Sunday, September 21, 2014

~ The Stink Bug Saga

This time last year Nana was here for a visit.  The air was crisp, skies were a crystal blue persuasion (is there any possibility I have watched too much Breaking Bad?) and stink bugs were everywhere.  Now if you don't even know what a stink bug is and what I've described sounds bad?  You've got a pretty good grasp of the situation.  And find yourself in similar shoes to my 85 year old grandmother.  Frankly, those are likely to be Dansko or Chuck Taylor's so all in all?  That's not terrible.  But I digress.

Nana who resides a whole whoppin' 60 minutes away claimed to be completely unfamiliar with stink bugs. 

FYE (For Your Edification*): The Stink Bug Edition--

  • They look like what would be the offspring if a armadillo and fly had a baby, which is to say, ugly as fuck.
  • As their moniker implies said ugly ass bugs are stinky if squished. 
  • Stink bugs, nay, flyadillos appear late summer/early fall and spend every moment attempting to gain entry into your home.  Until?  Christmas.  Depending on when it falls maybe Hanukkah.  Ok.  I don't know for sure but they're still around after the first frosts of the season, which is bullshit.
  • They are awful.  And possibly a sign of the apocalypse.
  • If you don't know them, congratulations!  They are an uber invasive scurge and due to their utter craftiness they are all but impossible to keep at bay.  The armored flyin' bug has no known natural enemies to slow its geographical and/or numerical expansion and as of yet there's no keep stink bugs outta my crib ap for that.

Stink bugs are such a nuisance that they're trying to conduct a Stink Bug Census.  Obviously I realize a Stink Bug Census sounds like sumthin' fantastical I have concocted for our entertainment.  It is not.  It.  Is.  Real.  (

(* I typed FYI.  Then I wondered why it wasn't FYE in the first place?  Then I decided it was likely because FYE sounds super douchebaggery.  ...Which amused me, and was preeeeety much the nanosecond I decieded Imma try to work FYE into the mainstream vernacular by using it as often as possible.  hehehe.  [Please note:  This of course will never work.  Exhibit A: In 2011 I tried to bring LOLLy, twat and snatch to the masses   How'd that work out?  Have you used any of those in the past three years?  Yep.)

The arrival of (last) stink bug season conincided with Nana's visit.  The first day a recon stink bug appeared on the outside of the slider screen.  Then there were two.  Then there were 7.  And one made a breach entry.  Then there were 19 hangin' on the screen...  I mean, stink bug avoidance is a whole fuckin' thing, ya dig? 

All the while Nana contends that a few miles away they have zero stink bugs.  Which, of course, I find boggling, but Nana, obviously has no reason to lie to us about, ya know, a bug.

A few days later I returned Nana to her Nana nest.  As I opened my door and hopped out of my ride and I watched a stink bug who had hitched a ride in the door jamb fly away.   Needless to say this caused me to stop and double over in laughter.  Needless to say I'm kinda a horrible person.  Once I was able to construct a sentence I alerted Nana to what had just happened and stifled my giggles.  It sounded a lot like, 'oh, you don't have stink bugs?  ...Guess what?  You do now.  (cackle, cackle, cackle)'  Did I mention that I'm a horrible person...?

Yesterday a few hours after I had placed my daily Nana call my phone rang.  It was Nana. 

BBG:  Helloooooo
Nana:  Hello Miss. BBG (Nana, for reasons I do not know, calls me Miss BBG.)  Something just happened I thought you would want to know...
BBG:  (Silently waits, crossing fingers that, 'I just fell and broke my hip' isn't to follow)
Nana:  I was just in the kitchen, looked out the window and saw a stink bug hanging on the screen.
BBG:  (inexplicably and inappropriately exuberant laughter ensues)  You'rrrrrre welcome!

I feel both fulfilled, and fairly certain I'm goin' to hell.  Which now I'm guessing, is probably (?) filled with flyadillos.


Wednesday, September 17, 2014

~ My Latest Break Up. (Hint: He Was A Real Clown)

If I'm bein' honest one of my longest relationships has been with McDonald's.  We go waaaaaay back.  I remember the good times we had marking rites of passage like moving from the kids meal to a grown up burger.  I remember the day I got my drivers license winding up at the McDonald's on the main drag through town.   We saw each other through the natural changes and ups and downs a long term relationship brings, the McPizza, the hot side hot/cold side cold era, the Jimmy Hoffa-ing of the Hamburgler, Mayor McCheese and the Fry Guys.  ...I mean, they're dead, right?  I assumed it was a part of a bloody power grab staged by Ronald, no? 

