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Friday, December 30, 2011

~Fuck You, 2011

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~Got my heart brrrrrrrrroken.

~Got my revenge and made a new friend.

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

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

~The BBGWorld hit 10,000 visitors.

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

(Health nuts should probably use vitamin gummies.)



~My first gray eyebrow hair. 

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


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

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

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

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

~Uncle John tried to kill me.

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

~michigan won.

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

~I learned of the magical existence of natatoriums.

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

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

(Why would a person do this?)


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

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



~Gone too soon...

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



Heavy D. 


...Now what will we do?  RIP Heavy D.



Smokin' Joe Frazier. 


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


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



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


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


So good bye year.  

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



Dear 2011,
I'm out.
Love,
BBG




Haaaaaappy New Year!!







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Tuesday, December 20, 2011

~Bah Humbug?

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

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

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

(- Stolen from my Mom's archives -)


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Haaaaappy Hanukkah!!


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Monday, 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.'


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Thursday, December 8, 2011

~O Christmas Tree

...It's a CHRISTMAS tree.  A fuckin' CHRISTMAS TREE!  Not a 'holiday' tree.  Mainly, because there is no such thing.

Yes, Virginia, there is no 'holiday tree'. 

The only thing it is, is another example of a case of;  just because ya say sumthin' doesn't make it true.  (<-- I know.  I say a lotta shit.  A disproportionately small percentage is ever true.)  People also say:  Irregardless, that the amboolance is coming when they call 911, and that people's impact on climate change is as fictitious as The Grinch's escapades in Whoville, yet, also zero of those things is true.
 

(Yes kidz, you've joined my annual rant
about the holidays already in progress.)

Recently the Governor of Rhode Island, Lincoln Chafee, decided to call the tree erected in his statehouse a "holiday tree".  His misguided reasoning being that it "is inclusive and reflects Rhode Island's origins as a haven for religious diversity.", which only holds H20 if Hanukkah or Kwanzaa, et al, symbols traditionally include a big fat Christmas tree all tricked decked out.  ...But that's not the case.  So let's stop fuckin' fibbin'. 

A tree put up this time of year, regardless of how non-Jesus-y it's decorated, or how non-religious the tree putting up entity (business, government, individual) is, by function of being put up, is a nod, a keeping of custom of a Christian based holiday (Christmas).  Just like putting up a Menorah, is a acknowledgement, a celebration of a Jewish based holiday (the Festival of Light).  Calling it sumthin' different doesn't, in fact, make it sumthin' different.  If a non-Jewish household puts up a Menorah, that doesn't make it a candle stick, ya know?  It's still a Menorah.  So in my opinion, calling a Christmas tree a 'holiday tree' is equally as disingenuous.  It's not a sign of inclusiveness.  Being inclusive is a sign of inclusiveness.  Acknowledging basic printed on calendar events is just a truth. 


(It is.   Christmas. )


My argument is less about religion, as it is accuracy.

Because regardless of one's religious, or non-religious inclinations, it's not the Spring bunny.  It's the Easter Bunny.  It.  Just.  Is.  That's the reality.  Sometimes you can spin shit, position it, frame it, but sometimes the truth is just the truth.  There's a reason this blog isn't called Curvy Brown Girl World, ya know? 

There's not another holiday we can't seem to call by it's name, so why is 'Christmas' too troubling of a term to use?  I'm not sayin' you've got to celebrate it, but ya can't just put blinders on, rename it and pretend that it doesn't exist if you don't speak it's name.

Here in the good ol' U.S. of A., many people would argue that it's a separation of church and state issue.  Funny, to me at least, nobody ever gets their panties in a bunch when they're at the local government office and see hearts plastered everyfuckingwhere for Valentines Day, or shamrocks abound for the festive mid-March day.  Ya know the one-  SAINT Patrick's Day.  (And for the official record, that's SAINT Valentine's Day.)  Hummmmm..."saint"?  Seems religious-y?  Oh, right.  That's because their origins are Catholic.  How, exactly, is Christmas any different?  It has (like the others) in large part morphed into a very secular and revenue generating (think:  presents, drinks, greeting cards, big box stores, chocolates, travel, etc.) celebration, than its original inception as a faith based celebration.  But somehow we're sooooo offended by it's (Christmas-y) religious nature that we shall not speak it's name?  
 
