Showing posts sorted by relevance for query uncle john. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query uncle john. Sort by date Show all posts

Friday, October 28, 2011

~How Uncle John Almost Died

Uncle John and I were having our nightly bedtime routine.  Uncle John had a lil' stick of celery and a couple of baby carrots.  While I gobbled the rest of the 3/4's of a Hershey bar I had started the night before.  (Girl can't keep her blog titled Big Brown Girl if she doesn't keep her fat ass figure you know...)

Sometimes we play for a minute, sometimes we just plop down and prepare for the Sandman to creep in.  For some reason Uncle John hopped off the bed and left the room.  While it was unusual for him, I just figured he needed one last drink of H2O before slumber.  When he didn't return I called for him to come.  ...And he didn't.

Now, I've had a loooooong ass day and am kinda tuckered out, so I call for him several more times.  Still, nuthin'.  Now I'm getting pissed.  Mostly because now I have to get outta my warm and cozy bed, leave my blue cave room and go on a walk about for my ill behaved and noncompliant dog.  I know in theory, I should be able to let Uncle John have his doggy sleep any place he fuckin' pleases, but here's what happens if I do:
  • At the ass crack of dawn Uncle John will see something;  Someone out walking their dog.  The newspaper 4:30am deliver-er, a 'I'm free!  I'm free!!' taunting squirrel. Whatthefuckever.
  • Uncle John will bark.
  • Uncle John will wake me up making me cranky.
Which is why I insist he sleep somewhere upstairs, which usually ends up being my bed.  As he's 15 lbs and an indoor dog for the most part, and get's regular baths, I don't care that he sleeps in the bed.  To tell you the truth, that lil' dog really throws some heat which is kinda handy during cold months.

Anyhoo, I'm clearly digressing. 

So I traipse downstairs expecting to see him obdurately sittin' on the sofa giving me his pattented 'whaaaaat?  Me? Doin' wrong?' look.  But he wasn't to be found.  Then I go to the top of the downstairs-downstairs steps and continue my verbal pleas for him to now, "come the fuck upstairs, Uncle John".  Even for Uncle John this was a high degree of insolence.  I walk down to BBG HQ, turn on the light-- gettin' ready to really get Uncle John in trouble as I saw his lil' schnauzer ass standing, looking in a corner.  With a bag over his head.

Earlier in the evening I had called dinner one of my world class grilled cheese sammies and the last 5 ginger snap cookies remaining from my recent house sitting adventure (click here) scavenger hunt. Usually, because I'm lazy, too lazy to want to have to clean up some big ass mess at a later time, I put stuff in the trash on my next trip past a bin.  But for some reason I'd left it on a table where tv is watched.  Apparently, that was too much temptation for ol' Uncle John who was compelled by his canine genes to get into it.  Literally.

By the time I wandered downstairs Uncle John was standing with his doggy face against a wall, shaking and hyperventilating.  Poor pooch.  When I discovered Uncle John and freed him from his bag-y death chamber, his lil' face was all sweaty and hot from his heavy (recirculated air) breathing.    I'm soooooo glad I didn't just roll over and think, 'oh, Uncle John's just off doin' Uncle John junk' and fall asleep.

I've grown accustomed to Uncle John tryin' to kill me (click here) but Uncle John tryin' to kill himself?  Well, that was a first.  And hopefully the last.

Viva la Uncle John!


Tuesday, August 23, 2016

~ The Life & Times Of Uncle John

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Uncle John watching his 'big screen'

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


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

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

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

Other Uncle John Posts:


Friday, 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. 


Monday, December 12, 2011

~Captive Wilding

People like to say how cute Uncle John is.  He routinely gets compliments wherever we go.  Obviously, I'm biased, so of course I think he is too.  However, I'm also a realist, and often reply with, "yeah, he's cute.  ...Until he's causin' some trouble". 

When people see him, he's usually being pretty good.  Which is probably why most people poo-poo my response.  Sure he'll probably jump up on you when he first sees you to say hello, but if you (anyone) tell(s) him to get his 15 lbs. the hell down, he'll do it.  (He knows his rules.  He just chooses when to use them.)  Essentially, if you don't have a baby carrot, or blueberry treat for him, he's probably wandered somewhere to lie down, watch tv, or occupy himself with a toy.  Uncle John is usually a pretty chill dog.  

But what those people see when they have a brief interaction with him is different than the actuality of living with Uncle John, which sometimes is like a battle of wills.    It seems like a lot of our existence with one another is comprised of one of us trying to win.  Thank you opposable thumbs!  Who's gonna out fox who for total domination of BBGW HQ, type scenarios.  As you may remember, just this year alone he's actually attempted to murder me and possibly committed a botched suicide gesture.   He keeps me on my toes as I never know what his plan for me is at any given moment.

Yesterday's screw you BBG move, and the Uncle John version of 'wilding' in Central Park was: 

(What?  Who?  Me?  Doin' sumthin'? 
...Nope.  Every thing's fine here.  Move along.)

Apparently, every pillow had ta fuckin' go.

