessment? "I watched 20 minutes or so, and all I learned after what that I still don't like him and that those 20 minutes are now gone and wasted.")

And here's how karma turned right around and immediately kicked me in the ass., for my "And Nana doesn't like you" comment.

My most wonderful umbrella which looks, er, looked like a big ass, bright pink Gerber daisy and made me oh-so happy on a rainy day was all whopper jawed as I opened it.

Damn.




I really enjoyed that umbrella. Mom got it for me, I remember just where we were that day.

So my mean spirited-ness was rewarded with me losing an item I liked. Perfect. Fuckin' perfect.

Flash forward to later that evening once I'd arrived home. Double D was not quite home yet and I took Uncle John out for his walk to doodle. So there I am, yet again, standing in the rain. Only this time I'm trying to not step on worms in my flip floppy feet (thank you warm Thanksgiving!), while balancing a doodle bag, a smokey treat and my other umbrella, a golf umbrella. Oh, in the dark. So of course I'm wearin' my headlamp (it's dark here by 5ish). Yeah, I'm lookin' like a wackadoo who a random passerby, or noisy neighbor would look at and think, 'well, she shouldn't be in carge of keeping that cute little dog alive!, look.

At some point I give my umbrella a spin and I'm nearly blinded by the two arm that are no longer attached to the umbrella, floating and flinging perilously close to my eye orbs.

So now I started Thanksgiving day with two umbrellas and by 6pm I've go zero fully functional umbrellas. Fanfuckingtastic.

Thanks John Legend and karma.

The next morning I get an early AM call, which is NEVER good. No one ever calls at an ungodly early hour to pass along good news, ya know? It was D calling to let me know that my favorite of she and her hubby's chocolate labs, Gus was going to have to be put to sleep that morning. Apparently she'd uncharacteristically woken up at the ass crack of dawn to find him disoriented and no longer just in an old dog age state that made it apparent that the sad time had come.

Ugh.

Words fail me. It's just another sad thing that's happened this year. There's been a disproportionate of sad things happening both in my life and the lives of some of the people in the world I care most for. And I do not like it.

RIP Gus.


(Gustov ~ October 21, 1997 - November 26, 2010)

Thank you Thanksgiving for being over. Maybe next year we'll have a better go 'round.

Now...off to run an errand.

Yes. In the rain.

No. I don't have a new umbrella yet.

Again, thanks John Legend and karma.

Thanks a lot.


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Thursday, October 28, 2010

~For Or Against

I mean this with the utmost respect and I wanna make this clear, I am not making fun of cancer. As you know I lost my Papa earlier this year to the despicable disease. I hate cancer and have empathy for any person/family battling it.

With that said, something has been popping up lately that has been stickin' in my crawl.

Exhibit A):

Thank you people of the world for doing things to raise money to eradicate cancer, or at a minimum find a way to meaningfully treat it and increase it's survivability. Kudos.

The fundraiser cited above is an annual cruise chocked full, in this case, of Buckeye fans, players and icons. (...Yeah, I said icons. For you non Buckeye fans:
1) Fools!!!

II) Didja ever hear of a two time Heisman winner from any other school? Uh-huh, Archie Griffin. Boo ya. And duffer Jack Nicklaus. Even if you don't like golf, or him, the Golden Bear is an icon. Chair throwin' Bobby Knight and Billy Martin firin' George Steinbrenner. Buckeye icons. Author James Thurber. Buckeye literary icon. To name a few other Buckeyes, who hold icon distinction. I don't know who is scheduled to be on board of this years cruise, but several of the aforementioned icons may not actually be on the cruise, mainly because they are dead.)

My only issue with the, otherwise positive objective of raising money cruise, is it's moniker.

Cruise for cancer?

No thanks.

Why would one want to rally for cancer? I could fully support a cruise against cancer, although I still wouldn't plan on takin' the cruise. A cruise to fight or cure cancer, all the better. Frankly, the Cruise to Cure Cancer has much better alliteration, and is more accurate.

It's not even just the Buckeye CFC. Every time I grocery shop, some cashier is trying to get me to buy a paper ribbon or flower for cancer.

Enough is enough.

I am anti cancer. Not for it.

A quick Googling found other offenders...

Wrong:








Right:



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Thursday, September 16, 2010

~Yep. That's About Right: The Birthday Edition

So, as you know my birthday and St. Pat's are my favorite holidays of the year. Not even in that order. I enjoy St. Patrick's Day more than my very own special holiday day.