What's next?  Once everyone puts that whole saint/religious thing together, are we gonna have to start calling February 14th Make A Grand Display Of Your Love Day or something equally as dismissive of the history of it's existence? ...Although, honestly, I could get behind a, Hey Ya'll, Let's Get Lit Day held March 17th.  Maybe we'll start a Potato Day, later in the year to make it up to the Irish.  (<-- See.  THAT'S offensive!  "Christmas"?  Not so much.)

For the record, not only do I call bullshit on using 'holiday' instead of Christmas, when Christmas is appropriate.  I also call backwards bullshit on things that say 'holiday', but instead of meaning ALL of the yuletide holidays, really still only mean C-h-r-i-s-t-m-a-s. 

Or as I call 'em, Haaaaappy Hypocritical Holidays!

Exhibit A:  

(Says Happy Holidays, but that bearded fat man says CHRISTMAS)
 
(Says Happy Holidays, but Christmas tree denotes, um, CHRISTMAS.)

(Says Happy Holidays, but guess what?  Christmas bulbs mean CHRISTMAS.)


(Says Happy Holidays, without Christmas festive icons means HOLIDAYS. 
...Congratulations!  BBG Approved.)



BBG Rules On "Christmas" Usage:

  • Starting with Thanksgiving I say, Happy Holidays, because I'm wishing you a good everything between now and the first of the year.  Coverin' all the bases.
  • If I know you're Jewish I say Happy Hanukkah, and ensure I know when it's observed.   (I also make it a habit to know when Ramadan starts for my Muslim peeps, Stonewall Day for my gay peeps, and Pi Day for my geeky peeps.  I am an equal opportunity celebrator.  It's how I roll.)
  • If it's after Hanukkah and before Christmas, I just say Merry Christmas, because Christmas is the next big celebration in line, whether you celebrate or not is up to you.  (This is not the case this year.  Hanukkah begins sunset 12/20 and culminates 12/28.)  Everyone should be happy if someone wishes you a good any Day.  (...Have a Haaaaapy Nipple day?  Well, yes.  Yes, I will.  Thank you, you too!)  
  • If it's in reference to something specifically Christmas-y, I say Christmas.  For instance; "this is my Christmas tree".  Fine.  "This is my fuckin' Christmas tree..." 
I'm not trying to be disrespectful of anyone's beliefs (or non-beliefs).  I just don't think that telling fibs and spinning things to seem like you're being inclusive and respectful is the answer.  It seems like we can be straight forward, accurate and sensitive to others who may not hold my/your traditions of the season, without ignoring what is.  Anything less makes me rant-y.   Obviously.


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Friday, December 2, 2011

~Gift Ideas (aka:These Exist II)

T'is the season for the (drum roll) 2nd annual BBG Gift Ideas post (aka: Things you probably didn't know existed).  If anything strikes your fancy you'll find a link (= "click") accompanying each cracked out, fuck'd up or 'hummmm' inducing item you see, because yes, these exist.   And you can have 'em.  For the official record, no, I have noooo affiliation with any of these products/companies, other than the misfortune of randomly discovering them on the interweb.  Hence, I cannot vouch for the veracity of any of the following products and/or companies.   

With that said~    
Enfuckin'joy!!




For the man who has everything except a date, and because I guess ya can never be too prepared fit for whackin' off:


The Free Flexor (click)



My Pet Fat (click)


For $59.95 you can give the gift of a 1lb. "anatomically correct replica of body fat."  Of course for those of you on a limited budget this holiday season a $10.00 Krispy Kreme gift card can probably achieve the same, without the pesky nuisance of having to carry your fat in your hand.


Personally, I think they're limiting themselves by marketing only to Spock devotees.  Why alienate the 'talk to the hand' contingent?  (Details - click)




Party all night and sleep all day (without being noticed)! 


