Tuesday, January 24, 2012

~Either/Or (...Maybe Both?)


That was unexpected interesting.

I'm not entirely sure after what transpired if I am an asshole.

(Which I guess I can get on board with, I mean, it comes with it's own theme song 'n all:)

Or if I may be an actual, real life, big and brown, life-savin', super hero.

(Disturbingly Surprisingly close to what I looked like
as SuperGirl one long ago Halloween.)

I was on my way back to BBG HQ when I witnessed some hinkyness.  The kind of hinkyness that, seemed like it required some BBG intervention.  In general, I'm not about stickin' my nose in the affairs of others.  ...Oh, I may fuckin' have an opinion (even a conversation) about someone else's bidness, but insert myself into a situation over them?  Rarely.  And as a rule, only when BBG deemed necessary.  ...Is this sumthin' I've 100% all the damn time mastered?   No.  But it is my SOP.

Over the weekend I felt I needed to get involved, as I say, in something that looking back seems equally as possible that I'm an asshole, who ruined their day and exposed them to untold scrutiny and/or hassle, as I am the person to be thanked for saving your entire family from some horrid, fire-y, mangled car crash.  And even now, I'm not totally certain I did the right thing.  ...But, if even Cher can't turn back time, what can I do?

I was the second car in line of a turning (left) dedicated lane.  There were several vehicles lined up on my right/going straight or turning right.  Light changes.  All of the sudden the first car on line in the lane to my right swings in front of the car preparing to turn left which is the car directly in front of me. 

Hink numero uno.

However, I, attempting to consider plausibilities pondered perhaps the first two drivers had made an agreement to allow it over because it ended up in the wrong lane, as sometimes happens to people who don't know what they're fuckin' doin'.  In the split second it takes me to think, 'Oh, don't get your panties in a bunch over some maybe/maybe not dick in front of you-- there might be a reason', the vehicle that pulled the big city move darts directly in front of a car what was crossing the intersection (aka: had the right of way).  The fact that I didn't witness a TC right there can only be credited to the heads up driver coming across the intersection jamming on their brakes.

Hinky B.

So now this driver is totally on my radar.  The car in front of me and I make our safe ass turns when I then see the same ride making a turn and driving completely up and over a big ass hey-don't-drive-here curb

(Apologies.  Apparently, I have zero future in crash layout & sketching.  Noted.)

Driver Man:  Red 
Moi:  Blue
X's = Almost crashes

This is when I make the executive decision that somebody needs to suss out this situation.  As I was the only one in the car I assumed it had to be me.  So, I circled around and found the SUV in the parking lot and pull up to the drivers door while rolling down my passenger window. 

A man maaaaaaaybe in his mid-late 60's gets out and I call him over...

BBG:  Sir, are you ok?  Are you having troubles this afternoon?
Driver Man:  No, I'm not having any troubles.
BBG:  I think you are.  I just watched you cut off a car with an unsafe lane change, come this close to causing a crash in the intersection and then drive over a divider.  I'm concerned about you hurting someone else or yourself today. 
Driver Man:  No, no, I am ok.  God bless you.  No, I am ok.  God bless you.
BBG:  Is there a friend or family we can call to check in on you?
Driver Man: No, no, I am fine.  Ok.  No problems.  God bless you.  No, no. 

While he didn't display any vast command of vocabulary, he didn't slur, and his accent tipped me that English wasn't his native language, so I can cut some slack on repeating the same phrase, he clearly understood what I was sayin'.  He had seemed steady on his feet when he exited his ride.  And I picked up no hit of booze on his breath as we spoke.  So, hesitantly I told him to be careful, wished him luck and started to head back home. 

Which was the plan until I got about a block away and started thinking that I have enough stuff going on in my life and that I can't possibly take on, 'hey, remember when that family of 5 died and it was all your fault 'cause your dumbass, intuition ignoring ass didn't do sumthin'?'. 

...And now I'm dialin' the non emergency number (yes.  I'm the 1% who knows the non emergency number *just in case*.  I am.  That.  Girl.) to the local constabulary as I turn around to go back to be able to provide his plate number in addition to the vehicle description.  Being a non emergency number, guess what kiddies, it ain't answered real fast.  So I somewhat reluctantly dial 911.

I'm tellin' dispatch what I witnessed and the follow up interaction I'd had with him and that while I didn't feel he was necessarily drunk, he seemed like someone official ought to put eyes on him.  That I was afraid for the safety of, ya know, you ( on a different day?) and him.

Finally.  Mama, mama I'm comin' home.  (Random Ozzy homage)  But now I think, what if he drives away before Po-Po arrives.  Thankfully, this crosses my mind before I'm out of the parking lot and sure as shit by the time I circle back around he's pullin' away.