This is not Uncle John's first wilding.  ..Which is how I know it's punitive.  See, you can be gone allll fuckin' day and return home to lil' ol' Uncle John just sittin' there lookin' cute all nub wagglin' and happy to see ya.  Every pillow exactly in it's place.  Always.  For 14 years, always.

But every now and again Uncle John gets some wild burr up his doggy butt and feels compelled to knock every pillow he can find off whatever it sits on.  I honestly don't know what the fuck that's about. 

Usually he contains his wilding to one area, however I have found where he's gone on a systematic room-by-room rampage. 

Boots on the ground report;
Living room pillows:  Down. 
Bedroom pillows:  On the damn floor. 
Guest room pillows:  Also not where they belong. 

So yes, Uncle John knows both the phrases, "reeeeeally?!?" 
and "what the fuck, Uncle John?!?"

...And he only does it when I'm home.  (<-- which somehow makes it more irritating.)

I wish I knew what his lil' d oh double g mind is thinkin' when he's doin' this. 

(Is it just me, or does Uncle John look indignant
that I've returned the pillows to their rightful spots?)

Since I'm not the Dog Whisper, and as I don't speak schnauzer, I'll just have'ta keep assuming that it's some canine Charlie Sheenesque version of, 'it's called winnnnnning, bitch.'


Thursday, May 19, 2011

~Uncle John's Cast Iron Stomach

It was a regular, average Wed ness day Wednesday evening.  I was downstairs munchin' on my ol' school mini pizza that earlier I'd popped in my now beloved toaster oven.  I was flip floppin' between watching tv and being on the computer, I could hear Uncle John upstairs playing.  He sounded like he was havin' fun.  Hoppin' here and there overhead.  I paid nooooo attention to him and remember thinkin' 'Awwww...Uncle John, still bein' spry, havin' fun.  Good on him" and goin' about my general BBG bidness.

A bit later, I wandered upstairs for whatthefuckever, and discovered that Uncle John had indeed been having fun.


Havin' fun destroyin' shit:

(So long oven mitt.  How 'bout them purple nails?)


For starters that was my 2nd favorite oven mitt.  Of the precisely two that I own.  (TMI:  the other being of the silicone variety.)  Then I considered the heavy duty silver stuff, that I can only imagine is not particularly good for d oh double g consumption.  Double ugh. 

I, of course watched Uncle John like a hawk.  I gave him a press on his belly area to see if he seemed tender, or troubled by it's contents.  Thankfully it seems Uncle John has the constitution of Hercules.  By virtue of some crazy ass strong canine digestion and evacuation system he seems to be feelin' fine. 

For the official record, I'd left the damn oven mitt on the counter.  Evidently, not far enough back that on his lil' schnauzer tippy toes he couldn't reach that mitt.  Something has to be super close to the edge for him to be able to appropriate it, so I could only be sooo angry with him, as I, apparently, share in the blame.  Great.  Now I'm losing to a dog. 

(Note to self:  Don't cook anything big.  You now have no way to hold sumthin' hot with two hands.)



Friday, January 15, 2010

~Abandoned Babies Are A Buzz Kill & Other Minutiae

(my view from the tub)

So, there I was, gettin' all kindza relaxed. Just a BigBrownGirl trying to commune with the hot tub and find a lil' peace. What do I do, oh-so stressful that I need peace? Ok. Nuthin' out of the ordinary. But, really now... IS there such a thing as being too peaceful?!? No, I think not. Don't begrudge me my chillaxin'!

Alert! Alert!! Now is the time to conger up the haze of a fade out as the scene transitions into a flashback sequence. (A blog that's making you do sumthin', is that wrong? I donno. If I'm faux pas-ing, apologies. I do not like being a rule breaker.) Cue: chimey music to signify flashback.

...I was out in the hot tub scopin' out some stars. The water was the perfect temp. The air was still. At any temp, uber windy makes tubbin' less fun, in my opinion. (Oh, it's still tubbin'(!!), it's just not optimal, ya know?) The snowfall from the other day (past 17 days, in fact) dampened the sound of the world to nil. Until I was jolted into to wondering if I was on the cusp of having to give the police my statement on the child abandonment case seemingly unfolding in my hood!

Whaaaaaaaa. Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. Period of quiet. Whaaa. Is exactly what I heard.

I went from all delightfully submerged and floaty goodness to a rush and bundle of adrenaline. At first I tried to figure out which direction this cry was even coming from, trying to simultaneously process why anyone would leave a baby on a step here. I mean, outside of hospitals, police/fire stations, and maybe churches, ummmmm, ok. But leaving a baby on some residential cul de sac-y kind of place on a cold winters night seems like a pretty fuckin' bad idea.

All turned quiet on the hot tub front, then I heard crazy ass rustling in some bushes. And the distinct sound of two cries. Figuring that an abandoned baby probably wasn't tusselin' (I don't even know...with an animal?...with another baby?!?...I donno.) in the landscaping, only then did I decide that cats were the more likely culprit of the night time ta-doin's.

While I was relieved to find out that no babies were harmed during my hot tubbin', I can not say I ever achieved the peaceful feeling I had been in search of when I hopped in.

