Friday, March 29, 2013

~Good Friday?

It's well after midnight on Good Friday.  Instead of sawing logs and communing with the Sandman I find myself Googling to try to discover why we call it 'Good' Friday.

I mean honestly, whether you're a believer or not, if we're going by the story of the Bible, it really seems more like, Super Shitty Friday.  

Because I usually assume others think the same things but have good enough judgement and self control to resist saying it out loud and so you don't have to be the jackass later today pondering in front of someone who will for sure think you're a dumbass for askin' as public service here is what seems to be a prevailing surmising; 

"because Christ, by His Death, "showed His great love for man, and purchased for him every blessing." Good, in this sense, means "holy," [Ref. Source: click

Because even a dumbass knows when I've spent too damn much time Googling--  Fine.  I'd accept that.  I certainly don't know any different, or have a better explanation.  But that still doesn't answer the other end of the until-now-unsaid-question, which is;  Ok.  Then why stop at good? Why not Great Friday?  Or per the article (above)-- why not Holiest of Holy Friday?   Good just seems so wishy-washy. So non-committal. 

In other the logistics of Good Friday-ing perplex me news--  What is the protocol for saying Happy?  Other than Memorial Day, there aren't really any other holidays where adding a happy isn't automatically appropriate.  Granted, most other holidays have far less crucify-y central point, but, really, what is the alternative? ..."With the appropriate reverence, given circumstances, I'm wishing you a healthy, trauma free, productive, successful day"?  Even for someone with the propensity to be as long winded as I am that seems awkward, no?

So that I can salvage any hope of getting a decent nights sleep, I've decided to let that one go for now.  If you have any suggestions for alternate Good Friday greetings, please leave a comment.

In the meantime--

(aka: Happy Easter!)


Wednesday, March 20, 2013

~Shall We Pop Pills?

I admit it. I'm, as the revered Sir Chas. Barkley would say, a turrrrrible patient. A) I don't like to take medicines. If I am forced to I will-- so don't blame me for super bugs, I finish any antibiotics. But subjective meds? Oh, hell no. I'll go days with a headache before I acquiesce and take a single aspirin. In my head, I realize it's not true, but somehow it feels weak to have to give into some force tryin' to get the best of me. 
The last time I had surgery they sent me home with a prescription for 100 Oxycontin. Apparently, the medical professional who regularly preforms such surgeries, has many years of medical education and training, as well as experience with what to expect with recovery from said surgery, deemed that 100 pills were appropriate. 
I, on the other hand, with my vast medical experience gleaned from a lifetime of watching Emergency!, ER and a my Police Officer-turned-RN mother, decided that I should really only need to take them for 3 days after I returned home.  I couldn't see any reason why after a solid 72 hours, one shouldn't be able just to 'gut it up'.  I am a bit of a hard ass when it comes to certain random rules I completely make up for myself and only hold myself to.

I'd rather wash my eyes out with tap water than take an allergy pill.  When a cold invades me I take a hot chocolate, a nap and a hot shower, but not a pill.  Being dependant on a pill seems like a personal affront to my ability to beat whatever the pill is in charge of managing. 
...With that said, I gotta tell ya.  I'm totally fuckin' considering asking my doc for a Rx for this -IQ stuff:

(If you have trouble seeing vid click here)

As always, please do NOT substitute any information, or recommendations conveyed via the Big Brown Girl World blog in lieu of your own good judgement, or that of your medical professional.  I am not a doctor, nor have I played one on TV.  In fact, I am a walkin' cautionary tale, at best.  You have been warned. 


Sunday, March 17, 2013

~St. Patrick's Day Guide of Do's, Don't's & Must's

For the complete list:  Time For Tartan

Haaaaappy St. Patrick's Day!!


Tuesday, March 12, 2013

~Not Sure If I Want To Date You? Really? You're Not??

In a sick and twisted kind of way a bad date is almost as exhilarating as a stellar one.  Both provide a rush of feelings, and have the makings of a story that is share-worthy, albeit for vastly different reasons.

Today's tale is of a date of the bad variety.  Honestly?  The really bad variety.  And I once had a date literally walk out on me during a lunch date.  (It was a second date.  He was peeved that I'd selected a 2nd lunch date and not delved into evening dining with him.  I thought I was giving a chance to a guy who'd seemed nice enough, who hadn't made the optimal impression on me in the first date a do-over, and that he should be grateful that I was granting him the opportunity.  [cocky much?]  He hadn't been a dick on the 1st date, just somewhat awkward, as some folks are around people they're just getting to know.  By the time Lunchgate II Electric Boogaloo became a real, 'two lunches?  That's not moving a relationship forward' (??) thing for him, I was starting to sense that my magnanimous acceptance for a 2nd date at all, was a big fuckin' mistake.  A faux pas that became pretty crystal clear by the time our meals arrived.  By then he had turned into a dick.  But you don't have to take my word for it.  When the server brought the bill--  a bill that made me feel like $8, $10, whatever his lunch cost, was a small price to pay to know that I'd never have to spend another minute with him.  --It turned out he also thought this guy was an ass based on their interaction, that he took his meal off before he presented the bill and made some now forgotten good riddance type comment.)