No more bullshit trying to stay awake while sitting in some boring ass conference in Vegas after an all nighter of free booze at the slots studying pertinent materials, noooooo Eyelid Stickers (click) will allow your favorite recipient to be hungover and sleep in creepy peace. 



I don't know what I could possibly say that would be better than just getting to the fact that this exists (click), so I won't.  That's right kidz.  Pussy in a can.

(Special thanks to MOK who discovered this while on vacation.)



When squatting is too much trouble...


The Off Road Commode (click) provides jusssssst the ticket when your favorite outdoorsman needs to answer natures call.  Speaking of tickets, indecent exposure, anyone?




A perfect disguise gift for any crime committin' livin' in cold climate friend on your list.  [Beardheads (click)Or perhaps a great way to tell that special someone, 'I think you're so unattractive you should probably cover that up at least half the year'.  They also offer a more ZZ Top version, vikings and a Santa dome/face warmer.  


I question exactly how much time you actually have to spend lookin' at your dogs asshole before this becomes a thing. 



You've named her Cinnamon.  Perhaps purchased her some baby high heels or the pole dancin' doll, (<-- yes, those exist too, Google it.  I'll wait...)  but if you reeeeeally want to secure her spot in the champagne room as a 'featured' dancer you'll wanna give her a (ahem) head start with this super classy (and instructional) t.  (Available in 0-6mos and up)  Tassles for tots t-shirt (click)



Please keep in mind, I'm in no way suggesting that this is a good idea.  But, I am saying it is an awesome idea!  Serious biz, what could possibly go hinky from carrying around a big ass flask filled 64 fluid ozs. full o' your favorite hooch?   Giant Ass Flask (click)



...Of course, that probably means you'll need to get one of these (click) too:





I find it distressing on numerous faux phallus levels.  But it claims to have helped "thousands of women's sleep".   I suspect if they added a battery it would help more women sleep, but the Kush people (click) didn't ask me how to best market their product.  Whateves.



Lastly, to leave on a classy note;  Bald is beautiful on a grown ass man.  However, no so much for a tot.  And I ought to know.  I was bald until I was 2.  Spare the newborn on your list the shame of baby baldness with the Baby Toupee (click)

(This is 'The Donald')


If this page didn't supply you with everything you need for your Christmas, Hanukkah, Festivus, Kwanzaa, Boxing Day, St. Stephen's or National Bouillabaisse Day (<-- yep.  That exists too. 12/14) gift giving needs, please refer to last years list (<-- click), chocked full of other equally weird quality suggestions.

(Indulge an Aunt BBG)

Haaaaaappy Birthday to Godkid Mini Me!!
 
 
 
Related Gift Idea Posts:
 
 
 



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Wednesday, November 30, 2011

~Comeuppance

come·up·pance (kəˈməpəns)
Noun: A punishment or fate that someone deserves.

I spent Saturday at AnonD (& her hubby, AnonR) HQ.  We gathered to watch the OSU/michigan game.  AnonD is a michigan fan.  AnonR and I have the good sense to back The Ohio State Buckeyes.  It was a beeeeautiful day that allowed me to be in flip flops at the end of November.  Can I get an amen?  Nosh and drink were in plenty.  The Buckeyes had won 9 of the past 10 meetings.  It was stacking up to be a grand footloose and fancy free kinda day.

Earlier in the week AnonD and I were chatting on the phone when she told me a friend of AnonR's was joining in on the game watching festivities.   AnonD:  "AnonR invited some guy over to watch the game...I don't know what his deal is, but he used to be one of AnonR's martial art class buddies.  I don't know if he's single, or cute, I've only met him once and that was a while ago, but I feel like he's...old."

Now AnonD is a self proclaimed cradle robber.  Or as she likes to frame it, a "pre-vette".   She's always liked a younger man.  Long before "cougar" was ever a thing.  AnonD is a couple of years older than me and AnonR is a few years younger than me.  Often, when I say a guy is a 'child' (aka: under 35, in BBG speak) she says he's cute.  As her "old" might be 42, I took her words with a grain of NaCl. 

