Monday, May 31, 2010

~Review: The Brad Gray Wedding

Ya know the saying, "it ain't a party 'til the first punch is thrown"? Well, if you don't that just proves you're not from a smallish town, cause that's exactly what we say back where I come from.

I may have to retool that to say, it ain't a reception 'til the police show.

Wait, maybe I'm a wee bit ahead of myself...


It was a morning ceremony held at their former H.S. theater. An unorthodox and perfect location. I found myself thinking about what a high school aged Brad Gray musta been like and how funny life is, as I walked through the hallway that they had walked as teens. I mean, the life paths each of them have followed and they've been led right back to one another, and now literally back to where they started their lives, really, now beginning their married life together. That's pretty damn cool, ya know?

The bride was beautiful as she entered with her lil' cutie Special K, who sported a purse that had it not been such a special day in her 5 year old life, I may have considered stealing. Adorable doesn't even do it justice. Brad Gray was quite dapper in his black suit standing on stage. All of the sudden he looked so grown to me. I've seen him in a suit before, but somehow this day it was different, and it wasn't the coolio lighting.

The ceremony was personal and meaningful as the bride and groom exchanged their vows on stage surrounded by family and friends who formed a circle o' love around 'em. It also brought something to the table that I, for one really like in a wedding. Brevity. Now, I'm Catholic. A short wedding in our world is 45 mins, but more likely an hour or more and combined with some light aerobic drills. So "we gather here today" to "powers vested in me" lickidy split, while seated in cushy, theater seating listening to a musician, well, it makes the Homer Simpson in me want to stand up and holler out Whooo-hoo!

With no lengthy intermission, we were directly off to the reception sight a hop and a skip from the school. The venue was a playground and deeeeelight for guests of both the big and small variety. It was compound comprised of train cars!! Obviously, we b-line'd it to the bar. "We" being the cool ol' school radio peeps, moi, MGB & hubby Gurns, Aimee Arrowsmith et hubby, K1 and LH & hubby, K2. The newlyweds arrived in style in a sweet ass Rolls. We settled into a train car seemingly no other guest knew existed. A few more trips to the bar and a swing through the wonderful spread of nosh and we heard the band start to play in the amphitheater building on the grounds and found ourselves wondering outside into the spectacularly sunny day unfolding before us.

As grown ups drank, laughed and smoked too much, the groom made many, many, many (seriously, we're talkin' Cher, JLo, Beyonce type levels) outfit changes, which entertained us to the point of giggling and mockery. While we grown ups enjoyed ourselves the small fries in the mix were entertained and occupied with a magician, scavenger hunt and arts and crafts.

This is one of the crafts MGB's lil' 7 y/o cutie made. Earlier I had given her her very first kiwi fruit. I sold it to her as sumthin' that was like if a strawberry and grape had a baby. I take it from the coloring that she liked it, as I was the sole brown girl in attendance, and ya wouldn't make a brown girl a princess if'n ya didn't like the fruit she gave ya, right?

(MGB holding her daughters arty homage to BBG)

Decorations were festooned in the H.S. colors of the bride and groom. The day was filled with music thanks to some current H.S. band members who made an appearance as well as a band who jammed the afternoon away for us. Drinks and eats were abundant and gooooooood. And as things started to wind down, we glanced over from our band watchin'/close to the bar spot and saw a rmp rollin' up.

They showed and it was indeed a par-tay! Apparently we're not too old, because the complaint was that our music was too loud.

A wonderful, unique and thoughtful celebration of their special day. I say it was perfect because it was perfectly "them" and give it 4 & 44/100's out of 5 stars.

Guests were sent away with commemorative pint glasses with the newly hitched names & date. Clearly, not only did they know what they wanted, they also really knew how to play to their audience.

Great show Mr. & Mrs. Gray!! Really.

Again, Congratulations!!


Saturday, May 29, 2010

~Happy Wedding Day. No, Really

As a non married gal, I've always prided myself on my ability to rebuke coupledom bitterness when I've been single. People who I like/love, who find themselves happy romantically, makes me happy. I mean, the next best thing to finding something good and with legs yourself, is someone you care for finding it.