I'm glad they're polar opposite, as it gives me plenty o' time to recuperate from each celebration. Yep. ...It's like this and like that y'all... (I don't know why, but that's turned into my new mind singing of, "bom-bom-bom you XYZ muther fucka". I can not, seemingly, get that song outta my mind and it 'plays' every time how sumthin' is, or "it's like this and like that" crosses my mind.)

So imagine my overwhelming joy (dripping in sarcasm) to find myself on my special day:

1) With a cold. (Thanks Double D!)
2) Waking up to the first rainy, gloomy ass day in weeks 'round these parts. (Spectacular)
3) Having my first ever Papa-less birthday.
4) Starting my period. (Really, Mother Nature? Reallllllly?!?)
5) Having to stand in line at the DMV to get my new tags. (Grrrrrreat) Yes, I know, 30 days ago I coulda mailed the registration in. ...But you know what I wasn't fuckin' thinkin' about 30 days ago?!?

I'm (believe it or not) tryin' to suck it up and wear my big girl panties. Which, I guess, thanks to the period, big girl panties will be in order. Ugh. (Sorry men. Menstruation chat over. But let's face it, if'n you got your period on your most holy of holy days, let's say Super Bowl Sunday, you'd be a lil' bitter too...) Should ya have to feel like ya have ta suck it up for your birthday, or should ya just be havin' a blast? Ugh.

Happy Fuckin' Birthday to me.


(My birthday tiara that I don each year)

It's been a hard year and I just wanted to have an epic birthday. Too much to expect?

Clearly, yes.

I'm not entirely bitter, I know I'm fortunate to have more people than I should love me, and call me a friend. And. That. Is. Awesome. A blessing, in fact. And one I count, everyday. And that I'm generally healthy. I mean, more or less. I'm probably not gonna drop over and die today or anything. But as accident prone as I am, we all know it could be any day that the sun comes up that you'll get a call that I've perished in some freaky fashion. (Fatal inability to Q-Tip and brush my teeth at the same time?-- a la Sesame Street rub your belly/pat your head, or some equally as crazy ass way to go.) Plus, I'm having a really good romantic gig going on. The people I love and care about, family and friends, are in large part good in the 'hood. So I know in the grand scheme of things, I have nuthin' to really complain about. I have a better life than I have a right to. I know it, and I'm grateful.

...But come the fuck on birthday!!!



UPDATE: 17:00...There are tornado sirens going off. Double D and I were outside having a smokey treat after he arrived home and ta-da tornado sirens! I looked at him and said, "happy birthday, we're gonna die". Local news has been more than an hour full time coverage of the storm a creepin' in.

Awesome.


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Tuesday, September 7, 2010

~Tragedy, Triumph & Tee Hee's: The Labor Day Edition

The (unofficial) close to the 5th hottest and (grrrrreat) most humid summer on record in these parts came to close in an abrupt way. 90-sumthin' on Thursday and Friday the high was like 73. Yep. That's Ohio. It's like this and like that ya'll...

I took off to the hometown for a pre-arranged visit with my ol' DQ pal, PC, in from the ATL (as the kool kidz call it). We met out at a local H20-ing hole. Yea!! Good to see PC! Tragedy ensued.

In the form of:

1) One word- midget.

Many words- Fine. Too many words- I just...I just, well, like some people feel about clowns, I feel about midgets. Small people. Not kids, I'm fine with kids. But the wee people. I know this is completely wrong, on ever level...unfair, mean, illogical, uncompasionate (yes, I made up a word), narrow-minded, just plain awful...but they give me the serious fuckin' heebie jeebs. I actually feel bad in my tummy. And like I want to burst out into hysterical tears and simultaneous laughter, as my heart beats too fast. Ugh. It's just an awful, terrible feeling I get. (To any miniature readers out there, I truly apologize, well, as much as a person who has such a visceral reaction to your mere existence can have, but really I know that's all kindz of fuckin' wrong on my part. I'm really just very sorry. Again, as much as I have the capacity for. If I were you I'd think I was a horrible human being. We all have our crazy, this is just one of mine. Again, sorry.)

Plus, and this is bad. Like one of the reasons I'm probably goin' to hell, bad. As I admitted out loud to PC, for possibly the first time in my life, I have this irrational fear that I'm gonna punt one of them. As many of you know I have a stupid fear of bridges. Not debilitating, I can drive across one. But they also seriously creep me out.

(I'll admit it, I've cried on a bridge before. To my defense, we were stuck on it due to a crazy fluke with a friends waaaaay back then car and there we were standing on this big ass bridge in Chicago that as we stood there violently vibrated with every passing vehicle. Semis were just too, too scary. Talk about awful! Whoo fuckin' hoo. I musta looked all kindz of crazy to passers-by as I scurried off that bridge cryin' all the way to the other side.)