Honestly, I may have found myself extra perturbed because I don't even like cats to begin with. They seem very hoity-toity. They usually seem to look at people with contempt and condescension in their wee weird peepers. Everything seems like a big ass favor for them to do. Ugh. Cats. The only good feeling I have associated with cats are the Garfield sheets I had as a kid. I loved those damn sheets. Took 'em to college with me. There was something sooooooo uncool and square about it, it somehow seemed kinda coolio to me, at the time. Yep. I was that girl. Eh? Probably still am.

(Check, check, check, check it out- my Garfield sheets in my dorm room. Also note we had been trick-or-treating. Yes. In college. For beer, I suspect. I was the Great Pumpkin that year as you can barely see as I "drink" from my big ass High Life inflateable. Yep. Classy with a capital K, even then, baby!)

For the record, it's not like I want to pick up a cat, grab it by it's tail and start swingin' it around over my head like a lasso or anything. I've certainly never harmed a cat, although I can't say the same for them in return. Those fuckers make my eyes swell shut. FYI, not a particularly good look in a BBG. Plus, one beat Uncle John up! ...Poor ol' Uncle John being pummeled by the paws of a big ol' mean alpha kitty. This is when I learned Uncle John is not a fighter. His solution was very Gandhi. He sat down and put his little doggy nose in a corner with his back to that cat. Before you think my d oh double g is some kinda wimp dog, that damn cat had six or 7 pounds on Uncle John. Hardly and even match up.

I have no idea about the equity of, or outcome of the match up between the crazy (infant sound alike) clawin' cats. Even though I don't like them, I did find myself saying a silent prayer that they left each others company with their eyes. (I don't know why, but I always think a cat wants to scratch out an eye. Yet another reason I think they're shifty and not to be trusted.) And one for babies on door steps. What can I say? You can take the girl outta Catholic school, but you can't take the Catholic school outta the girl, I guess.

So, lessons for the day:
-BigBrownGirl has allergies & cares not for the felines.
-Leaving babies on doorsteps = bad.
-Uncle John is NOT a pussy.
-Begrudged and chillaxin' can be used in a sentence.
-Hot tubbin' is not always relaxing and peaceful.
-Reason #581 why my mom is cooler than me. She taught me the term "chillaxin'".
-Cats are assholes.


Sunday, January 16, 2011

~So, I Sez To Uncle John...

..."you smell very cherry", as he kissed me squarely on the nose.

In longer than I'm comfortable admitting, but am, I thought, 'why does Uncle John smell very cherry?'

So I wander upstairs, where I keep my cherry Lifesavers, in my bedside table for middle of the night coughs or need of sweet.

And Scooby Doo mystery solved:

So long cherry Lifesavers.

Uncle John with one of his trademarked, 'who me? wrong? whaaaaat?' looks.

He's lucky he's so damn cute.

(Uncle John turned 13 on Christmas)


Thursday, December 30, 2010

~Fuck You: 2010

It's the sanctioned time of reflection over the past year as we watch the ball drop and smooch to the new year. I've had another interesting year. Not, perhaps in the conventional sense of "interesting", but certainly in the, "well, thats sumthin'...", kinda way.

Here are some of the things that happened in ott-10:

-Ate my first deep fried Snickers, McRib, Cold Stone cake batter ice cream, cranberry outta can jelly goo, corn dog, Manwich, Lucky Charm, skim milk & Bocca burger.

Rating: Cake batter ice cream, by far my favorite new find. I've had it several times since. The others? While I wouldn't feel the need to have another one, #1 Snickers. All the rest? Last, Laster & Lastest. At that point does it really matter in which order?

-Increased my ugly, gaudy magnet collection with the addition of Philadelphia and Seattle.

-Grew something from a seed: A moss rose, created by moi!! From a seed people!! Me?!?!

-Found love. He's a good egg. And we make a good match. In a year overshadowed by loss, Double D has been an unexpected highlight and blessing.

-Finally! I have finally mastered the thermostat!! The nights I've woken up too hot only to be followed by too cold are o-v-e-r. The thermostat is on the first floor, the bedrooms on the second, so it's always warmer upstairs than down where it's reading. For longer than I'd like to admit at various, pre-programed points of the night one of us will wake up too hot/too cold, only to stumble downstairs in our hazy half slumber to find that the thermostat says it's 71. Or 60. At 4am, neither 76, nor 66 is within our indoor comfort zone. We've both tried to adjust the temp. On several occasions. Double D even read the fuckin' directions. Once again, my sheer willpower and perhaps random pushing of buttons has WORKED!

-Discovered that plastic measuring cups will be completely mangled by the garbage disposal, if'n one is not careful. Perhaps I should have added measuring cups to my earlier Christmas wish list?

-Saw Touchdown Jesus. Right before it burned to the ground from a, (I swear it's true) lightning strike.

-Learned to make kick ass potato salad. And over easy eggs, which seem like an awful idea, but Double D loves. While I didn't actually "learn" in a way that I could replicate it at home, I did make bread, chocolate no-bakes and fudge with Nana in '10.