Sure, I'm bitter when it's rainy for too many days in a row, or when I can't have a cherry Coke and must make due with a regular Coke, but I'm not generally bitter over the big picture hand life has dealt me, ya know?

I only have the energy to be about the business of figuring out ways to be happy with myself. I don't have enough to spend being mad about the fact that I haven't found my mate. Certainly not enough extra reserve to be bitter about the fact that others have found theirs.

Honestly, it's as much of a choice as it is just my nature. I choose not to be bitter because that's how I want to live my life. It's been a pretty good rule of thumb. Until now...

Two recent things are starting to tip me over to the bitter side...

A) While looking at a list of people from H.S. congregating online, I see that a girl from high school-- the misfit toy type of girl. The girl with too thick of glasses, who was too book smart, and too many times hit with the unattractive branch, with too pimply of a face, and too chunky, too stringy of hair, with too many shiny braces, ate too many scabs picked and consumed from her head, etc., etc., etc.,-- we're talkin' the perfect storm of high school outcast misery here. If you don't know me you might think I was just bein' catty, but if you know me, you know I just told ya the honest truth. Again, truth be told, I always felt sorry for her, even then I realized it must have been a hard existence. When occasions rolled around, I tried to engage her in conversation and part with a kind word. Anyhoo, I see that she is listed with a new/married name.

II) Today I'm attending the wedding of my dear friend, (code name) Brad Gray. We've known each other maybe a dozen years. He's good people. Really good people. Kinda weird people, but in the most appealing way. I remember before he started seeing his to-be-today wife, he was confirmed George Clooney-ian about marriage. Hell, they had reconnected at their H.S. reunion and I remember talking him into a first date with this girl, as at the time not only was he completely anti marriage, but wasn't even too keen on the prospect of dating.

So in case you breezed through those two points: A misfit toy girl who ate head scabs and a guy who all of his life never even wanted to get married = both hitched up.

And I'm still single?!?

Really, world?


I'll wait until after the reception to decide if I will embrace the bitterness, 'cause, ya know, nuthin's better at helping ya make a life altering decision like an open bar...

In the meantime, I'm wishing my friends a very happy wedding day. They make each other happy and that's all I need to be sold on the deal. I hope the happiest days of their pasts are the saddest days of their future together.

Cheers to 'em!! No, really.


Friday, May 28, 2010

~My Beef With Memorial Day

Memorial Day is a day set aside to honor our boys and girls in the military who have given their lives in service to our country.

It sticks in my crawl, which by the way, I'm not even entirely sure where that even is on my body, but I didn't go to medical school, so I'm ok with that ignorance. ...I can dissect and label a heart, can you?  Okay then, suck it. that people treat it like, *Thank A Military Person Day*.  ...First of all, do ya need a special day to do that?  Isn't that a good any/every day practice?  I, seemingly, can't stop myself from thanking a military person for their service.  Let someones son or daughter pass me by in the airport sportin' some fatigues and see if I don't toss a "thank you for your service, you American badass you", or let some lil' ol' man with Purple Heart license plates walkin' from his car cross my path and I all of the sudden I am incapable of fighting the urge to shake his hand and say thanks.  Beer has been known to magically appear at the hands of a stranger sittin' across the way sportin' a military tat.  I value the sacrifice and commitment of those who have oathed up and am all about giving those who serve our nation home and abroad their well due props.

But see, Memorial Day ( --operative word being "Memorial", uh huh.) is about honoring the fallen, not the still serving or veterans. Again, it's always nice to thank a service member/vet, and if somehow you can't seem to remember to do it the other 364, there is indeed a day devoted to them. You may be familiar with it from such films as Veterans Day (Nov. 11th).

I guess my beef isn't so much with Memorial Day, as it is with Americans who cannot be bothered with knowing the meaning of the day being marked.  To me at least, it feels super disrespectful to those who gave their lives in service to our country, and their families, that we act as though this day is interchangeable and/or indistinguishable from others.   And honestly?  When there's a hint in the name of the holiday?  ...I mean, 'come the fuck on, 'Murica... 