They give me that creepy feeling of, 'I hope my hands don't lose control and steer me off the side of this bridge', like somehow it might become something out of my control that I don't want to do but might inexplicably happen. The whole way across a bridge leaving me silently running a track of 'don't drive off the bridge' playing through my head. Similarly, I feel the same about the uber diminutive, except the constant train of thought becomes, 'don't punt the midget'.

Wrong Alert: I feel I have to fight the primal, inner desire to punt them. Yes, like through an upright or sumthin'. <--- This is exactly why I try to tactfully dislodge myself from their presence. (And again, yet another reason why I'm not so likely to breach the Pearly Gates)

So imagine my unease as this happened within 15 mins of our arrival?




Then imagine a shot of Beam.

And then imagine (-wait, you don't have to) a teeny tiny (maybe 2 1/4"'s) glass o' beer.



Disclaimer: I would never punt a wee one. I certainly do not suggest that you should either. I'm just sayin...

PC and I continued our boozy catch up and were briefly joined by one of her ol' HS chums.

Culinary tragedy ensued when at some point menu's were consulted, which is when we both became amazed by the, apparently, hot new thing takin' the local area:



Yeah, fuckin' crazy, no?!? Spin/Art dip has arrived on the shores of my hometown-- Awesome! Welcome to 2010 hometown!

Of course, just out of sheer wonderment PC and I had to give it a whirl, along with deep fried cheese balls, which I was just bewildered to hear that she'd never experienced.


(Awful)


(Pretty damn good)

Q: How awful?

A: So awful that after my first bite I asked PC if we should just return it and have it taken off of our bill, or risk having whatever we reordered spit in? Yep, that bad. It was out of a baggie, frozen bad. Terrible. And I'm not exactly a food snob.

After havin' a lil' chat with the barmaid that went a lot like, "Leslie, you're grrrreat, we love everything about you, we're havin' a grand time and we love these cheese balls...but this dip is the worst thing I've ever put into my mouth. Absolute worst." We decided to double down on the deeeelectable deep fried cheddar cheese balls. (Mmmmmmmmmmmmm....cheeze baaaaaaalls) Exactly how much deep fried, breaded cheddar cheese do two girls need? That, I do not know the answer to, but I can tell ya how much deep fried cheddar cheese balls two girls can put away!

Another little local nugget we found amazing was the presence of a kid in a bar. I know, I know. ...'But they had a menu, so it's a restaurant' Ok. I'll give ya that. But should kiddies actually be playin' with Vodka bottles?!? While sittin' at the bar?!?



I had a nice visit with Nana, who sent me home with some chocolate no-bakes. Yum!!

On the way home I was kept company by cute my co-pilot, Uncle John:



And irritated by this guy who insisted on driving in the left lane at 70mph for about 4 miles, causing not only my head coming this close to exploding but dozen cars stackin' up behind me, probably equally as pissy about his lane choice (thanks hoss):



I returned to find a lovely surprise of Double D sitting on the sofa watchin' a game. Sappy Alert: Even though it was just over night, and that I had a hoot of a time with PC, we missed each other. We do not like not hangin' together. The number of mornings we've not been the first person each other saw is not very many. I donno. 7 maybe. Just not our thing, I guess. And that is zero of a complaint.

Within the hour we decided to tackle a project that had been bandied about for a week or so. Double D had grown unhappy with the appearance of his tire wells, or whatthefuckever they are called, and that they would be better with a black finish.

Of course when I say "we" tackled a project, I really mean Double D did all of the work while I stood there in a pink & white floral skirt, white t and cute lil' flip flops. I did however embrace the 'project doin'' mood by donning a Cape Cod logo shaped baseball cap and handing things. And showing my support with the occasional random appearance with an offering of salami, sweet tea or smokey treat. Apparently, moral support is what I bring to the table when it comes to projects.

It took 10+ hours over two days, but I think the results are awesome:


(Double D's ride before)


(After being murdered out)

I'd say that's a triumph!

In between wheel preppin', sanding, priming, layers, clear coats, etc., we managed to slip over to the Italian Car Festival down the way. A million and one cars:








There was one I took particular note of, as I found it to be one of the greatest man made abominations I've ever seen. Behold:




Really?

Lavender?!? With some fuckin' creepy ass lookin' dolphins?!? Maybe they were porpoise's and it was part of some Porpoise Driven Life thingy?

I don't know what else to say.

So I will say goodbye for now. Sorry about the length of this posting. ...But it was a looooooooooong weekend. Whatdidja expect?

Thank you Labor Day weekend for all of your tee hee-able goodness.


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