Grrrrreat.  Fanfuckingtastic.

I remind myself that doing right isn't always doing easy.

Plus, by this point I'm in for a penny in for a pound.  (<-- probably not my best personality trait)  Obviously, I am now following the cat and ringing 911 to let them know he's no longer at the reported location and telling them the cross street we're at.  Within seconds I see cruiser hauling on my ass in my rear view and I pull over, as Po-Po now super sloooowly passes me I wave him on to the SUV in front of me to let him know that I'm not the black SUV he's lookin' for, even though I know he has the plate to Driver Man.   Po-Po then lights up SUV/Driver Man who abruptly pulls to the side and makes his approach.  I tuck in a respectable distance behind the officer, keepin' my hands on the wheel (<-- he doesn't know meTip:  If you are ever stopped, for any reason, always place both hands on the steering wheel.  If it's night time, turn your overhead light on and put your damn hands on the wheel before the LEO approaches your car.)  A few seconds later Officer Delightful wandered back to me to inquire about what I'd spied with my brown eye.  Opps.  (...But tee hee'd enough by it to leave it in.)  I laid it out for him, asked if I was good to go, was sent off with some kind words before he resumed running Driver Man, and...finally.  FINALLY returned home.  So much for my quick errand.

Honestly, as I mentioned earlier, I didn't get the hit that he was drunk.  But sumthin' was up.  Impaired due to meds, or mental status or age?  I donno.  Probably I'll never know...

I'm not certain I did the right thing.  I certainly wouldn't want to cause a LEO involved ruckus for someone who was just bein' a dumbass for a few minutes.  But I didn't feel like with 4,400 lbs. coming at ya, it was the time/circumstance to be cavalier, or complacent about the 'what if's', at the expense of the rest of the motoring population in the area. 

I suppose to a degree it doesn't really matter, as again, I can't turn back time, and as AnonD pointed out, the only person who has to be able to sleep well over it is me and my conscience and in this case, given what I witnessed, I'm ok with being thought an asshole.  (hehehe I'm usually quite fine with it, in fact.)


Friday, January 20, 2012

~Hey Baldy

BBG Admission:

I dig a bald man.

(Not one specifically, ok, several specifically, but I'm not speaking of one in particular.) 

(I do not understand this concept at all.)

The second best guy is a guy with hair, in my opinion.  (Apologies fully folicled men.  I'm not a hair h8tr or anything.  [...Hummmm.  I'm disappointed that turning that hip and coooool "h8tr" wasn't more fun than that.  Is it official?  Am I old?]  I'm a fairly equal opportunity guy like-er, and certainly don't discriminate against those with full and lush locks.)

I'm an appreciator of everything from brissily, blunt wee hair nubbin's to a smooth as a newborn baby's ass.  I seemingly have an unmanageable internal compulsion to take (create?) any/every opportunity to touch a bald head.  (<-- yes, bald men everywhere consider that your warning)  I love a feel-y head and find a shiny dome sexy.  Therefore, I have trouble imagining why in the world a guy living in this era would have any issues regarding a retreating hairline expanding forehead. 

Yet, apparently, some still do (click) (P.S.  I'm not buyin' that 'for work bullshit'). 

Bad...wait, no need for redundancy Comb overs still roam the earth...

As do bad, wait, there are no good toupees...

(And if Chuck Fuckin' Norris can't
pull it off there is no hope for a mere mortal man.)

(Random mid-post confession:  One of my favorite Chuck Norrisisms?  A:  Chuck Norris is the reason Waldo is hiding.  For more Chuck Norrisisms [click])

Listen, if anyone knows what it's like to feel like society generally says that your natural state of you-neses is not the pinnacle of attractiveness, it's me, a chunky monkey girl.  Personally, I don't subscribe to it, but I acknowledge it exists.  And just like I don't buy into the perception that thin (or blond and blue, or 5'4", or whatthefuckever) is the only measure that can be considered attractive, XY-ers shouldn't buy into this bullshit that hair atop your dome makes or breaks you.

I'm a pretty big believer in there being grace and honor in being comfy with who you are.  Or in the terminology my peeps, LB2'd and Mrs. Mackey have coined; "just be who you is".  Fine.  Grammatically sketchy, yet ya gotta admit, colorful and wildly sage advice.  

Being you and being at peace with you, breeds a sexy confidence that doesn't go unnoticed.  The average lookin' guy who is settled and cool with his outer shell is waaaaaaay more attractive than some super great looking guy who's cocky (or worse yet, insecure an in need of constant reassurance about his look) after about 3 minutes.  ...Which because I know some guys, isn't probably good enough, because ideally you'd like every boob'd persons pants to fall off at the sight of you.