I've been told my stance on the matter is (ahem) "nit-picky".  Perhaps it is.   Please know that my feel bad level on that is zero. 
And I’m proud to be an American,
where at least I know I’m free.
And I won’t forget the men who died,
who gave that right to me.
– Lee Greenwood



Thursday, May 27, 2010

~Child Abuse

Hilarious, hilarious, child abuse.

Two-year-old has a 40-a-day smoking habit - World - Video - 3 News

Now, before you remind me that I am an awful and terrible person and will certainly be heading to hell for finding humor in this, please realize I am already aware of these facts. So suck it!! It's not like I gave the baby the smokey treats.

Apparently, Marboro Baby is 2 and dad, who will surely be nominated for father of the year, gave him his first smoke at 18 mos. According to news reports, 'I'm not worried about his health, he looks healthy,' shrugged the boy's father Mohammad Rizal... "he looks pretty healthy to me. I don't see the problem."...'He cries and throws tantrums when we don't let him smoke. He's addicted.'

Well done dad, well done.


Tuesday, May 25, 2010

~Hummer Bummer

In my purrrrrfect utopia, I would own one of these:

Oh, I'd own some other things too (including a VW Thing, a Maybach, a '68 Camero) but, yeah, I'd get all BJ and The Bear wit it. Fine. I wouldn't really haul things, unless groceries qualify as "things". And I likely wouldn't travel the country in it either. But can't you just see me and my substitute chimp, Uncle John toolin' around town in a big ass cab over (or as I like to call 'em, a "flat face" truck?) I'd be one happy girl, and there would be an overabundance of air horn honking on my part, filling the air with honky goodness.

I do not own a cab over and have tacitly accepted that I likely never will. (sniffle, sniffle) But I always secretly kinda hoped that I'd someday have a relatively, more practical, Hummer. I can remember seeing Bobby Sixkiller driving one in the stellar and classic, mid-90's tv offering, Renegade. (HAHA! Bobby Sixkiller. I haven't thought of him in forever!! If you're not hip to him, totally worth a Google.) I've coveted one ever since.

I know most people think of the Hummer as a big ass nuisance vehicle driven by, well, generally, some suburban asshole with no earthly need of a vehicle of such mass and price tag. I cannot disagree with most arguments people have against the Hummer. Excess on every level? Yes. ...But I kinda always hoped when I won the lotto-- step one in the establishment of my purrrrrrrrrrfect utopia, (which I realize I'll have to actually fuckin' remember to play, to in fact win, but that's another story), a Hummer in the driveway would soon follow. Or so I imagined...


Until I heard the tragic news.

Apparently, GM has discontinued production of the Hummer.

Come on now... Imagine my glee of going here and there in one of these?

I know I can move some people outta my way in my current sport ute. Because sometimes nuthin' says "get the fuck outta the passing lane with your 62mph drivin' ass, Mary" like the sight of a big ass grill closing in on you in your rear view. I sooooo would have enjoyed the sexy behemoth known as the Hummer. I coulda really moved some people with that. ...Ugh. To never know the joy of one of those tricked out with the douche-y brush guards and perhaps a rack of KC lights... (sniffle, tear)

Really, other than a Hummer the only thing more likely to clear the path is this guy approaching your back bumper.

After further review of Duel, maybe it's for the best that I will never be able to yield the power of such a ride. Although, 'Duel 2: Ohio Boogaloo' does have a nice ring to it, no? No BigBrownGirl, let it go. Another dream dashed. Thanks reality. Thanks for nuthin'.

RIP Hummer.


Monday, May 24, 2010

~Built In Redundancy

I just saw a commercial for a company called "American Ear Hearing & Audiology".

I love the need for the specification of the fact that they deal in ear hearing matters. As opposed to???... My diminishing arm pit hearing? My ass hearing needs?

Thanks for the clarification of the obvious, weirdly named company.


Sunday, May 23, 2010

~Dental Care & Antioxidants- A Bad AM Combo

(Yes. All five brushes are mine. I prefer not to use the same brush two brushes in a row. It's not overly kooky. I mean, when I travel I just pack one, but really now, at home shouldn't I have things exxxxxactly as I like 'em?)