And until recently I had never considered this thing we have (somebody watched Goodfellas last night...) in relationship-y terms.  In my mind it's always been a transactional/here's some money, fries me please experience.  But that was before LeBron James returned to the Cavilers this summer.  It was a big deal most places.  It was a big fucking deal here in Ohio.  In the midst of all of the hub 'n bub, which I didn't engage in, primarily 'cause I legitimately didn't give a fuck about any aspect of the will he/won't he?/should he/shouldn't he saga a friend made comment that the situation struck him as;  

"Taking back the ----- who dumped you for someone else and then came crawling back after she realized how good she had it is nothing an entity with any self respect should be proud of. Cavs fans should seek counseling for that low self esteem issue."  ~ Brad Gray

...At the time I was conflicted between that's a little much and but, ya know he's right.  Which lasted all of 6.8 seconds before something shiny caught my eye or someone made a furtive movement and I started thinkin' about cotton candy.

That is until a several weeks ago... 

I had eaten something, although not enough to qualify as dinner (and I gotta be honest with ya, dinner is a super sketchy thing 'round BBG HQ and is routinely the meal of the day) and found myself in the drive thru at McDonald's attempting to augment the 3 pieces of bacon I'd had earlier in the eve with some fries.  ...Now McDonald's and I had been on the rocks for a while, if I'm bein' truth-y.  I don't want to assign blame, but there was a lot of lack of attention on McD's part.  Ronald stopped caring about the things I wanted, like a burger with just ketchup and cheese.  Looking back, with every diced onion and squirt of mustard I should have sensed that he had stopped giving a shit about my wants and desires.   I should have paid attention when he stopped making the effort to keep up his end of the bargain, like when he promised he'd always have a milkshake waiting for me when I wanted one.  And taking away my beloved McDonaldland cookies also should have tipped me off for his true regard for me.  The first few times I believed his excuses and trusted that he'd plan better/follow through next time.  He didn't.  I let it slide.  Hell, I came back for more.  ...Because, ya know, he'll change this is probably the time he'll treat me right.  As I foraged for fries (aka:  went to McDonald's) that night none of this had ever crossed my mind.

As I pulled to the speaker he said, 'heeeeeey, baby.  I'll be right with you'.  Cool.  Then several minutes later another car pulls up in the other order lane and Ronald proceeds to take their order first.  When Ronald returns his attention to me all I get is a terse, "I'll be with you in a minute."  (It had already been several minutes and he'd already swept me to the side to attend to another.) So now Ronald and I are having minor words.  My testiness intensifies as I wait for what seems like an eternity. 

By the time I reach the pay window Ronald and I have this conversation;

Ronald:  Medium fry and a medium iced tea no ice?  X dollars.
BBG:  Yes, but it's a High-C. (Which somewhat surprises me because the order screen read correctly, but whatevs.)
Ronald:  (kinda surly)  medium fry and a iced tea?
BBG:  (thinking specificity in my communication is the key here)  Orange High-C.
Ronald:  (strongly surly)  I'm sayin' High-C.  (Which is when I notice Ronald is missing several of the teeth necessary for accurate enunciation.  And when I also start thinkin', really Ronald?  You wanna try to put this blame on me?  What's more likely in this scenario?  You are hard to understand?  Or I'm just a dumbass who has trouble ordering because this is probably the first time I've ever seen these golden arches I've been hearin' about?) 

...So yeah.  I'm approaching the threshold of drama trauma I'm willing to allot to a fast food joint.  I mean, I was zero percent pissed off when I left BBG HQ.  And now if I had a brick I could pretty easily hit someone in the head.  Additionally, you know those time lapse videos of a dandelion sprouting up and blooming, and dying, and blowing the hell away?   Well that's playin' through my mind.  I check the clock to see if I'm being unreasonable.  (BBG Mid-Post Confession:  I spend, probably, an inordinate amount of time and energy trying to accurately assess if I am being unreasonable or not.  So the next time I say or do something unreasonable, kindly stop to imagine the bevvy of things I've already self censored myself over.  You're welcome.)  But my clock tells me I'm not.  It says I've been super fucking patient for sitting in a damn drive through line for 8 minutes and I haven't even reached the get 'yo food window. 

Of course when I reach the food-y disbursement window I am mocked with a big ass window sticker alerting me to the :30 second service guarantee during, of fucking course, hours other than when I'm actually there.

Ronald can only be bothered with caring about
my time when it's convenient for him.  Noted.
After 12 full minutes Ronald did me the solid of giving me my bag o' fries that had been sitting looking at me through a closed and unattended to window since I had pulled up.  And my drink.  My drink that had ice, which by this point I assumed if I mentioned would result in my incarceration .  And this:

Salt, lemme introduce you to wound.  Wound, Salt.  Salt, Wound.

It literally made me chuckle as I glanced at it driving away.