(Attention Men:  This is sarcasm.  Back to reality.)

Granted, a bald guy isn't for every woman.  Guess what?  A chunky monkey girl isn't for every man either.  Just like a small guy isn't for me.  (And yes, you can take that anyway you want.  ...Same rule applies.)  Everybody has some physical deal breaker that isn't for them.  But why the fuck would ya wanna have to overcome something that is the real you to have someone dig you?  You wouldn't.  Fine.  Some people would.  Ya shouldn't

Don't despair, there are plenty of girls who feel that bald is not only beautiful, but dare I say better.  Which is good news for the estimated 80 million baldy's in the U.S.

During my random wandering of the interweb I discovered a place where you can test out your bald look (click).  It also provided these examples of what some famous peeps would look like sans hair:

...Proving that most men look, if not better, certainly, not worse for their lack of hair.  Baldy's of the world unite!  Show your shiny ass scalps proudly.  Embrace your smoove dome and learn to love it.  And don't be alarmed when a BBG touches it.


Monday, January 16, 2012

~Dear Martin Luther King, Jr. (A Follow Up)

Dear Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.~

I wonder what you would think if you were here, experiencing 2012 as I am.  It's been a while since I last checked in with you.  I know, I know, I should write more often.  (Dear Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. [2010] - click)  A lot has changed.  Too much has not.

When we last left off I made a few observations on the state of race relations in our society and the direction I felt in many ways they were heading.  I re-read my last letter to you and found one passage to be so prophetic that I'm sadly considering a name change to BBGtradamous.

"In some ways, it's kinda an odd time in America. On one hand we've managed to vote a man into the White House who like me has the benefit of being made of multiple races. He was elected based on the content of his character, and of course his promise to manage our country better. While this demonstrates a sizable shift in the state of acceptance and perceptions of minorities in our society, I almost feel odd and eerie, as if we're on the brink of seeing some awful things from some of our countrymen.

We're in the midst of hard economic times. People are afraid. Fear of change and the unknown has historically been the catalyst for fervent and more demonstrative outburst of racial biased behaviors and actions in our country. The klan didn't start when Africans were brought to our shores, it started after the Civil War when so many white Southerners were frightened by what free blacks might do, how former slaves freedom might change their way of life, and when they were left in terrible economic straights as consequence to the devastation of the war. It was the easily plyable and those with overwhelming fear who took to the klan's message. The klan positions itself as an organization rooted in Christian ideals, making it's message more palatable and "acceptable" to the target audience.

Do I anticipate a cross burning in my yard anytime soon? No. But, I'm seeing a surge in a more subtle and subversive racially based tone happening in our nation. Some talking heads are busily making up all kinds of new buzz words and catch phrases under the guise of commentating on current events, that are just veiled racist rhetoric. Some times not veiled at all. I find it scary, because it to positioned as "acceptable" and many followers don't view it as anything other than that. I fear that too many good men (and chicks) will do nothing and let evil and hate gain a larger foothold in our society. "

With that commentary in mind, I feel like you would be very troubled by what, in some circles is passing as acceptable. For instance just a few months ago many felt it was acceptable, nay appropriate way to cover the Commander In Chief in this manner:

I know it seems like a President who has taken fewer vacation days than most Presidents in recent history (As of August 2011, according to CBS News (full article - click) by month 31 in office President Bush (43) had taken 180 vacation days.  President Clinton had taken 28.  President Regan had taken 112.  While as of 8/11, President Obama's 31st month in office he had taken 61.)--  would reasonably expect to celebrate his birthday without being called out for missing (a few nighttime hours, mind you) an opportunity to 'create jobs'.  

But as it turns out, when facts are still facts (vacation days are definitive, quantifiable things that cannot be skewed or spun), evidently once the President has a more colorful hue than past holders of the office, some reason goes out the window.  

As does, apparently decorum, a modicum of subtleness (which I guess is good?  I mean, it makes it much easier to see the content of someones heart and their character when worn so ugly blatantly on their sleeve.  I guess...) and any desire to highlight the commonalities between us, but instead to, with Svengali-like deftness, highlight and perpetuate the superficial, meaningless differences with a malicious bent.

Really, now, Reverand Doctor King, regardless of one's political affiliations, what other motivation is to be extrapolated from the selection of Sir Round Mound of Rebound (aka: black basketball player)...The star of CB-4 (aka: black comic)...And 99 Problems But A Bitch Ain't One (aka: black rapper) as the visual overview, of a party with a guest list including; (either not famous enough, or not pigmented enough to both subliminally and overtly imply, 'see he's different than us', to rate featuring) Tom Hanks, Hillary Clinton, or any famous other non-black attendees?