-Met a baby who didn't like me. At all. Wanted nuthin' to do with me. With these ta-ta's, babies usually love me. I can put a baby to sleep in no time flat when I'm holding one. This one said nooooooo thanks big hootered brown girl. ( blog title for the new year?)
-Wrote my first obituary. Of all the things I never wanted to do.

-Painted trim.

-Found out how hard, boring and labor intensive painting trim is. Straight aways are easy, but cuts on stairs, spindles, etc., holy fuck are those a pain in the ass.

-New lighting: Here, there, everywhere. (PF3 TCB'n, with help of Uncle John, who helps any situation by just sitting and looking cute. Note: Trim before it was painted and sheers before curtains were hung.) (Entry way, Thank you PF3!) (Guest bath, Thank you PF3!! Note: Holes have been patched and painted, yes by me. I'm afraid of electrocuting myself, I'm not afraid of patch and paint.) (Master bath, Thank you Double D)

-Got some new lives to corrupt. Welcome to the world, Maya, Harper and Athen!!!

-Saw a girl cow pee. I'd never seen that before. I must say, it was disturbing.

-Was seemingly stalked by various and sundry pink vehicles.

-Had the mantra I started out the year with beat outta me. "New year, new mojo" scummed to "livin' ain't for the weak" after Papa passed.

-Pulled a biker's ponytail. I just revisited last years roundup posting (Fuck You 2009/December '09) and it seems that this is the second year in a row there has been a 'ponytail incident'. Hummmm.... That probably can't say anything good about how I live my life, can it?

-Purchased a toaster oven. Turns out I think it's outstanding, I'm happy to report.

-Got these outfuckingstanding peeper shades.
-For another year I resisted the urge to bash some dumbass in the head with a brick. You're welcome world.

-For another year I tried to be a good person.

-For another year I was disappointed that a "wayback machine" hasn't been invented.

-Got new tires for ride. Realized that tires can make a discernible difference in the ride.

-Tinkled between mine and another car at a festival, much to my badge carryin' guys chagrin. When a girls gotta go...

-Had BBGW readers from every U.S. state and each continent. Who'da fuckin' thunk it? I mean, reeeeally? Honestly, that's the sign that y'all need to find sumthin' better to do. But from my standpoint, I must admit, that's pretty fuckin' cool.

-New lighting (Part II). (Thanks Ikea and Mom)

-New kitchen phone. Wait. Lemme rephrase, the grooviest retro lookin', 'hello 1954 calling' ringing phone in the world. Added bonus,it has an ol' time-y heaviness in the handset.

-Uncle John ate my toothbrush. Twice. (2nd w/new replacement brush) ...Yes,I know. It's my fault for leaving travel bags still packed where Uncle John can get to 'em. Bad pet owner.

-Was high fived by a random stranger in the grocery store as I exited. To this very day, I have no idea why.

-Was honored by my mini me Goddaughter when she named her SockMonkey after me. It's not a street or plaza or anything, but it's a start. And it warmed my heart. HA! I'm a poet and blah, blah, fuckity, blah.

-Said goodbye to my favorite big brown dog, Gus. Sometimes when Uncle John takes an extra tinkle I think perhaps he's pourin' a little out for his lost homie.

-Made a couple of groovy movies. Wait. That might be misleading. Not like mini Scorsese pieces, or Paris Hilton types, but using pics and movie maker. They're not Oscar worthy, but they're 3 minutes of non boredom. For some reason, my inability to stop to read the upload directions? My lack of computer savvy? My sheer dumb luck? I am unable to share them with the BBGWorld.

-Found the shittiest yo-yo ever.

-Lived long enough to see a political candidate make a public proclamation that they were not a witch.

-Got cable in my bedroom. Every other room had cable except for the bedroom. Yes, that was irritating. Thank you Double D!

-Ate probably more cob than the Surgeon General recommends. But damn! It was sooooo good.

-Started a new life experience by living with Double D.

-Witnessed the lengths some people in my life will go to, to help me, or make things right in my world, or take the time and make the effort to do, or say something kind, or make a gesture big or small to be there for me. (You know who you are, and I THANK YOU!) I realize every day how blessed I am with the presence of so many good and loving people in my life. I hope that I am able to show or convey how grateful I am to have them/you in my world and how much I love ya.

-Saw entirely too many kids in bars. People. Bars are for grownups. Not kids. Is it really dependant on me to notify parents of this fact?

-Spied 1/2 of the tubby cycle ridin' Guiness Record book twins.

Dear Ten~
You brought me a lot of shit. Don't get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoyed the weird, random, cracked out and crazy. Probably, many times, more than I should have.

I do, also acknowledge, and am thankful for the loving moments and good times and good people you brought across my path. But for all of the bad, sad and awful you brought I will never forgive you. Leaving me only to say: FUCK YOU!


Sunday, July 24, 2011

~Uncle John Is Trying To Kill Me

I can't say why, but clearly my little 15 lb. schnauzer is trying to hasten my demise.   