That is, until as I was sitting at my appointed BBG island in the (almost done!) kitchen, when Gary Gramps came walkin' in and AnonR introduced him to me.  I shook his hand careful not to exert enough pressure to break any metacarpals and resisted the urge give AnonD the look.

Once the guys were safetly in another room drinking sake watching the game, I mentioned to AnonD that she *thinks* this guy is old, because he's OLD.  We laughed our asses off at the old man's expense enjoyed a hardy chuckle.  We'd left the big ass tv and the front room to the guys, while we chattered our way through the game watching in the living room.  Around half time we wandered in to not be antisocial check on the guys.  As we were heading that way, AnonD said that during an earlier pop in, she thought Gramps might have a hearing problem.  While hanging out with the guys, a conversation about moonshine broke out.  The question on the table was, "how old were you when you first tried moonshine?"  AnonD answered.  AnonR answered.  When it was Gramp's turn he replied with, "my two sons?"  Whaaaaaaat.  The.  Fuck?  I again resisted my natural inclination to look at AnonD, knowing that if I met her peepers there was gonna be laughter.  Bad, bad, cackling, unstiffleable laughter.  And that would be rude.  So in a louder voice I rephrased the question and this time Gramps appropriately responded.  As quickly as we could, AnonD and I fled the scene.

As we entered the safety of the kitchen, she said she felt very "Chuck Woolery".    Since the days of 'two and two', Chuck Woolery has been our code for doin', sayin' or feelin' sumthin' onrey, sometimes bordering on evil. 

Chuck Woolery, TV host
(How the fuck did a 'shine question sound
like something about your two sons?)

For some reason we found ourselves whispering (?) about how, "How old were you when you first tried moonshine?" sounded anything like an inquiry on your children, and how when "my two sons" popped out, how neither of us was able to look at the other.  ...And how it was going to be sooooo nice to have company in hell. 

Now a few weeks ago, AnonD had informed me that a finger can be used to make a penis.  Of course, this information was accompanied by comments of how that's probably better than nuthin', however that neither of us ever wanted to see one.  Never.  And of course, this was peppered with school girl like giggles.  Shortly after that conversation and YouTube video on the matter (click) sharing, AnonD was mysteriously stricken with a spider bite on one of her fingers necessitating a trip to the Urgent Care and several days of antibiotics.  Karma bitch slapped.  Mock a finger penis, almost lose one of your own.

AnonD brought that up as a cautionary tale as we tried to settle ourselves from our now tear inducing laughter over the Gramps situation.  AnonD wandered out during half time to perform shit patrol in the back yard.  (3 chocolate labs, plus one visiting very active free range pooper [Uncle John] make such a patrol a necessity)  I kept her company and used it as a soakin' up the sun/ smoking opportunity.  I stepped off of the cement patio to put my cig* out on the side before throwing it away.  As I was doing so, the red hot end of it bounced off the cement off the grass and on to my toe.   

(Comeuppance:  Burned toe.   See the ashes left behind?
That'll teach me to be an ass.  Actually, it probably won't.)

While the red hot ember resting on my toe hurt, my only reaction as I knocked it off was, "yep.  That's about right."  I walked out into the yard to tell/show AnonD of my comeuppance for being Chuck Woolery. 

Sometimes comeuppance takes a while to rear it's head and exact it's revenge.  Sometimes it's by the end of your smoke.  What we put out always comes back.  Be nice when you can, but when you can't be ready.  And watch your toes. 

*Smoking is bad.  I realize that.  However, as I'm not a BBG of "means"
and have no dependants, I consider it my retirement plan. 


P.S.  The Buckeyes lost.