...Sooo, when I say I know a lil' sumthin'-sumthin' about a bad date, I'm not just talkin' smack.

Now, the newest addition to my list of shitty dates [occupancy 2] this guy.  This guy is some guy I'd exchanged a few emails/calls with last year before I started seeing A#1Guy.  When I came back on the market, he touched base and I agreed to check him out.  Fast forward to the other day.  ...So, he's exploring moving here and doesn't know his way around, therefore I'm the planner.  No problemo.  I used to be a concierge for a downtown hotel.  I know all kinds of places 'round these parts.  I ask if he's thinkin' drinks or dinner?  He says dinner.  Fine.  Dinner is usually more of a 1st date time commitment than I'm willing to make.  (I am an uber slow eater.  Like, World Record Guinness book s-l-o-w). Buuuuuutttt, he has; A) waited more than a year and 2) has traveled from a different state to check out housing/job market/etc. and moi.  So dinner it is.  I inquire if he has a taste for anything specific, he says Italian.  ...Then he says-- and this should have been my official red flag that things were not going to go well--  "Olive Garden or Red Lobster, anywhere's fine."

Come on.  Really?  O.G. Olive Garden?  Listen.  I've had some wonderful eatin'-too-many-bread-sticks-dipped-in-alfrado-sauce/it-was-convenient-for-us-all-Olive-Garden meals.  But never would I find myself in any other city and chose the chain restaurant I can have a block away at home.  When traveling, I say ALWAYS suss out some local place.  So right then and there I knew this wasn't gonna go well. 

I pick a (local) place.  I pick him up because I'd never be at the mercy of some strangers whims of my transportation.  (Copkid rule #14)  Dinner was fine.  As I mentioned to a friend, "at no point did I have to resist the urge to lunge across the table at him with my fork," but I had already decided that there would be no second date.  Now as I mentioned earlier I am a irritatingly notoriously slow eater.  Things weren't going the way of the Titanic yet, but I was in not interested in prolonging our dinner cruise any longer than necessary either, so even though I was a scant 1/3'd of my way through my meal, when the waiter cleared his empty plate and offered me a box, I jumped at it.  Because he was such a quick eater, I felt like I looked like a bad date if I dropped him off within the hour.  Plus when the check arrived I asked if I could pitch in I'm not a havin' a guy have to pay for dinner when I *know* I'm not diggin' him type of girl.  He said no.  I asked again.  He said no again and I said thank you.  ...And then he said, "you can get the tip if you want to."  Really, hoss?  Really?  The tab was like $37, seriously, what's the big deal about getting the tip too at that point?  If you're going to be a gentleman don't puss out on the last $10-15??  Unfortunately for me I only had a $1 and a fifty, in terms of cold hard currency.  In the name of tryin' to be a decent person I suggested I pick up a drink on the way back to drop him off to make up for the tip he was now on the hook for.  Why the fuck didn't I just ask the waiter to break the $50?!? 

We arrived at some lil' spot directly on the way to return him, we each ordered.  Again, things were fine at first.  Actually until I was about 1/2 through my beer, which is when things started to go adrift.  And by 'adrift', I mean, batshit crazy. 

Now kids, I do more stuff than I think people notice, super deliberately.  It was not happenstance that we found ourselves sitting at the bar (as opposed to a table/booth) so that I could face the bar directly (straight on) and not give him the impression that I was into him by body language tells (like turning legs/body towards someone indicating interest).  So we're chatting and my head is ever so slightly turning his direction from time to appropriate time.  Regular minutiae.  Then he asks me if I want kids.  I donno about you, but that's not my idea of first date chatter, but whateves...  Then he asks me about my beliefs on abortion.  ABORTION.  For those of you who don't know me, I'm not one to start stirrin' the pot by bringing the subject up with folks unsolicited or not in context to what's already being discussed, but I'm also not one to shy away from answering most direct questions with a direct answer.  So I answer.  (blah, blah, fuckidy blah, if you really wanna know my stance click here [Open Letter to JS]) 


Suffice it to say, his views and mine did not sync up.  While I'm only 1/2 through my first beer, he's already ordered a second round (which beer #2 is now sitting in front of me) so now I'm starting to do the math. 

