~It's Indian Style. Period.

While having lunch with (code name) Jorge Estrada the other day, I learned something new.  Generally, I love learning something new, but learning this pissed me off.

Jorge Estrada, a former co-worker and his lovely wife, (code name) Lupe have three very cute wee one's, including the most recent addition to their 2 girls, a brand new boy about a month ago.  Between the horse riding and dance lessons and neighborhood kids Jorge has his finger on the pulse of the under 7 set.  As we ate our sandwiches, caught up and stiffled our laughter over this really weirdly built guy searching for a table (I still don't know how those wickedly disproportionate spindly legs held him upright), I don't even remember what the topic of conversation was, but I heard the most delightful sounding, unfamiliar string of words pop outta his mouth. 

(Jorge Estrada, BBG, Lupe Estrada - Summer '10)

Now a lot of people would take this as an opportunity to knowingly nod affirmatively, or give a "uh-hun" (aka:  "Yes, I know"), grunt.  I see it all the time.  Quite frequently those folks also tend to have really shitty poker faces, making it uber easy to read that they really are clueless.  I always think if they took the opportunity to find out what X is instead of pretending to know what X is so they look smart, they'd actually be smart.  ...But what am I in charge of?  Barely me and this 15 lb dog, ya know?... 

So as soon as the phrase "criss cross applesauce" hit the atmosphere I was immediately intrigued, and interrupted to inquire what the fuck criss cross applesauce means? 

Turns out we've become sooooo PC that kids today are being taught to sit criss cross applesauce style instead of the ol' school, "Indian style".

Now being sometimes a reasonable adult, I can understand why people would take offense to the Sarasota Scaplers football team.  (a completely BBG made up entity)  But sitting Indian style?!?  Come the fuck on.  Of all of the wonderful things Native American culture has shared with the masses, I say comfortable chair free seating is one of the greatest.  A contribution to be proud of, in my opinion. I can't even fathom how something negative or offensive could be extrapolated from the innocuous sitting Indian style.

A lot of the Indian stuff of the past has gone the way of the dodo bird in the interest of PCness.  Some for good reason, I suppose.  Although, I was never one to think that a college team called the "Braves" was intended to be some sort of slight or slur.  On the contrary, to me it seemed to be a title of honor and pride.  But again, the communal "they" haven't (as of yet, but I am waiting by my phone) asked me to be in charge of everything. Fine.  Anything.  (tear, sniffle, tear) 

But this criss cross applesauce, while fun to say is complete crap.  No matter what kids are sayin' or what Google says, it's INDIAN STYLE damn it. 

Always was, always will be. 

I'd love to stay and chat, but I'm going to go have a comfortable sit and yesssss this girl of partial Native American lineage will be doing it Indian style, proudly.  (Now, what's Blackfoot for SUCK IT?!?) 

~Reunion-ing v2.5

I feel my reunion officially began Friday night with the drunken dial of a classmate I've know since the 4th grade, checkin' to see where I was, as she felt I should have been at the hometown drinking establishment where she and a few other classmates found themselves randomly congregating.  It warmed my heart to get a little outta the blue 'your being thought of' sign.  (Isn't that so corny?  Alas, 'da World ain't a corny free zone ya'll, so suck it.) 

It got me thinkin' about the fun I knew I was in for the following night. 

I know there are lots of people who feel very much like, 'I didn't like those people then, I'm not goin' to see them now', or I don't even know?  Maybe they feel like a reunion is another chance to be judged or sumthin'? 

"They" exist and if that's what ya feel that's totally valid and shit-- to each their own...but I do not get it.  At all. 

Of course any time you're not sitting in a room alone somebody's judging you.  I know who I fuckin' am so what do I care about what someone else thinks?  A:  I do not.  (Ok, obviously, I care what people think about me, frankly it's one of the main reasons I haven't shanked anyone yet.  Er, I just mean, I guess I don't care what anyone thinks about my four wheels that get me to and fro, nor what anyone thinks about my thighs, or how many to the left of the decimal point my savings reaches.  That I couldn't give a shit about.  ...Heeeeeeere's BBG:  Like it, love it, hate it, ignore it-- those are the options, your pick and I'm pretty cool with whatever ya choose, ya know?)

Digress much? 

Anyhoo, if you are staying away from your reunion rethink it.  I can almost promise that unless you actually attended school with this chick:

Your classmates really want to see you and that you'll have a great time seeing them.  I'm not sayin' you'll leave and want to institute an every 5 day contact schedule or anything, but I can say you'll have a good enough time that you'll wanna see them again in 5 years. 

Per Nike:  Just Do It.

(Per BBG:  Just Fuckin' Do It!!)