I don't think it's being overly sensitive to raise the question; would a white President be able to have a birthday without the scrutiny of being positioned as being derelict of duties and subscribing to some ethnic/cultural stereotype?  I don't remember headlines covering Presidents Regan, Clinton or either Bush's birthday celebrations as being Redneck Rodeo's or Hillbilly Hodown's when, for instance, country music artist were in attendance.  Or with inferences that those Presidents were neglecting the substantive issues of their terms while marking the day of their birth. 

Clearly, this shows we have not been able to divorce prejudices (individually and collectively) from how we choose to position our perceptions of reality.  I doubt you would find that very palatable.  Or acceptable.
"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.  Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."     ~Martin Luther King, Jr.

To shed some more light on the darkness of what's going on, sadly, our societal prejudices haven't even been able to be curtailed by law

Recently, Bank of America was fined $335 million dollars over Countrywide's (who BoA now owns) illegal, unethical and immoral lending practices that included;  "over 83,000 loans that were originated in Illinois (<-- just one state!) between 2005 and 2007 was that, if you were African-American or Latino, you were three times as likely to be put into a subprime loan than if you were a similarly credit-situated white borrower."  (PBS/NewsHour full report - click)

I know you would not find those practices and behaviors acceptable either.  Don't shoot the messenger (horrible, horrible, [yet apt] cliche to use, my utmost apologies, I mean no offense), I'm just reporting the facts.  And this is where we're at.

It seems in some ways your message of love, tolerance, the ties that unify us all, and the dignity and humane treatment we find acceptable are being tested more than ever of late.  Not only in terms of racial aspects, but also regarding subjects from gay rights, to the recent arrival of "Arab Spring", along with a myriad of other topics, where people are deciding how much freedom, dignity, opportunity and protection-- and if not outright love, at least tacit acceptance, those deemed "different" will be allowed as we begin this new year.  I wish that you were here to provide your wise perspective and guidance on such matters.

We could really use your kind of leadership these days.  

"History will have to record that the greatest tragedy of this period of social transition was not the strident clamor of the bad people, but the appalling silence of the good people."       
~Martin Luther King, Jr. 
As a culture, we need be reminded that simply not being the lowest common denominator, (or in cool kid colloquialism, a 'hater') is not good enough.  That in order to benefit from the fruition of your dream, that we must actively consort to be the change.  A refresher that any action, big or small that promotes inclusiveness, fairness, love, understanding and respect for any and all of our community is not only the right thing to do, but the expected standard of conduct.

"Every man must decided whether he will walk in the light of creative altruism or in the darkness of destructive selfishness."                  
~Martin Luther King, Jr. 

As I often say, 'I'm in charge of me', so I can only speak for myself when I say that I will continue to be committed to your efforts, sacrifices and memory and that I will continue to let my light shine.  In all directions, but particularly towards those who are subjected bigotry, hate and prejudice and the recipients of unfair, unjust treatment. 

I hope that the next time I write the tide will have taken more of a turn towards the 'light of creative altruism', and away from the 'darkness of destructive selfishness' that seems to be all to common at the moment.

For now I will conclude with and introduce you to one of my all time favorite songs, by a cool cat named Garth.

(I think knowing this song exists will make your day.)

With ♥, gratitude and hope,


Friday, January 13, 2012

~Gifts Of Booze & Friendship

The other day I swung into the booze store to buy some Grenadine (What can I say? I heart  Shirley Temple's [recipe].) when I noticed a display for Cotton Candy vodka. Being obfuckingsessed a lover of cotton candy, this interested me immensely, immediately.   It seemed like a wonderful and potentially horrible idea. One one hand, I can't imagine that's really going to be as good as I want it to be. And you can't really mix cotton candy vodka with, um anything.   At least nuthin' I can think of.   So it doesn't seem like a very practical addition to the BBGbar.

...But on the other hand, it's cotton candy flavored booze y'all! And let's face it there is absolutely no fuckin' way I can live a life knowing there's cotton candy hooch out there and not give it a whirl.

However, as would exactly be my luck, they were out of it. (a single 1970's Indian by a trashy road tear sloooooowly drops down a BBG cheek)

However squared, as would be exactly my luck I returned to BBG HQ to discover this:


It's sadly not everyday you return home to find a gift of booze.  Now the freaky deaky thing about it is that it magically arrived at the hand of one of my great joys in life, a friend. I'd love to tell you which friend, alas at BBGWorld press time I actually don't know who the responsible Slim Shady party is.