It was just like any of the scads of times I've brushed my teeth.

Until I spit.

My foamy frothy came out blue in hue. Catching me completely off guard. I don't use a blue toothpaste. And then my mind flashed to those old commercials for some washy/pasty something or the other with their tag line about "pink in the sink", and thought, "what the fuck does blue mean?!?!", in my still somewhat early morning haze.

In what was far longer than I'd like to admit it took me to remember, it dawned on me that Uncle John had demanded to go out absolutely first thing in the morning (typically he wanders down and hangs on the sofa until I come downstairs) and that I'd stopped in the kitchen and popped several blueberries before coming back up to brush the chompers and kick off the other festivities involved with BBG daily maintenance.

Nuthin' like starting my day off with a confirmed case of dumbassedness.

P.S. Happy Birthday to (code name) Brad Gray and my H.S. Homecoming date!


Friday, May 21, 2010

~Because, I Can NOT Let It Go

I'm not one for much technology. I'm not what the kool kidz call savvy.

But a girl knows how to Google, and in addition to allowing me to play Pacman (BTW, happy 30th Bday Mr. Man!! Wonk-wonk), Google also provided me with this fake, and improved version of Bret Michaels sans his craptastic current do (, don't).

P.S. Once we can get this hair deal worked out, maybe we'll address the duck face action that you seem to be so fond of.


Tuesday, May 18, 2010

~Serious biz, Shave It

I just spied a commercial announcing Bret Michaels on tomorrow's Oprah. Now I know the Poison front man probably deserves a little leeway, ya know, brustin' brain vessels and all, but good fuckin' googily moogily....somebody's gotta say it. Evidently, it's me and it's tonight.

Dear Bret Michaels-
Shave it.

I don't know what's going on up there under that douche-y, omni present bandanna, but it looks horrible and it ought to go. That hair business we can see, real or not, and I highly suspect not, is distracting. I'm sure whatever you're attempting to hide is far, far better than what you're puttin' out there for us now.

Follicles, or the appearance of them is never more attractive than a guy who's secure enough to rock a shiny ass dome. Personally, I say, bald is beautiful. Bristle-y is good too. Both are excellent ways to get girls to touch your head. And if we're touchin' your head, we're probably likely to have a conversation with ya, if'n yer so inclined. I know, you've got the whole rock star, whore-o-rama tv show thing goin' on, and I'm assuming some pretty solid jack, but when's it bad to have one more thing girls dig about ya? Listen, a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g is better than what you're rockin' now.

Every rose has a thorn, and you've got that bad, bad hair. Much like roses can be dethorned, you can do sumthin' about that do, man. Please, I beg of you.
-Love, BigBrownGirl


Sunday, May 16, 2010

~I Am A Copkid: Yours Are Too

(A lil' BBG sportin' Dads lid. Circa: A looooooooong ass time ago.)

So, we all know about that "uneasy normality" that allows us not to obsess about if you're alive and to live our lives, but that is never far from the surface, and is one of the hallmarks of being a copkid. And of course, there's the pride that you come from people who not only care about others, but put their lives on the line in ass check cashing of those words. (Wait? Is that a thing? 'Tis now.) There's also that solid confidence in the fact that your parent is specially equipped to be able to make everything right, unlike let's say, your friend who's parents are teachers, preachers or office workers. I mean, some kids hear their parents say they would give up life and limb for them, a copkid knows without doubt that their parent would and would also kill for them. I remember knowing as a kid that if someone had harmed me, that I knew my parents would ensure that they had one world class, grade A, bad fuckin' day, ya know?

Being the kid of Officers puts you into a special club. A club that no one else can gain entry to, because it's one you're born into, not one you can work your merit badges for inclusion. Only another Officer's kid knows what we know. A lot of recent readers are Officers, thanks to the kind shout out from Motorcop ( You all share the knowledge and bond of wearin' a badge. Here's a lil' glimpse of what we, your kids know, and share, and how your job rubs off on us:

-I clear intersections as I'm driving. Something I didn't even realize I did until I started noticing that other drivers don't. Nope. They keep their eyes focused straight the fuck ahead and mash the go peddle. No lookin' around to see if some crazy cat is barreling towards the intersection.