Exhbit A:

(He's serious:  Uncle John built in murder redundancy)

Dear Uncle John,
I do not think attempted murder qualifies you for good boy status.  Additionally, it's not even a good fucking idea.  With your lack of opposable thumbs how do you think you're gonna eat, or open the door to go outside?  I'm also your only access to all of your treats.  May I remind you that you do not posses the upper body strength to open the fridge.  You remember the fridge-- the magic box that houses all of your favorites; celery, baby carrots, strawberries, lettuce and blueberries.  And if I'm piled in a bloody, open fractured heap at the bottom of the stairs who do you think will help you play with your toys?  They don't throw themselves, you know.

Kindly stop trying to kill me.  I've got my eye on you.


Thursday, May 26, 2011


I'm feeling like a bad person this week.   All of this hub and bub about Joplin.  (On the off chance some alien life form finding this, or some teenager doing some research in the year 3062 about the olden days, this is what I'm talkin' 'bout:)  
As a rule I like being knowledgeable  'bout the goings on in the world.  I'm not necessarily a news junky, but I definitely keep up on my surroundings and world ta-doins.

However, I'm having a hard time watching the Joplin coverage.  I've found myself on several occasions having to turn the channel, or perform some ninja like techniques to avoid it online.  I guess it makes me feel like a bad person because maybe it seems like I don't care about what's happening to the people directly impacted.  The real deal is that watching the coverage freaks me the fuck out.  It makes my heart race.

I am so chicken shit about storms.  I was (apparently) scarred for life when as a child (5ish?) my Mom and I took shelter in the basement from a tornado which ultimately touched down in a city a too damn close 20 miles away.  I can remember being petrified as Mom made every attempt known to man to soothe and comfort me.  Being a terrible child, of course I was havin' nooooo part of that.  I can remember sitting on the giraffe my Papa made me, just knowin' I was gonna die.  Period.
(My Papa made little girl furniture, including my giraffe -far right)

That tornado practically took out the entire downtown area and claimed 32 lives. 

Our elderly next door neighbor, Walter had been away from home as the tornado barreled our way and I can still remember what his old (newish at the time) white Oldsmobile looked like after it had been beat up by flying debris. 

Still today I work under the SOP that a tornado (or lighting) anywhere remotely close to my proximity, is in fact, trying to kill me.  Not maybe or possibly.  It is trying to end my life.

Needless to say, that leads to some stressful moments in state prone to tornadic activity.  This time of year I keep water (for me et Uncle John) and some sort of snack, candles/flashlight, etc., readily available in my basement (home office/tv room), in case we got stuck down there.  When the tornado sirens screech I head to the basement with my cell and charger, so that it has as much juice as possible, Uncle John food to get through a day, Uncle John, a leash, my ID (yes, for easy body identification) and shoes better than the flops I'm inevitably wearin' if'n I have to climb out dodging nails and other pointy and sharp debris. 

Yep.  I'm that girl.

And that girl doesn't need to know any other details about how fuckin' frightening tornados are.  That girl does not need to be extra amped up the next time bad weather is breakin' out.  So Joplin people, my heart and prayers go out to you.  But I've got to turn you off.  I'm sorry.  (And I'm sorry if that does indeed make me a bad person.) 

We've had near nightly tornado warnings around here and they're expected to continue until Saturday.  


Monday, February 28, 2011

~So It Was: Yesterday

Here is the weird and random round up from yesterday:
  • While on our way to dinner, I spied a vanity plate on the freeway. It said, "LADDY DI". Hummmmm.... knowing what happened to her in a car, personally, I wouldn't put that on my vehicle. Seems like you're just beggin' for a bad outcome, but ya know who I'm in charge of?  Barely me. Good luck central Ohio Dianna.
  • I watched a bit of the Ocars.  I know I was supposed to be paying attention to nominees, winners, and of course, pretty dresses, but I found myself wondering how Kirk Douglas's ear lobes were so crazy ass looooooong?  If'n ya missed it, see for yourself.

(I was mesmerized, no, hipmotized.)

  • I got to wear flops outside yesterday.  People!!  It's the end of February.  In Ohio.  (Thank you Mother Nature for the gift of such a warm and sunny day.)
  • It lightning and thundered overnight.  People!! It's the end of February.  In Ohio. 
  • As consequence of lightning and thunder, Uncle John wedged himself, not just on the bed, but under the sheets.  I know, I know, poor chicken shit Uncle John.  Double D doesn't exactly fancy having a d oh double g in the bed, so it was all I could do to stifle my laughter as after a post midnight tinkle, I returned to find Uncle John snuggled up to Double D's back/shoulder as he (none the wiser) communed with the Sandman.  Super cute.  Super hysterical.
  • In eeeeewww news, while watching a show called 'Sandwich Paradise' on the Travel Channel, what?  Isn't that what lazy Sundays are made for watchin'?!?  One of the sandwiches highlighted was gross to me but caught Double D's attention.  After mentioning that we had all of the ingredients needed, we quickly found ourselves in the kitchen making a grilled peanut butter, banana, bacon and honey sammie.  He said it was awesome.
  • I sat amazed as one of Double D's pals bitched and moaned and explained about how frustrating it is dealing with people at his call center job.  ...Yep, cause a policeman woudn't have any idea about how trippy and kooky dealin' with people is. 
...Well, new week, here we go...