But I know it's someone either on this exchange or someone who saw this crazy ass conversation:

(Who knew there were soooo many flavorful boozy options? 
Apparently, everyone but me.)

As you know, I love, love, love to bitch and complain another joy in my life about random shit, but I also try to be cognizant and aware of the good stuff too.

And some of the best 'stuff' I have are my friends. Of course because I am self centered me I believe this is because I do such a good job picking friends. (Which is probably one of those things people shouldn't say out loud. ...Oh well, you're not exactly here for should's n' shit.  At best this is a place of keepin' it realsies.  At worst a comprehensive cautionary tale of shouldn'ts.   Should's and perfect's are on some other blog, good luck.)   It's why almost all of my friends like my other friends. I only really roll with cool ass, good people.

Update: Cotton Candy vodka is AWWWWWWWESOME!!

(If things start to get slurry up in here you'll understand, right?)

So an Open Letter to my friends~

(And no, I'm not really tipsy and gettin' all mushy. I've only had one shot and you know a BBG can hold her booze better than that.)

As you know, I make a pretty big distinction between friends and acquaintances. Acquaintances are fun to be around. But a friend, while fun to be around is something to be valued. Some of you I talk to daily. Some of you are I see far too infrequently. Regardless, you are my friend because you add to my life. You bring me laughter, comfort and crazy ass stories apparently booze. You've been generous of heart and spirit or offered some kindness, grand or small that I treasure. Don't get me wrong, if one of you wins the lotto and wants to make a substantial monetary gift to BBG Inc, by alllllll fuckin' means.   But the reality is that some of the words you've spoken, words you probably never thought twice about, have been true gifts to me. That some of the most minuscule interactions and random times we've have together are shining little stars in the night sky to me. They're beautiful and sumthin' to be appreciated.

I don't say it often enough to any of you, well, because, look how fuckin' awkward I am at it--  even with time to think before some crazy confluence of words comes tumblin' outta my mouth, but for the official record:
  • I care about and love you.
  • That doesn't mean I think you're perfect. Some of you are asses (Jorge Estrada, Evil E, Jeffery Dahmer, Potatohead, etc.), but I care about and love you anyway. Trust me, I'm fully aware that you all take the same approach with me. (Again, just keepin' it real.)
  • I think of you more often than you know. In fact, the other night whilst hangin' in the hot tub I spied a shooting star. My wish was healthy and happy for my peeps. (I always feel like a self wish is greedy.) 'I did B with X so-and-so' or 'X reminds me of [insert friend name here]' is a daily occurrence to me.
  • You are important to me.
  • I wish we hung out more.
  • I appreciate you just the way you are.
Oh yeah, and...

(Not a big fan, but how could I not toss the song in?!?)

In other random acts of recent kindness, I also received some sunshine this week.  I'm more blessed with good eggs in my life than I have a right to.

While it ain't a gift of booze deeelightful, delicious, debauchery inducing booze I hope knowing that I value you gives you a wee buzz. 

Be good my peeps (that includes to yourself).

(Glass selected because it made me feel like a giant.)

Cheers, my friends!
(& Thank you to my mystery booze bringer!)

P.S.  Haaaaappy Birthday Lupe Estrada!


Tuesday, January 10, 2012

~Walking 101

The communal "they" say walking is good for you.

Maybe it is, who am I??  I'm not a doctor, so I can't, with any certitude say for sure.

I can tell you it's the precise opposite of my general feeling on the matter.  Yesterday I spied a status update from Lupe Estrada about being "up & walking to nowhere but feeling good about it!"  (...Now don't get me wrong;  Hurray for someone else bein' exercise-y.)

See, I settled in on my feeling about walking years ago.  I was traveling, my boss at the time was in tow.  The whatthehellever we were in town for was over and our flight home was several hours away.  It was mid afternoon and our only responsibility for the remainder of the day was to tell our Robert DeNiro taxi driver to take us to the airport and to get our asses on a plane.  ...Which conveniently rhymes with, let's drink.  (Of all of the skills I have, flying a plane isn't one of 'em, so what's it matter?  I've never been too tipsy to beat and climb over other passengers turn a handle and/or if need be use a slide.)

As my several-th blue drink hit my system, I started to remember how fucking loooooooong the walk had been from the gate we arrived at to the outside of the airport.  I know that DTW (Detroit) isn't the largest airport in the world, it's not even the largest airport I've been in, but by some hinky confluence of details I'm confident only Stephen Hawking can decipher, it was in fact the longest walk evah.