-I expect every driver around me to do the most stupid thing possible at any moment. I anticipate the endless and wacky possibilities of hinky shit that could unfold in situations and places I find myself. And I've already considered several options out of the situation. And yes, I know if I'm being tailed. No paranoia, just general awareness of vehicles around me for too long.

-I will fight you if I have to, to not have my back facing the entrance to wherever we find ourselves. I'm uncomfortable not being able to see who's coming and going. This gets a tad dicier if I'm out with my Dad who will also jockey for a non back to the door seat. I yield to him because he's strapped.

-I never tell personal info to those who are not close to me. I am a master at vagueities and small talk with people, without having really shared any real details of me. I picked up pretty early in life that on the street, people having details of your personal life gives them hand, and that can be dangerous. Now am I in a profession that requires such close to the vest-ness? Nope. But it's something so ingrained in me that I'm not even cognizant at the time that I'm doing it.

-I'm also pretty astute at getting info from others without having to ask a pointed question. And in slyly asking questions in different ways, even at different times to see if the answer I'm getting is consistent. People tend to think I'm just forgetful.

-I know what character, loyalty, honor and duty look like. I know their names. I know they're not just words in the dictionary.

-I am always ready to fight to my death for my life or the life of someone I care about. Always. I know, I know, I seem all kindza laid back and chilll. And I really totally am, but I'm always ready for go-time. Always.

-I know if something kooky happens I have to stand my ground here, now and fully. No second crime scene for moi. And that if such a kooky circumstance should happen I have to be smart about my actions in the mists of chaos. Yes. I will make sure trace will be found under my nails, or you'll find that I will have managed to put my hand in Mr. Bad Guy's mouth for some good ol' spit DNA just for good measure. Now, knock wood that this never happens.

-I have been known to do a quick pat down with an innocuous seeming hug, and I've searched for a ankle holster with what you thought was a bout of restless leg syndrome under the table. I once swept a Chicago off duty. It took him a full two or three minutes to be like, "waaaaait. Did you just frisk me?!?"

-I know I can't let someone get the drop on me. Which makes me uber aware of my surroundings and the tells of others. While most of the people I know, never even noted something or someone I've had eyes on. I am reading all situations. When I'm out and about I'm always scanning to see what or who seems outta place or needs to be watched.

-I am a huge people watcher. People are freaks. And I love the freak show of life.

-I rarely find myself standing side by side with someone. I tend to be more face to face, because as you already know, I'm watchin their back and hoping they've got their peepers peeled over my shoulder.

-I have a moderate case of the gallows, morbid, sardonic sense of humor.

-I am comfortable around a 9mm. I'm a Glock girl. Although, I like a Sig too. Unlike most other folks I know, I've been drilled in center mass and dome shots. And "down range" isn't an unfamiliar combination of words to me. It's a knowledge (the only one taught to me, and not just some stuff that seeped in) and vibe my heels and swishy skirts belie.

If you don't think your wee ones are absorbing your this part of your life, think again. You think you take it off with your uniform, but you don't. It's never fully shed. Think of it as LE second hand smoke. A lil' removed, but it sinks into our being a bit too. If they don't already, your small fries will have some of your second hand that they'll carry with them always. I bet you'll someday find their list looks something like mine.

If you're a new BBGW reader, I should warn you, LE is not the main focus of this blog. Fuck. This blog doesn't even have a focus! Feel free to drive by and peep in the open window anytime. You're always welcome. If not, thanks for swingin' in, it was nice havin' ya. Keep your six safe and remember to be the kinda Officer that makes your kid proud. You'll be amazed at what we're pickin' up from what you're throwin' down, even when you don't think we're paying attention.


Friday, May 14, 2010

~Maybe Next Time You'll Buy A Mascara

I know crazy ass successful Mary Kay ladies get the pink Caddy. Is this what bad Mary Kay ladies get?!? Behold this lovely pink Omni/Horizon I spied:

And yes, this is exxxxactly why I usually have my camera in my purse.


Tuesday, May 11, 2010

~May St. Michael Watch Over 'Em

This week is National Police Memorial Week. 126 Officers died in the line in '09.