It was in that flash that my friends words popped in my head and I thought I wouldn't let a man treat me shitty for 5 minutes.  Why am I putting up with less than 'enough' outta this mother fuckin' clown?  And I knew we had to break up.  Yada-yada.  Straw.  Camel.  Back.

It's only been a few weeks.  Like with all break ups I like to concentrate on remembering all of the bad stuff.   Until I reach the point of no longer giving a shit, then I can remember good things.  And embracing the, they're dead to me philosophy I have cultivated over they years to great success.  Look.  I'm a realist.  Sometimes a girl needs an itch scratched.  I can't with any certainty vow that I'll never have a moment where mama just needs a bacon egg cheese biscuit.  But to quote the sage Taylor Swift, we are never getting back together.  Ever.  Fuck off, Ronald.  I hope you'll be happy without me the rest of your red fro'd/enormous shoe'd days. 

Update:  Six weeks Ronald McDonald free.  I hardly think about him at all.  When I do it's only to feel sorry for him. 

Update II:   @ReutersBiz -  McDonald's same-restaurant sales fall more than expected                              #Schadenfreude

 (My ride 'n die homie since 1984)

I'll always have mad love for Grimace.

Related Link:  Buzzfeed 15 Ways You Justify Eating Fast Food


Monday, September 15, 2014

~ We Say We're Anti-Bullying (I Say We Have A Shitty Way Of Showing It)

I've always been an avid people watcher.  An amateur observer of what makes people tick.  This week, thanks to the NFL it's been an interesting week in my lil' personal game of Why People Do What They Do. 

By 'interesting' I mean, fucked up.

Early in the week I found myself mesmerized by the amount of defending a woman punch-er I watched go on, both online and in real life.  It's interesting (both interesting-interesting and fucked up-interesting) that for all of the talk we do of being anti-bully these days that so easily so many people choose to back a literal bully.   A 212 lb., who can bench press 405 lbs., professional athlete, bully.   

But that happened.

More perplexing than the number of guys who decided to be the, sometimes (always?) it's ok to punch a girl in the face, kinda guy, were the girls who decided to be the sometimes (always?) it's ok to punch a girl in the face, kinda girls. 

But that happened too.  And it looked like this:  Female Ravens Fans Defend Rice (Source: USA Today) 
“I’m supporting him all the way around.
I think he’s an awesome guy,
I think he’s an upstanding guy..." 
~ Some chick (USA Today article above)

Clearly, my criteria for the makin's of "an awesome/upstanding guy" does not include a guy with a propensity for battering women.  I can't help but wonder what makes people, but women in particular, in this instance, opt to back a guy when there is actual video proof of his fiancĂ© at the time violent crime?

And don't get me wrong, everyone gets to take any side they want to.  Freewill, baby.  I mean, Charles Manson has supporters and fans.  But honestly?  What type of character is necessary to be the kind of person to back a woman beater?  Or a certain amount of child abuse? 

Yeah, that happened too. (Adrian Peterson [injury to a child arrest])

Now, look.  I'm not the soft on discipline sort.  ...How soft on discipline do you suspect a household run by two Police Officers (one former Marine) growing up was?  I was spanked.  Hell, I'm old enough that you could be spanked in school with a big ass paddle without a parents permission.  There are plenty of schools of thought on spank/don't spank, but those aren't even relevant in this situation.  I mean, whether you agree with it (corporal punishment) or not, when broken skin and scars are involved?  I think we can all agree we've passed the line between discipline and abuse, no?  

While no one has actually uttered, 'Heeeeey, everybody, I support child abuse!', there have been a lot of overtures of;  "well, I had to pick a switch and I'm just fine" sentiments of support and justification for his actions.  ...And again.  My mind is left boggled that people, when faced with a choice of siding with party in a clear aggressor/victim circumstance choose to side with the bully of the scenario.  Especially when the aggressor is a NFL Pro Bowl-er and the other party is a 4 year old.

You keep using that word, I don't think it means what you think it means - You keep using those words 'anti-bullying', I don't think it means what you think it means.

Communally we contend that we are staunchly anti-bullying.  clicks 'like' on the local anti-bullying Facebook initiative That a bigger, stronger, older, more advantaged shouldn't abuse (physically, emotionally, verbally) the smaller, weaker, younger, less advantaged.  That we'd never stand for that and wouldn't condone it.  pins on whatever color the anti-bullying ribbon is   For many, apparently, this means right until an opportunity presents itself to throw support to the bullied (domestic violence/child abuse affected) or to the bully (domestic violence/child abuse perpetrator), and the bully gets selected.   #HumanityFail

As much as I like to attempt to figure out why people do what they do I don't know what makes a person who stands up for bullies tick.  For that I am thankful.

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