There's an old adage about the magical properties of alcohol and the appearance of truth that I, for one would have to vouch for.  After arriving to the airport and clearing security I struck up a conversation with an airport worker as I waited for my boss to finish with TSA.  It went a lot like this:

(a semi tipsy BBG sees a uniformed man with a WWJD lanyard holding his worker bee ID, randomness ensues)

BBG:  (pointing at his WWJD) ...I know what Jebus wouldn't do, he wouldn't make me walk my fat ass alllllllllll the way to my gate, this place is crrrrr.  Azzy.

Miscellaneous Airport Workerman:  (obviously conflicted between being offended that I'd slurrily taken Jebus' name in vain and the shock and awe of having a passenger not cussing him out)   He wouldn't?  (uncomfortable, yet intrigued nervous laughter)

BBG:  (more smart ass shit was said, more giggles were shared)

By the time my boss had tied his shoes joined the conversation a magic carpet ride cart had arrived to whisk us away to our gate.

(It's important to note that at no time did I expressly request a cart.)

As I was getting in wrapping up my random conversation with the airport worker bee, my boss was balking at the premise of riding to our gate, leaving me with no options other than turning my sales abilities on my boss.   "...but this nice gentleman is already here to take us, it would be rude to waste his time.  Get in."  (throwing a ham-y wink at said nice gentleman/driver)   As we zipped away I continued selling him on his decision to just do what I say and get on board with the BBG program du minute by launching into some mini diatribe about how 'walkin' is for suckers'.  We hadn't traveled 20' before my boss was converted from a nice religious-y, family man into the ass guy riding on the back of a cart tossin' the gun finger at other travelers whizzing by saying, "walkin' is for suckers!!", as I waved at people as if I was indeed Elizabeth, Queen of England.

Ever since then I've held firm to the mantra, walking is for suckers. 

Being a child of the 70's, The Jetsons apparently had a great impact on me.  I just always assumed there'd be moving sidewalks for times that I didn't use other modes of transportation.

(Re: 'Other modes'... It's 2012.  Where's my muther fuckin' jet pack?)

To this day when I do come upon a moving sidewalk, again at an airport (the world needs more moving sidewalks more places!), I always take it.  Even if I'm wearin' just the perfect heels, have a light load I'm haulin' and am chocked full o' energy (aka: Mountain Dew) and could walk forever (aka: no real reason to take the 14 foot stretch of moving sidewalk), I feel it's my duty to support Jetsonesque technology.

Now of course I can walk without grumbling.  I love a long stroll through city streets or a rambling walk through nature, under the proper circumstances.  When not silently reciting 'walking is for suckers', I subscribe to the other 70's based true-ism of putting one foot in front of the other... 

As the late Buford H Pusser taught us, it should be tall and with a big stick.


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. 


Tuesday, January 3, 2012


Ideally, all comments and emails received to BBG HQ would be flattering, gushing with praise and compliments and promising gifts of precious jewels, chocolate, a bevvy of attractive men for my basest gratifications, and perhaps unicorn sacrifices. 

(Daaaaaaamn.  You can find anything on Google!)

Also, ideally I would be 6' tall, 60 lbs lighter and several million wealthier, people I loved would live forever and always be healthy and happy and I'd actually shit lil' soft nuggets of gold that I could Swap for Cash (<-- is that a real thing?) or some such deal.  Unfortunately, like the control I have over Uncle John and myself (aka: PRACTICALLY NONE)--   is also the exact amount of influence I have over making *ideally*... reality.

I'm a live your life out loud girl for the most part.  (<--The, *I have a blog part* is just one indication of that.)  This is either extremely off putting or refreshingly appealing, depending on your disposition and inclinations.  I know some people like me because I can be an ass, and I know some people dislike me because I can be an ass.  And I'm fine with that. There is a statistic that one out of every 4 people doesn't like you.  Just plain doesn't, never will.  I've always figured I'm gonna have a damn good time with the other three, so whateves, the 4th can look away and live their own life....Peace be with you and all.  Which is also predominately, how I chose to live my life.  Generally, fuckers, assholes and dolts impact me zero, because I have nuthin' meaningful to do with 'em.  I actively try to limit my exposure to them.  Most of the time other than making good fodder for some cracked out tale I'll share here (or somewhere whilst sharing a cocktail as we laugh our asses off), I have no reason to engage with them at all.  As you know I'm pretty much of a live and let live-er, so I keep steppin' and get on with my life.

Except when I can't.

And apparently ladies and gentlemen of 'da BBGWorld, we've come to the time in the program when ignoring stupid has passed...