I'm sure a lot of people read that statistic and think something to the effect of 'that's too bad' and continue on with their day.

I think, "there but for the grace of God, go I".

If you don't know, both of my parents were police officers. Mom the first chick cop in our city. Yup. I come from trailblazin' blue blood, baby. Dad came on the job after serving in Korea in the Marines.

...All of the sudden my expecting something odd to happen, nod givin', do-right, watchin' everybody, rule followin', no sitting with my back to the door, stand up for someone else when it's needed-ness is a little clearer, isn't it?!?!?

Too many folks like to rip into law enforcement. Boo fuckin' hoo, I got a ticket. Waaaaaaa, I was doin' wrong. I knew (or should have known) I was doin' wrong and the po-po caught me doin' it and I'm pissed off, and s/he was mean to me, kinda shit. Which is always irksome to me. I mean, when you're doin' wrong, just fuckin' acknowledge it. Even if it's only to you, that you were wrong. It's really not the Officers fault that you were speeding in a school zone or breaking into someone's home, now is it? I don't understand how you can be about hating all people in that particular uniform because they caught you doing something illegal. That you already knew, or should have known was i-l-l-e-g-a-l. And what if at your job everyone you came in contact with posed an opportunity to be a threat to your life. Exactly how chipper and bubbly would you be every day? Might you have a few moments where maybe you were more terse or more impatient than needed with people? Hummm?

Plus, ya have the unmitigated gall to talk bad about the absofuckinlootly first people your ass is going to call if, God forbid, you're the victim of some crime, scared shitless because someone's rattling your door, or mad as hell because somebody keyed your ride, to come help your ass. Really? When you need the calvary to roll up you want them there in nanoseconds, but until that very moment in time you'll bitch, moan, mock and degrade them every chance you get?


Needless to say, if you're one of those assholes, this is not the entry for you. Oh, should I have warned you earlier? Oppsies.

It's riles me up a bit as you can see. I'm not one to say every Police Officer is roses and unicorns. Every basket? Barrel? Bushel? ...Whatthefuckever, has a bad apple or two. Name a job, and there's some dick or scoundrel in their ranks. C'est la vie (such is life). It just is. But for the vast majority, you'll find people like my parents who got up each day, put their game face on, strapped a firearm to their side and left to go serve their community, hoping that, at least that day they'd come home to their, at the time Lil' Brown Girl.

Every day trying to keep some body from beating or killing someone else. Trying to keep some bad driver from mowing down some family sixteen minutes from now, or 2 miles down the road. Or doing a wellness check on some elderly person. Or taking some wackadoo into custody so they can be taken for a 72 hour so that they're no longer a danger to themselves and those around them. And because very few communities have budgets that allow for one Officer per homestead, responding to some lady who just got home to find she's been burgled. Comforting the kid who's just been abused by someone. Or taking some drugs or guns off the street. ...All while trying to return home safe to their family at the end of their shift.

Now most of you will fall one of two categories. Uno: Police are hero's or B: You consider them the devil. They're neither. Honestly, they find themselves in situations, due to their job, training and character, as it takes a specific character trait to have a calling to serve in this capacity, where their actions can be heroic. Sometimes big flashy shows of heroism, sometimes they are private heroic moments known only to the person they interacted with. But the reality of Officers is that they are regular folks who's jobs can be mundane. Well, as mundane as work can be when some situation may pop off that can be shocking in nature, to the downright dangerous split seconds that can take your life. Hopefully those situations never cross an Officer's path.

However the reality is that they too often do. I know, because I can still recall what it's like to wonder if tonight was the night a parent wasn't coming home. Ever. And I can still remember, like it was yesterday, in fact-- and you know I can't fuckin' remember anything-- the day as I was coming home from school as an 11 year old, the bus driving by my house and seeing my Mom's car and my Nana & Papa's in my driveway. I remember sprinting home from my bus stop because as soon as I saw those cars in my drive when they all should have been at work, I knew that meant my Dad had been killed at work. When it crosses my mind, I can still feel how hard my heart beat that afternoon. And not from running, but from fear of the words I expected to hear. To say I was scared shitless would be an understatement. There had been a shooting. Thankfully, that day my Dad did come home. But only because he had to take actions that meant that someone else didn't.