Wednesday, October 12, 2011

~Adventures In Sitting

Uncle John and I have left the general crackedout'dness solitude of BBG HQ for a few days of house/dog sitting at AnonD HQ.  Their eldest chocolate lab, Logan, has a few health issues, of the 'I'm gettin' to be an old dog' variety.  He's not bad off, just not good enough off to be traipsing through every sketchy trail in the Upper Peninsula of michigan with AnonD, her hubby AnonR and the two 2 year old pups.

This does not mark the first time I've been in charge at AnonD HQ.  The running joke is that 33% of this place is mine, when they both are here.  (50% if I'm visiting and AnonR is at fight club, but the first rule of that, is of course, that I cannot speak about it...)  My household responsibilities generally include safety issues.  Occasionally I'm in charge of some minor chopping or stirring if I'm serving KP duty.  I've been voted Most Likely to blow out a candle or lock a door for all my life straight, which is probably a good trait in someone you've turned over 100% care for your homestead, pet and with a quick, "here are the keys, there is the car if you need or just wanna drive it", a sporty AnonDmobile.

Because AnonD HQ is also on the BBG Annexed list, other than having to pull my toothbrush outta a bag and having to adjust to a different cable provider/remote, it's like being at home.  I know where everything is and how it works, so out-the-door details are usually helpful data like, "we'll be back Xday", "the gun is here" or "I left brass knuckles on the table for ya".  (Note:  Contrary to those real statements, AnonDVille is a very nice and safe suburban hamlet, all elementary school this and community pool down the idyllic beautiful established tree lined street that.  My actual safety here is much closer to Amish safe than to name any big city safe.  But always nice of a friend to arm you with a lil' sumthin' lethal as a departure gift, no?  Tres thoughtful.)

Seriously, who wouldn't like a few days get away to a place with a big ass backyard for Uncle John to free range in, a natatorium (unfamiliar w/ a natatorium? - click here)  flat screens in every room, a laptop left for ya, a fridge full of your favorites and brass knuckles?  Oh, P.S. that's only 10 minutes from your house in case you've forgotten something?  Talk about a no problem, win/win, easy ass favor to do.  Sold.

I was welcomed to my sitting adventure with flowers and a thank you card informing me of a scavenger hunt within the confines of AnonD HQ.  (Man, does somebody know how to entertain a BBG or what?  I mean the only better entertainment woulda been, 'hey, Vin Diesel or Rick Rossovich/Michael Rappaport/Bruce Willis/Edward Norton/Stanley Tucci/Bob Saget [I like a lotta different guys] is your co-sitter who's duties also include everything you say to do, ya know?  <-- Funnily enough, prior to my arrival, AnonD did sanction any BBG gettin' it on that needed to happen.  I assured her that if'n I needed to be involved in brown-chicken/brown-cow, I could probably just manage that at my own place.  But again, it's a good friend who tells ya you're free to get it on in their home, a good friend indeed.)

Because I watch too much tv am safety conscience, before they departed I asked if either of them had seen 127 Hours.  AnonD then started to describe some movie commercial where you pay 4 minutes for coffee, which was about when I knew we were talkin' about two entirely different movies.  I told her how 127 Hour guy had to cut his muther fuckin' arm off because he went wild-ing and nobody knew where he was in order to dispatch a rescue, and that I felt like in addition to having their house still standing and their dog still alive, one of my responsibilities of sitting should be helping to direct life saving rescue crews, if hopefully not needed.  This of course making me have to utter a sentence I didn't know I'd ever be called upon to construct;  "I love you guys enough to not want you to haveta chop your muther fuckin' arm off, so text me to let me know your general whereabouts in case I need to get all 911 wit it." 

As they pulled outta the driveway my parting words were, "have fun doin' some shit that sounds horrrrrrrrrible to me." 


Camping with God's creatures who are trying to kill you (hey, it's called the food chain for a reason, people.  And yes, we're supposed to be on top, but out in nature, they've got home field advantage and the ability to diabolically inter species team up.)  while dodging roaming wilderness-y adept psychopaths on the run/loose/lamb, and possibly yeti's, does not sound like my idea of a good time.  Sherpa-ing days worth of provisions and the actual, albeit fabric, roof over your head, while traversing rocky and pitchy trails while attempting to not fall the fuck down?  Hellz to 'tha no.  Being exposed to bug bites and ivy's o' poison?  Pfffffffffffft.  Nofuckin'thanks.  ...But serious biz, ennnnnnnjoy allllllll that.

I'm happy "camping" on an inflatable (bigger than my actual bed) bed, that Uncle John seems to believe is his own personal canine bouncy house.  Where there is Direct tv.  A shower, microwave and gourmet bottles of ginger ale.  ...Just one of the items discovered on my scavenger hunt, so far!

Also, so far:
~House still standing (Check)
~Logan still alive (Check)
~No need to use any lethal weaponry (Check)
~AnonD & AnonR still alive (As of last text; Check)

...But, ya know, totally keep your fingers crossed and all.


Sunday, May 2, 2010


Yeppers. All in all the weekend was good times. Sure, no one clapped and shouted DynOooooooMite, but still, good times.

Some odd times, as there always are, it seems, where I'm involved.