The background on what is about to unfold is this: one of my besties, divorced geez, a decade ago?  A few years ago she married a wonderful man.  Frankly, every time I hear a story about how he continually mans up to care for my Godkids makes me love him more and more.  Her ex has also remarried, a couple of times, most recently several years ago. 

Now as any of you readers who's ever been friends with someone who is divorced knows, it's rare to be friends with both parties.  This particular case is no different.  I am 100% friends with LB2'd (<-- that girl is my sister by choice)  and am zero % friends with the ex.  Do I/did I ever wish a pox upon his house?  No.  Why?  Because shit happens.  Relationships don't work out.  They were grown ups, making grown up decisions.  And I'm a fervent believer in the power of 'you being in charge of you'. 

In complete truthiness, I actually never had a problem with the ex even as they tried to figure out the landmine laden field of trying to deal with each other as ex's.  And again, as anyone familiar with divorce knows, this is a field that can get gruesome if both (um, all) parties aren't to their very core focused on having it be a more peaceful or pleasant place.

Unfortunately, there came a time where because some situations directly involving my Godkids, I came to have a pretty fuckin' big problem with him.    Those issues were worked out by the courts.   Which to give you perspective, the courthouse was the last time I saw him, and the first time I'd seen him in probably 8 years.  My interaction with him is, well, once in a decade.  And we didn't even speak.  ...So it's not exactly like a Springer show up in here.

Or it wasn't...

Until these started to arrive. 

Completely outta the blue. 

Like a tornado of crazy.

(The last name has been blocked out to protect the privacy of my
Godkids, not the sender.   I would NEVER want them
exposed to this cracked out bullshit.)

Notice how that was sent to me on Christmas.   Nuthin' says 'Merry Christmas' quite like spending time with your child and spouse sending nonsensical, erroneous emails (in as much as I've also NEVER mentioned his name... Go ahead, top left, that lil' search field?  You can search any word;  anyfuckin'thing to see what's (who's) ever been mentioned in the BBGW.  I'll wait.).

Oh, I've mentioned him.  This blog is about my life.  And those fuckin' kids have been a large part of my life since they each drew their first breaths.  I've even had a conversation with their mother about how if we ever were not friends, (<-- because I like to pretend never-gonna-happen situations of all kinds~ I have a very vivid imagination)  that she'd just have to get ok with the fact even if we didn't talk, I'd still talk to the kiddies.  After an aggressive giggle she told me, "those kids will have stopped talkin' to me before they'd ever stop talkin' to you!"  Which is only funny because it's true.  Not that the kids will stop talking to her, but that they're always gonna talk to me.  I'm muther fuckin' Aunt BBG.  And while they don't know e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g about an Aunt BBG, they do know that I'm 11 digits and 60 minutes away.  Always.  For anything.  And forfuckingever. 

But I digress, my point is that, yes, I have grown, by his actions-- (not by his relationship with their mother...again, they are grown ups and in charge of themselves, and I don't know they they've even spoken in more than a year?)   -- and treatment of my Godkids to loath and pity him.  And I have said things to that effect.  Without, until now making it any sort of big fucking deal, certainly nothing that hogged up an entire post. 

However two salient points should be understood here;  A)  *This *is my world.  Officially.  See (look up) it even has my moniker.  So, I'll say what the fuck ever I want to, when the fuck ever I want to.  If you like it, come, visit, play, comment.  If you don't, there are without hyperbole, gazillions of other places on the web one can occupy their time that do not include here, and I cordially invite you to do so.  I don't want people to hang out here who don't like it here.  BBGWorld is a free range zone.  Nobody is forced to be here. (Note to self:  Concoct a way that people are forced to be here, that could be reeeeeally good for the blog.)   II)  If what I've said in the pages of the BBGWorld is the worst thing a bestie has ever said about an ex, then that ex would probably consider themselves fortunate, in the big scheme of things. 

You may be asking yourself, 'but BBG, you can be an ass, what role did you play in getting this can of crazy stirred up'?. 

Valid question astute reader. 

In the name of full disclosure and hand on bible swearing:  I opened that email.


Although I guess I should mention, that I opened that email after noticing that I had had a reader from coinkadinkily the same city/state as our above emailer (as I come to find out), who logged 53.25 hours between the day before Christmas Eve and the several days after Christmas.  Which I only noticed as it struck me odd that someone would be soooooo entertained by the random/wacky's that life brings me have spent so much family/friends/holiday time wasting it here, but who am I in charge of?  That's right, me.

So yes.  I had the unmitigated gal to open an email.  That's my official part in the tornado of crazy.

Much like a tornado hop's and scotches around randomly and frenetically, I also received several more emails to my Facebook.  Now am I friends with this person?  No.  We have no connection.  We have never uttered as much as a word to one another.  Not even the day I saw her at the courthouse. 