Some Officers will never have to fight for their life over a whole career. But every Officer knows that they may have a life ending situation pop up in 20 years. Or in 20 minutes. Or the next 20 seconds. Or maybe something will pop off before they can finish blinking their eye. And they still gun up each day and hit their detail.

I am eternally grateful that I don't know what it's like to lose a parent in the line. But that uneasy normality of the wondering if someone you love who works for your community is ok while they're at work, and the sheer panic of thinking you are about to get the worst news, is something I know. So when I think about this Memorial week and the sacrifices made by guys and gals just doing their job and their families left behind, my heart goes out to them all. Because there but for the grace of God...

Take a moment to think about what these cats with badges and guns do. What they give up. What a job like that takes from their souls. Consider how you'd interact with people if anyone and everyone, at any time could possibly be a threat to your life. Think about the Officers who won't come home tonight, or tomorrow morning at the end of their tour. Think about the families left behind. And maybe next time you have an interaction with an Officer you'll cut them a lil' slack, or give 'em a thank you. They deserve it.

So far this year, another 61 Officers have lost their lives serving their communities.

This morning a local Officer responded to an early morning disturbance call and was jumped as he walked to up to the door by an individual who stabbed the Officer in his back and neck. The Officer was forced to shoot the individual in defense of his life. He's going home today. Today he was lucky. His family was lucky. Today was just like every day for an Officer-- you just never know how it will end.

And I think about his kids...

May St. Michael watch over 'em.


Sunday, May 9, 2010

~Happy Mother's Day

When I was a kid it seemed like for every Mother's Day, Mom and Nana received geraniums, usually the hanging basket variety. Looking back, I'm not entirely sure why that was the present of choice? But every year I can remember walkin' around the local nursery for the perfect red geranium, walkin' isle after isle, stepping over (and trying not to trip over) yards of water hose as I went along. It likely had sumthin' to do with the fact that left to my own lil' BBG devices, Mom and Nana would have received a slinky, skateboard, super ball, or whatever else I secretly (or not so much) coveted at the time.

I've gotten a wee bit better at my present picks over the years, when left to my own devices. (A wee bit.) Also over time, I realize more and more how lucky I got on the Mom selection lotto. I always say, it's a parent's main job to keep a kid alive, and if you've done that, you're doing ok. While it's a kids job to figure out new ways to figure out how to have fun and mischief, which we all know is just a fancy schmancy way of sayin' "fun", while circumventing all laws of reason, predictability and physical safety. Game on! I was a formidable foe as a child (....probably still am...). Mom has spent more than her fair share of hours sitting in an ER or a surgical waiting room for me. And I am still alive, baby!!

In addition to keeping me alive, Mom did all of the extra stuff that is the hallmark of a great Mom...

-Like teaching me that while I'm the center of my universe, I'm not the center of the universe...

-Insisting that I knew how to read a map and drive stick so that I was always capable of getting myself home, no matter what.

-Like waking up in the middle of the night to talk to me, even after pulling a full shift at the hospital because she knew that I was most likely to chat at some ungodly hour...

-Teaching me there is a time and a place for being ladylike, kind and peaceful, and that there were times and situations when you have to stand up for yourself and "strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger" (...ok, those were Samuel L. Jackson & Ezekiel words, but Mom taught me the sentiment well before I ever heard of those two cats)...

-Teaching lessons that have proven to be invaluable to me, like it's what people do, not what they say that is what you really should 'listen' to. And that when people show you who they are, not to doubt it, or think I can magically wave my wand and change it. Accept it as reality and make your decisions from there (it's a dealbreaker or it's not). And trust my instincts over anyone else's judgement. And that the Golden Rule isn't some trite cliche, but generally, a pretty absolute mandate...

-Teaching me that there are good and bad eggs in every group and that people are to be judged on "who" they individually are, not "what" (poor/rich, gay/straight, Democrat/Republican, black/white, Catholic/Muslim, etc.) they are...