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Friday, November 25, 2011

~Boysgiving

I think on the surface what I'm about to say seems odd.  It kinda goes against all that society seems to perpetuate.  We live in a 'thin is in' culture, where the perception is that only small girls get play.  As I've mentioned before, it's something I've never subscribed to.  Maybe because I've never let that vibe define what I think I am, I put off a lil' sumthin'-sumthin' different and therefore get different results, I donno.  Frankly, I'm all tryptophan'd up from two days of eating turkey, stuffing, rolls, mac & cheese, mashed potatoes & gravy, green beans and chocolate pie, so critical thinking may be suffering from the blood flow being diverted from my brain to my tummy.  Or perhaps my hometown is just plain good for my mojo? 

Regardless of the impetus, the result was hometown boy o' rama.  I'm seriously considering moving back.  It started when a random stranger guy who was leaving the bar where I was meeting JA, her hubby J and few other folks at, walked by on his way out.  He doubled back, stood beside me and bent in to tell me that "you are really beautiful".  And kidz, ya know what isn't a sucky way to start an evening out?  When you're old?  And fat?  And honestly, not even lookin' that stellar? 
A:  A guy tellin' ya you're doin' alright.

I'm thankful for my family and friends every day.
And I am thankful for guys who feel like this:


Of course, nobody's worth or value comes from other's opinions of your exterior shell.  ...But when it's a flattering surprise, I gotta admit, it does not suck.  In fact, it's the kind of spark that can elevate your spirits.  And not that I'm all woe is me, but even though it's my second Thanksgiving without my Papa, I'm still not used to it.  It still seems odd going through such days without an integral part of someone who helped make those days special in the first damn place.  Plus, ya know, it's been since late winter/early spring since I've been coupled up, and I'd be a liar if I tried to assert that it too isn't a hole.  So a pick me up for the spirit was welcome.


We hadn't been there all that long when I saw my cousin.  ...Or who I thought was one of my cousins.  As we chatted I pointed out JA's hubby who was one of his HS classmates.  They chatted, then I mentioned to my "cousin" that his dad had been over to see Nana earlier in the week.  My "cousin" then mentioned that that was surprising as his dad had been dead for years, at which point, "well then who the hell are you" came tumbling outta my mouth.  Turns out he looked familiar not because we're related, but because he used to run around with the cousin I thought he was.  We had a laugh and then he suggested that perhaps we should consider marriage.  Since we're not in danger of producing three eyed offspring related, I'm considering his proposal.


(JA et moi having Thanksgiving Eve fun)

Then one of my ex's popped in.  Which sounds like the opportunity for less than pleasantness, however as he's a grade A, #1 guy, was a delight.  He even gave me a Thanksgiving goose (pinch on the ass).  And I ran into another HS classmate, (code name) Mr. Karaoke.

Shortly after those surprise exchanges another friend arrived, BC, who I haven't seen in a few years.  I'm not one of those girls who dislikes other women.  I have girl friends.  Some of my best friends are girls.  But because I am half dude (click) I also have many close men friends.  We're talkin' life long, I come along as part of the package deal friends.  BC and I have a long and storied past that goes back to when we were about 14.  We were talking with a few other folks, including a girl (and sister of my Birthday Buddy who I've known since grade school) and some other girl (who didn't seem to find the fact that her name was Denise Richards nearly as funny as I did) when I overheard BC state that he'd made out with each of us.  BC and I shared a heart to heart where we declared our undying love for one another.  (<- Surprise:  Not a euphemism for sex.)

I touched a few heads.  How can a girl help it with so many bald and brissily close cropped heads?  One of whom spent a bit of time trying to throw his game.  While he was cute, I don't actually live there.  But I was given a little something else to be thankful for when one of his gaggle o' guys informed me that "you have great tits".   

Then my Birthday Buddy's lil' sis tells me some boy who looks remarkably like one of her other brothers (Remember:  We're Catholic.  Everybody has 17 siblings.) wants to meet me.  I'm later introduced to him when he grabs me up and tries to slip me the tongue.

Boysgiving also included a call from Potatohead (we talk every holiday) and a lovely email from DJP.  Earlier in the week I'd thought to myself that I needed to send him a lil' message.  He's far away from home and is one of the sweetest souls I know and I wanted him to know that he was on my mind.  As I logged on to FB to send him a note, I coinkidinkily found an email from him telling me how he thinks I'm great. 