Headed to the hometown to visit Nana. I wanted a chance to visit, but my side reason for the trip was to give Nana a chance to watch Uncle John. Not so much so that he had a place to stay, honestly he travels well and would have been more than welcome at LB2'd's, which was my destination the following day. But I wanted Nana to have a chance to see what it was like to have a dog in the house so that she could experience what a comfort it is, and what a difference having another living thing in the house could be, as well as first hand knowledge of how easy it is and how little hands on care they actually require. I know that roaming around in an empty, quite house after 62 years of being joined at the hip with your husband must be an overwhelmingly difficult adjustment, and I think having something to fuss over a bit might make the adjustment perhaps a bit less painful, ya know? Si...super sneaky BBG.

I also combined a bit of hittin' the (home)town while I was there and made a plan to go to a adult beverage serving place for a bit of fun myself. I met a friend who I've known since the 4th grade and one of his people. (...if you're reading this, and I know you are, you are one of the very few people in my life who I don't have a code name for...Mental note: I will have to work on that!!). Being a school night he had to call it a night fairly early. Or at least too early for my taste that evening. Sadly, a feeling that didn't over take me until I had hopped into my car.

I found myself not quite ready to head back to Nana's. Mainly, because I hoped that Uncle John had curled up on Nana's bed with her and I knew that once I returned that he'd come to my room.

So my car started heading to another establishment just down the street. As I drove, I thought, "WOW!! Look at fuckin' me, going to a bar by myself, alone, not with a plan to meet a friend"-- I'm really wearin' my big girl pants, eh?!?" But I figured, your hometown is probably as good/safe of a place as any to have my first, 'I'm-at-a-bar-alone' experience.

I pulled in to the joint, right next to the location of my first job and found a seat at the near empty bar that was the greatest distance on either side from other patrons. ...See I was tryin' to be good.

Next thing I know a guy who introduced himself as "Big Dave" wandered up. Big Dave was the quintessential smallish town 6'5" redneck/thug. He was really a no harm, no foul kinda bloke, but obviously one who'd really taken to the whole cougar concept. He took the hint when I mentioned that I was old enough to be his mother and when nice older man to my right took me under his wing and assisted in shoo'ing him away.

I had a nice chat, of the non-flirty variety with the 27 year Air Force vet. We all know that I'm a sucker for a guy who served. Turns out he's knows LEM's dad through the local K of C. Some how we start talkin' about parishes and then about the H.S. I went to. He asks if I know someone with the code name SpaceMonkey (completely didn't see that name comin') I tell him I graduated with him. Then he nudges the guy he's with and tells him that I went to school with SpaceMonkey. Guy he's with then grills me to ensure we're talkin' about the same SpaceMonkey. I assure him we are and then he asks me how old I am. I tell him and then he slurs me that this seems hard to believe, as apparently, and in his (granted somewhat drunk) estimation SpaceMonkey looks 55. File under: With friends like that...blah, blah, blah. While there, I also had my first apple pie shot. It was quite tasty. It was served to be outta the blue by lil' odd man who magically appeared from behind the bar bearing unsolicited gifts of alcohol. Thank you hometown hospitality!

A little more filing to do, this time, place under: The more things change...blah, fuckidy, blah.

On my way home I spied one of my hometown's finest. As anyone who spent any time with me in my youth, or even more recently tailgating or traveling knows, one must talk to the po-po. It was as if my steering wheel and hands could simply not resist the magnetic pull drawing me in. The police are our friends. And I have a new one. Chatted with OJ, much I'm sure to his chagrin, for 30 mins until he got a call, about all kinds of stuff and people. At one point while we were sitting in our respective vehicles under the overhang at the pumps of a closed gas station he'd been sitting at a squad went by, lights and sirens and I muttered, "fuckin' firemen", as they rolled by to the deeeeelight my new pal. Even though we'd already established that I was a friendly and in the loop, thaaaaaat's when he knew I was totally legit. So when he asked me where I'd been, I felt free to wiggle my finger out the window at him and told him not to hold it against me and where I'd been. As he pulled out to respond to his call, I told him to keep his six safe. I let him pull onto the street first, and thought, "man, look how nice I am to let him out first". Yep. Like I'm doing him a favor!

In more wholesome news, the next day I headed to Dayton to see LB2'd where I had the best time hanging out with my godkids, who are growing up sooooo fast and are such good, smart and funny kids. I discovered the joys of Jeremiah Weed Cherry Sour Mash. I painted some 10 year old piggys. Stole some zip cuffs from LB2'd's hubby's garage. I felt it was ok. I know he'd want me to be able to cuff someone if I needed to. Two for home. Two for the car. Ya never know, right? Plus, I actually said, "tell (him) I'm stealing these thingies that I need as cuffs". Better to have and not need than to need and not have, I figured. I supplied the kids with pop rocks. There was a slumber party with a 10 year old, a 15 year old and me in the living room, which my 12 year old godson wanted nuthin' to do with. I did feel compelled to forewarn them that if I fell asleep first and woke up to find my bra in the freezer, we were gonna have a problem. And with surprisingly little effort managed to talk LB2'd into pizza for breakfast before I got all East Bound and Down.