   He is horrible
+ I am Catholic, therefore do not believe in wasting alcohol
= I've gotta start fuckin' chuggin'

(Actual post-date status update:  "I'm having trouble remembering the last time I was so happy to be home from a date. As I started my second beer, I wondered the appropriateness of shotgunnin' it so that I could wrap it up sooner. ...And how I could shotgun a bottle.")

Mercifully, he wandered off in search of the men's room, which is when I qualified for the 2013 Worldwide Beer Chug finals.  When he returned I was mere nanoseconds from having completed my remaining 1 1/2 beers he sat down and completely turned towards me, which is when I discovered he had very bad breath.  Before the words, "well, looks like it's that time..." could form in my mouth, he asked me if I am, the quote PMS-y sort of girl unfuckingquote. 

I thought answering his PMS question by looking him in the eye for a silent moment and asking him, "did you just ask me if I'm the PMS-ys sort?"  (Him:  Yes.  [slightly less maniacal chuckle than what it sounds like in my head now]  Me:  [up nod]  Alright.  [followed by silence and the Official BBG Reeeally? look]) would signify that this had come to a conclusion.  A poor one.  Right?

Answer:  Wrong. 

Nope.  After a pretty quite, and thankfully, quick ride to drop him off as he was exiting the BBGmobile he offered up that he'd be available for a second date the following week.  I said that I had a lot of things going on requiring my attention and that that might not be a possibility. Question:  Is there any plane of reality where that reply isn't understood to be nice-speak for, 'fuck no'?  Apparently it wasn't translated by my date because he then asked if he could have a kiss.  Now honestly, I just want this whole experience to be finished before I flip the fuck out become his story of this crazy ass bitch date who once cussed him the fuck out, ya know?  I'm trying so hard to be a decent person and a keepin' it classy kinda broad.  After an awkward pause as I allowed my inner voice to reason out the best/easiest/quickest plan I offered my cheek.  Again, no one could possibly construe that as, 'eh, things didn't go great, but she could still be interested', right?

Answer:  Wrong.

How do I know?  Well, BigBrownGirlWorld hostage resident/visitor, bright and early the next AM I received a text from Mr. Horrible Date:  "Nice to meet you.  Not sure if you want to date."

Huh?  I did everything but chew my own fuckin' arm off to flee your presence and you think there might be a possibility that I do want to see you again? 

I resisted my immediate urge to respond with, 'Really?' by realizing that would likely open up a can of back and forth worms that frankly I didn't want any part of.  He had already stolen 90 minutes I'm never getting back.  Plus, contrary to popular belief, I sincerely do try to not be a bitch.  So I exercised the option of coolin' my fuckin' jets before replying.  (Gold star, me!)  A plan that was quite successful.  ...For the first couple of hours.  Then I spied a call coming in from him, that I ignored.  Once again I attempt to high road it--  actually I gave him credit by thinking to myself, he's probably butt dialed.  Moving on.  Serenity now, etc.  About an hour later I received a second call from him.  Nope.  That doesn't seem desperate/crazy at all. 

For Clarification:  I swear to you, it's far more about me trying to keep control of myself and my words/actions than me ignoring or torturing this guy.  I know me.  I am nice.  I want to be nice.  And I know that when I'm not nice, it's not, 'oh, that's not very nice'  --it's 'oh, now that fuckin' chick knows how to be a bitch!'  I know there's not much gradual progression from, I might have to kick that guy in the balls to ...and I will have a good Shiraz with 'em once I've cut them [balls] off and eat them, with me.   

...So I do try to keep myself in check about gettin' testy (pun not intended, but tee-hee-able nonetheless) as best, and when I can.

I willfully choose to ignore this call too in lieu of addressing it the next day, hopefully in a less gettin' ready to hurt your fuckin' feelin's calmer state.

Before I could reach such a peace-y place, I received yet another text.  Knowing that I had to, before texting back  Nice to meet you too.  Quick question.  What brand of tampon do you use, Mary?  Just curious. ~BBG  P.S.  Fuck off. something inappropriate, come up with a string of words that would not incite a back 'n forth, or that could be misunderstood for some other meaning, without being bitchy.  I considered what I would want to hear if the not interested shoe was on the other foot.  And considered that there was no possible way I could retain even a shred of self respect if I thought I'd reached out more than once to some guy I fuckin' met once, and they hadn't gotten back with me and I didn't pick up the hint.

I came up with [text]:  I apologize for the delay in reply.  No we will not be dating.  I wish you the best of luck with your search.

I thought this all went without sayin' I was being nice.  Kind in the, I don't want you to waste one more second of your time wondering if I'm interested.  And kind in the, this is a done deal, the door is closed/I'm not giving you any stringin' along types of phrasing. 

Given what had actually gone down, could this really be surprising info to this guy??  

Apparently, yes.

His reply?


Wow??  ...Didja honestly think that went well?

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