I know this night means I'm wickedly blessed and possibly living in some alternate plane where fat chicks get an abundance of guy attention of tomfoolery is a big fuckin' finger in the face of conventional thinking about the lives of big girls.  ...Chunky monkey girls are *supposed* to be sitting on the sofa eating pints of ice cream.  (And sometimes we do.   Mmmmmmm...ice cream.)  We're not *supposed* to be turning guys heads, or getting brown chicken/brown cow propositions, or marriage proposals.  (But sometimes we do.)  Boysgiving is contrary to a lot of peoples perceptions about being a big girl, but it's the reality, and a signifier that it's time for conventional thinking and society's impressions and stereotypes to catch the fuck up.  And a signifier, as LB2'd and Mrs. Mackey phrase it, that "be who you is" is a far better mindset and more productive than obsessing about the thin thighs you're not. 


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Wednesday, November 23, 2011

~Over The River & Through The Woods

Yep, to grandmother's house I go.

...Well, not so much over the river/through woods (as the old song goes) as much as down the highway and makin' a turn, but I am heading over for the best meal of the year.  Mmmmmmmmm... And fat girl can't wait.

Thanksgiving is my favorite meal of the year.  We've had the exact same menu prepared by lil' Nana hands every year of my life.  Except for one year.  One year Nana and Papa friends, Mr. & Mrs. Walls were invited.  They brought rolls that year.  That year we didn't have lovingly handmade, fluffy, uber delicious Nana (and Papa) rolls.  No.  The Walls' brought some shitty store bought rolls.  Needless to say, as I'm still holding a grudge talking 'bout it 30 years later, they never returned to another Thanksgiving.  They are both dead now.  I'm not sayin' it's because of that roll faux pas, but I can't necessarily say it's not.  I don't know how the Grim Reaper makes his picks.

What I can say is that I'm gonna eat the hell outta some stuff(ing).  I know Thanksgiving should be about family, but I've seen my family more recently than I've seen turkey, stuffing and rolls.  Nana was just here a few weekends ago, staying at Mom's for a few days.  I haven't seen stuffing since last year.  I'm on pins and needles in anticipation of building the perfect gravy reservoir in my mashed potatoes and creating a plate that has all of my likes, but doesn't have my food touching.  (Who's a freak?)  Ideally, being consumed with my baby fork.  (Answer: Me)  I really can't wait!

Nana has been plotting and planning Thanksgiving for weeks now, with the precision of an Army General with a battle plan.  Measuring this and that and putting in containers so that actual cooking day goes smoothly.  In addition to her ability to create yummy, delectable, goodness, I'm always amazed at her talent for timing things.  (Meanwhile, I can't seem to time fuckin' toast and a scrambled egg...)

While I'm responsible for zero cooking for obvious reasons, Thanksgiving will require some preparation on my part.  I must remember to take plenty of containers to bring back leftovers.  And to wear something with the give to comfortably allow a second helping, and a post-gorge nap.  Perhaps the biggest effort I'll have to make is to give myself the pre-drive 'don't let your head explode' pep talk, so when you see a BBG behind the wheel of a black SUV screaming Kramer's mantra, serenity now!! and flipping people off, you'll know it's me.

I can also say that I'm going to have a chance to visit with a few old friends while I'm there.  It seems like I'm too old to be going out Thanksgiving Eve like some kid home from college, but it seems like I'm too young to be hanging around a house where Nana's bedtime is 9:30.  Once again, I have failed to make firm and hard plans with anyone, making the who I'll actually see a complete surprise (which I'll report in on later).

For those of my peeps traveling over the next few days:  SAFE TRAVELS!!

Until we visit again...

The Official 2011 BBG Ode To Thanksgiving:

Consume too much turkey and drink too much wine.
Stuff yourself until it's nap time.
Watch a parade and oooooh at balloons.
Catch a football game (they start after noon)
Enjoy your family and visit with friends
To miss such times, indeed is a sin.
Eat until your britches band itches
And above all else...