After picking up Uncle John and visiting with Nana I made it home and set directly out for D's house to hang for the evening. D's hubby R had headed for the hills, literally, so there we were two girls, a 55" HD tv, 9,816 channels and 300lbs of dogs. We bitched about some shit. Giggled about a whole lotta other shit. We had a pop tasting. Like wine but with soda. A grand time was had there too. As well as more pizza. I can't really say when I've had pizza for a meal twice in one day. I'm not complaining. When she tossed out that she was thinkin' za, I was in from go. I got to see the super creepy toad that has invaded her pond/fountain and her hidden traveling gnome that moves from place to place in the front garden. We laughed so hard my cheeks hurt the next day.

Thank you weekend, you were awesome.


Thursday, November 21, 2013

~Something(s) You Don't Know About Me?

 In no particular order, some random ass shit you may not know about the ol' BBG:
  • I once *had* to punch a Chicago Police Officer in the face.  ...What I didn't have to do but did fuckin' anyway was to look down on him in my tres ladylike pink and white skirt/jacket combo and heels as he laid sprawled out in the bushes while I super assily told him, "and don't get up" as I sauntered away. 
* He was warned that if he did X, Y ( Y = I will be forced to kick your ass) would happen. 
He dumbassidly decided to do X.  And what am I, if not a girl of her word?

  • I have never had Peptol Bismol.
  • When Uncle John (my dog [for Uncle John involved posts click here]) winks at me I always wink back.  Just in case this is the time he's trying to initiate meaningful communication.
  • I do not read fiction. 
  • Thousands of travelers have been woken up by moi.  A hotel I worked at used me as the voice of the wake up call greeting.
  • For some reason I think seeing a cab over is a lucky sign.  A good harbinger for the day. 
(A cab over engine rig, or as I always call 'em, a 'flatface')
  • Two of my friends since childhood, LEM and GinCat married guys who they met through me. 
  • My college roommate was killed in a car crash.  (No, one does not get automatic A's.)
  • I have never seen:    It's A Wonderful Life, Titanic, Gone With The Wind, the Sound of Music, or any movie containing Elvis, Steven Seagal or Wesley Pipes Wesley Snipes. 
  • I once asked George Clooney if he "wanted to take a picture with me"--  as if I was the prize in the impromptu photo op.  Things I still have?...


  • Like Magnum P.I., I have been up in a helicopter.
  • I am kind of a slow burn when it comes to people screwing around with me.  It takes a minute before I'm going to strike out over what someone is doing to me.  Fuck with someone who I love and/or is important to me?  Well, by the time the offending party can blink I'm already designing a plan to dispose of their body.
  • I was once named in an ad published in USA Today by my (at-the-time) company for displaying superior customer service.  And all of this time you thought I was nuthin' but a stone cold bitch.
  • As a kid I advanced to the State Science Fair.  Twice.  And all of this time you thought it was just looks.
  • Unless it's to see the worlds biggest ball of rubber bands or sumthin' equally as cracked out 'n crazy and amazeballs I do not believe in stopping during a road trip.  Except in dire emergencies all eating and peeing should be sync'd to gas tank fill-ups.
  • I have been a bridesmaid in 11 weddings. 
  • I sucked my thumb until I was?  10?  Maaaaybe older?  I had a spot on my thumb from where it rested on my bottom teeth that took years to fade.
  • The only reason BBG HQ has any level of neatness and order to it is because I am simply too lazy to let shit get so out of control that I'd have to spend hours to get things up to visitor worthy levels.   Based on my desk and/or car people usually seem surprised that it doesn't look like an episode of Hoarders over here.
  • I outside of straight up survival could never kill an animal.  But at least once a week some asshole makes me contemplate sitting down and makin' a list of some people.
  • An organization published the first ad/graphic/logo/whatever ya wanna call it I designed, when I was 16.
  • I don't like rice, or fish, really, but I love sushi.
  • When I see a man parked in an isolated parking spot I always assume he's wackin' off.
  • I still have my baby fork.  Much to my Mother's chagrin I still insist on using it two times a year.
  • Unlike Katy Perry, I have never kissed a girl.
  • I have a printed funeral plan that several key people know where to find.  I have already named pallbearers, who's reading what and who is in charge of various aspects of gettin' me in the ground.  (Spoiler:  There will be bubbles and beer.)
  • For some reason when I'm driving the words 'left' and 'right' mean nothing to me.  (Please point to indicate direction.)
  • I can still do the splits.
  • This is one of my all time favorite pictures of me.  I spied some horses walkin' down the road whilst hanging out in Megis Co. one weekend.  I don't know who took this picture.  Or more specifically why they fuck they decided to take it from this angle, but I love it.  I've since titled it, 'Asses'.
  • I can whistle a (any) song like nobody's damn business.
  • I can drive a forklift.  In a skirt and heels.
  • I would/could never drink Bailey's Irish Cream.  Not to be gross ( --the sure fuckin' sign I'm about to be gross:  You have been warned!) but it looks like a shot of jizz.  No.  Thanks.  It think it's probably what bukkake porn stars drink at happy hour.  

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