-Teaching me that I'm just fine exactly as I am. Not that I'm somehow perfect, but that as long as I'm doin' right and being true to what I feel my path should be, as long as it's not infringing on someone else, that there is no need to conform to the prevailing winds, whatever they may be at the moment...

-Teaching me how to make a plan, yet always be prepared to roll with the punches life tosses at me and to carpe diem...

I could list a million reasons why my Mom is extra special. But aside from keeping me alive, maybe her greatest achievement in mothering has been teaching me lessons too many kids are never taught by their moms, which is how to know who I am, how to know what to do, and how to figure out what I feel. Mom has made me, for good (or bad) the BBG I yam.

Mom-- I'm more grateful than you'll ever know or will ever be able to adequately express. I know it's not enough, but it's all I've got: Thank you. For every thing.

Happy Mother's Day!
Your BBG

P.S. LEM, Jodi Foster & LH~ Happy First Mother's Day!! And Happy Mother's Day to LB2'd, the Mom of my godkids!!


Saturday, May 8, 2010

~Bitter Begining


My home phone rang at 8:47am on a Saturday morning.


Everyone who knows me knows not to call too early, especially on the weekend. "Too early" in my world, on a weekend, is generally considered pre-noon. So imagine my surprise when my phone rang at such an early hour. Even though I'd already been awake for an hour + I found myself immediately bitter at it's shrill ass ringing. I don't know about you, but being bitter by 8:48am on a weekend day is not exactly the way I want my day to start.

Oh, and for the extra fuckin' special icing on the bitter cake? When I picked up I heard a fax tone. Yup. Welcome to Saturday!!


Thursday, May 6, 2010

~I'm Tired of Seeing My Girls Fight So Hard

Another one of my friends has been diagnosed with a cancer that has now spread to her brain after an initial diagnosis of breast cancer and course(s) of treatment and period(s) of remission.

Cancer in any form is the devil. I know, I just lost my Papa to it. But seeing too many young chicks (in their 30's) dealing with having to fight for their lives and fight so hard to not leave their young children...ENOUGH ALREADY!!

It's May and around these parts that means it's time for the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. I'm not tellin' you to necessarily make a donation to them, but please slip the dollars you can to some organization who can help put an end to this fucked up disease that is touching and taking too many lives. I know entirely too many motherless children. I implore you. It's probably too late for you to go to medical school, but it's not too late for you to help do something.


Tuesday, May 4, 2010

~Creepy? Good?...You Make The Call

Whilst I was visiting with my godkids over the weekend we ran an errand at some store. LB2'd, my 10 year old mini me girl, my 12 year old boy and me. LB2'd was at the cashier paying for what she was getting. The wee ones were in between us as I waited to make my purchase.

As I'm standing there lookin' at whatthefuckever... colorful new candy on the shelf...crazy cracked out headlines of some rag mag...the baldy behind me sportin' the Citadel t...whatever, when I turned my head and caught my 12 year old boy checkin' out my rack.

Uh huh.

I found myself equal parts creeped the fuck out and curiously proud.

I guess I'll always think of him as being small enough to fit into a pillow case (so I could kidnap him), but he's growing up. Too fast for this creeped out and yet proud Aunt BBG...


Monday, May 3, 2010

~An Ode to Fidget

Since the fourth grade...
Since the 4th grade...

You've been my friend
Since the 4th grade.

You know when I got boobs.
We've eased on down the road.
And in the coat room once
You nearly caused a code.

You're funny and smart
And have a good heart.
In Mrs. Sweeney's room you used to fart.
For several years we were apart.

Until I saw you on Fountain Ave.,
Bobbin' and weavin' and walkin' real bad.
A funnier sight I never did see
Seein' you around filled me with glee.

And now we are grown, both makin' our way.
And we still make time to stop and say hey.

Colorful and entertaining?
Those are both true.
Happy I have you around
Without you I'd be blue.

You're one of my faves
Of that I am sure.
A friendship like ours
Is good and it's pure.

Never would I slight you
Not even in a blog.
But if you pissed me off
I might hit you with a log.

You'd probably deserve it
Of that we both know.
But will it ever happen?
Very likely, no.


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.

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