Haaaaappy Thanksgiving!!
(And Haaaaaappy Birthday to Godkid J!!)
 


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Monday, November 21, 2011

~I Am Woman: Hear Me Roar (& Flush)

Know what's never a good sign?

(A:  This)

Don't get me wrong, I love Lowes.  The people are always very helpful as I wander in with my bewildered look and cracked out line of there are no stupid questions.  I suppose people go to Lowes for good reasons, but I'm not one of 'em.  If I'm at Lowes sumthin' wrong.  (Maaaaaybe I'm workin' on some project, but odds are something is askew at BBG HQ.)

Wrong du jour?

(Whilst on a middle of the night tinkling field trip
I went to use the handle to flush when nuthin'.)

The plastic doohicky that makes a flush happen broke.  Snapped clean the fuck off.  Reminding me of two things:  A)  It sucks not to have a guy around.  II) I can do anything.  (...or so HGTV leads me to believe.)

Calling myself crafty, I snapped a few pictures of my drama trauma and headed to Lowes.  Reminding me of one other thing;  I have boobs. 

...Now boobs are not the answer to all of lifes problems, but they sure as shit help.  I found the plumbing section, a worker and a random shopping man who as soon as I turned the corner looking completely outta my depth stopped their conversation and started helping me with my project.


Are you there God?  It's me, BBG~

Thanks for boobs.

Love,
Me

The gents looked at my photos, found the proper piece and gave me salient details such as;  "these come in different lengths, but this is the most common" and "these turn the opposite direction" (which is when one of them had to dumb-girl break it down with, "you know left-y loose-y, right-y tighty?  Go the other way.").  The kindness of strangers got me all set.

I smoked watched a YouTube on fixing my toydee issue.  Gathered a few tools (an ultimately unrequired wrench, a twos-y screwdriver and a fours-y screwdriver [because I'm too lazy to make a return trip for the other screwdriver.  Some call it lazy, I call it coverin' the bases.]) and other items I thought I might need (my ever helpful and super stained 'project towel' and latex gloves).   This is where people tend to mock me.  With me it's always about the latex gloves.  I keep them tucked away everywhere (car, kitchen, gardening kit, bathrooms, first aid kit, etc.).  Whenever people see them they always ask why I have 'em.  Fine.  Technically it's usually, "why the fuck do you have latex gloves?".  I usually don't have a better answer than that "I might need 'em someday."  Today my answer would be 'so that I don't have to reach into the toilet bowl to retrieve the plastic nut that fell into it'.  ...Because, yes.  That happened.  And yesssss, I did have the lid down at the time.  I'm only 1/2 a dumbass.  Suck it.

(Old ass broken piece)


(New thingamabob.)


The video told me to allow about an hour to fix it.  I was done in less than 10, much to my complete and utter surprise.  Possibly even more surprising is that it was super easy and worked perfectly.

Tafuckin'Da:


Project Lessons Learned:
  • Measure shit before setting off to Lowes.  I was lucky my piece fit and that I didn't have to make a return trip. 
  • Immediately ask for help.  Don't waste time trying to figure it out, or find it yourself, it's a suckers mistake.  Consider your dumbassidness your part in the stimulus package.  Take pride in knowing that you offer job security for that worker.   
  • Never fear asking a stranger/customer for help.  Many, many home improvement store shoppers are guys, and even a guy who wouldn't necessarily hold a door for you is eager to show off share his handy knowledge.
  • Have boobs.  (Sorry guys.  Life ain't fair.  On the bright side, you do still have writing your name in the snow, higher incomes and the ability to procreate indefinitely.)
  • Take photos.  They say 10,000 words.  And I don't know about you, but for me that's 9,999 fewer possibilities I'm gonna say sumthin' stoopid.  Score!
  • Watch a video.  For clarification;  In this case I don't mean porn, I mean take your ass to YouTube and type in your project.  It only seems like the bad stuff only happens to you.  Rest assured someone else has already had your bad day and is offering somewhat clunkily produced advise via 'da web (DIY.com and HGTV.com are also handy).
  • ALWAYS have latex gloves.


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