I, obviously wrote off the first email (and the subsequent 4) and the Friends Request as perhaps some fleeting lapse of judgement. 

(Please note:  Busy holidays, busy livin' my damn life and not being
Facebook obsessed and stalking strangers is not, I repeat, NOT an agreement. 
Oh, and the fact that these weren't even found for days 
because we're not friends and have zero connection and they didn't
arrive in my regular inbox, also, does not constitute an agreement.)

Like any child throwing a tantrum sometimes it's just best to let them wear themselves out and go to sleep. 

Unfortunately, this time, no, that doesn't seem to be the case. 

(Recieved yesterday)

Until now I have chosen to remain silent about these ta-doin's.  Because while my Godkids know nothing about the existence of the BBGWorld, someday they probably (?) will, and I try to always be cognizant of the lessons they are learning from how I live my life, even if that won't happen for years. 

I've also not replied because I'm reality based and reason-based, and it seems rifuckin'diculous to me, to get involved in some sort of tit-for-tat when the last mention of the subject was more than a year ago, making it a non-story in my book.  Tryin' to stir some shit with people you know nuthin' about and have no legitimate reason to be screwin' with for absolutely no valid reason, strikes me as the actions of an immature high schooler.  ...But I think we can all agree that that ship has sailed at the hand of the sender of these communications. 

So let me say this once and clearly, and for the official record~

I don't know what you think is going on here.  You Facebook stalked me (we don't even have friends in common, so that took some work) and made a friends request, emailed multiple times and for extra measure invoked some misguided threat.  You spent 50+ hours in my World.  We have never spoken.  This isn't a thing.  There is nothing between us.  The mess you're trying to instigate is meaningless in the sense that other than you trying to stir some shit, there is nothing to be stirred.  Your trying so hard to make it so, is thirteen.  Wait.  I actually know some 13 year old girls and they're not even that obtuse.  Chronologically you are supposed to be a grown up. You've had every opportunity to leave well enough alone. (<-- like most reasonable, rational adults would find their way to do.)   

And yet, instead, you've made 6 further attempts to stir some shit over stuff that isn't even happening.  Which BTW looks nuthin' but crazy.  While I seriously doubt your capacity for critical thinking, and doubt your receptivity for what really is sound advice, you should talk to someone mature in your life because, really, it's time to strongly consider what's actually going on here.  I mean, 50 hours and 6 emails by anyone other than the Unabomber is a whole lotta dedication, commitment and time invested on someone who you don't know, and has never said literally 'boo' to you.  I barely have time to do and care for and keep up with people who I love and care about and those who care and love me.  So I obviously don't  comprehend giving that type of time, effort and power to someone or something that is truly a non-factor in my life.  But that's just me.  The only person I'm tenuously in charge of. 

Ideally it would be delightful if you'd use this opportunity to break contact entirely.  It's the non-kooky mature thing to do.   Bottom line?  Other than sketchy scenarios by your hand, like, um, exactly this situation, I don't have any real desire/reason to ever mention, think or wonder about your (or your husbands) existence at all, or as I like to call it, exactly like until two weeks ago.  This blog, as the title blurb details, is "Where my life converges with the interweb. Follow the wild, mild and wacky adventures of a Big Brown Girl as I navigate life."  *This* is part of where I do my living with my friends and strangers who like it here.  If you don't want to be part of it, simply stop inserting yourself into my life (and blog).  Easy peasy.  And entirely your choice.  I've started a new label, "What's She Doin'?" to house this matter.  Ideally, I'd like this to be it's only entry. 

I already feel bad in my soul that I've given 45 minutes to this post that I'm never getting back, three quarters of an hour over actual no-reason-for-bullshit.  Which is exactly how I know it's time to wrap this up and return to well, anything else more worthy of my attention.  Whooooooooo's up for Tiddlywinks?

...Now, for the rest of you who are in fact contemplating how you can offer up a unicorn sacrifice, or provide me with the winning numbers to an upcoming lottery drawing, or strangers randomly stopping by for the first time (certainly thinking, what the fuck is goin' on here?); My somewhat sincere apologies for being exposed to this level of sheer, uncalled for nonsense you now have to know exists in the world. 

This, I suppose is the good/bad/ugly part of me living out loud, and you being a reader/witness to BBG history in the making. You never know what is going to be going on in my world on any given day.  And this was today.  Ideally, we'll be able to continue with just my regular, standard issue BBG brand of crazy from here on out.  Which not to ruin the surprise involves me and a cat.  A crazy ass cat.... 

Until then:

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