Here are some of the things that may happen if'n you do:

~You may find a new/old friend.  I've had this friend request for fuckin'ever but I could not place that face and the name was hazily sketchy to me too.  (In fairness, in my minds eye he's still 11, so this grown up FB pic meant nuthin'.)  Some of you may know my litmus test for Facebook friending is:  1) Friend people who are actual, real, honest to God friends.  B) Friend people you like and who you have or would share a beer with.  Nobody else gets in.  Therefore, this cat didn't make the cut.  While reunioning I introduce myself to some guy with fanfuckingtastic pants, who was there with a classmate, he tells me his name is Xxxx XxXxxxxxx (code name: Burberry) and it is this same FB request person I've ignored for the past year and a half.  Turns out he, along with his twin brother and I went to Our Lady of Bad Catholic Kids together!  Plus, we were having a PBR so friend request accepted.  Welcome Burberry!

~You may find yourself making the boy (codename: Fuck Truck, which FYI and I don't know why I feel the need to make this full disclosure I have no direct knowledge of.  He drove this cool ass rockin' mystery van back in the day.  It was just always referred to as the fuck truck.) you asked to Sadie Hawkins, who rejected you and broke your lil' teenage BBG heart (well...as much as your 15 year old heart can be broken...) cry.  Ok, technically I didn't make any water pop outta his peepers, but apparently I gave him such a hard time that later he felt compelled to make things right when he grabbed me and pulled me in for a 25+ years later smoooooooove 80's couples dance.  Yeah, baby, ya know the one.  Arms around his shoulders/arms around her waist combined with the slow circular shuffle. I laughed so hard.  And then spent some introspective time considering what the unyielding need and internal delight of making others feel uncomfortable says about me.  Conclusion:  Ima ass. In further make right-yness, Fuck Truck bought me a beer, so I guess now we're even.  (Note to Fuck Truck:  I do still have a story about a broken towel rack.  That ought to rate a hug and beer at the next reunion, right?)

~You may do the splits.

~You may feel some new boobs.  ...I thought to myself, 'I didn't remember (codename:  9-to-5) being so chesty'.  That lil' gem of internal dialogue was followed with, 'well, it's not like I spend a lot of time checkin' out other girls racks, I've got my own' and quickly continued on with my general tomfoolery and shenanigans.  Later someone unsolicited mentioned they were new.  Due to my chronic assyness and acute lack of appropriateness, my response to that news was, "I taught her how to use a tampon.  I'm gonna touch those tits."  Needless to say and embarrassing to admit poor 9-to-5 (who for obvious reasons will now be referred to as Dolly) found herself allowing a BBG to get to second base during a subsequent conversation.   Dolly asked how they were?  Honestly, I don't know.  I don't have a lot of experience with boobs, other than deez boobs.  (somewhere in mid-America a big brown girl cups her ta-tas and giggles by the glow of her computer)

~You may find that your classmates bring some fun ass spouses to the mix.  Several made me think, 'if I lived here I'd totally be friends with him/her too'.  Which is really nice to be able to say about strangers.

~You may learn that several of your classmates hold positions of importance in city government, education and other fields, which will make you think there is sumthin' seriously wrong with the world that lets someone who you've seen beer bong be in charge of anything.

~You may have self discovery.  You may find out that you're a hugger.  I always say I'm not a hugger.  Apparently this makes my pants on fire.  I hugged everybody.  Literally.  Wait.  I shook one hand.  All others were hugged whether they liked it or not.  Serious biz, how wrong must that one hand shaker rub me?  I also was reminded of how much of a flitter I am.  I took my seat for dinner.  Every moment before and after involved me flittin' here and flittin' there.  I really enjoy a big buncha friends.  Too often I'm in smaller groups of friends thus ruling out flitting opportunities.

~You may notice that when you look around the room you see grown ass men standing with their arms draped around another talking and doubling over in laughter, how comfortable it is to be with people you have history with.  Even if it's been forever since you last saw them.  Observing how much has changed, and how out of touch we've all become (hectic lives, geographical distances, that we are old enough that FB wasn't around so you just lost contact with people, etc.) that the bond is still there, really caught me off guard for a moment and touched my heart.  Don't get me wrong, the girls were havin' a grand time too, but ya kinda expect girls to be a tad more demonstrative in their affections with one another.  Even now thinking of seeing the guys like that kinda makes my eyes well up.  Fuck off people.  Fuck off.

~You may be magically surprised by how real everyone is.

~You may make a drunken dial.  Perhaps to Joshua Tree.  Once I said "nice to meet you" to the wife of a classmate she told me that we'd met before, that she had gone to our HS (a couple of years behind us) at which point I asked her last name back in the day.  That's when shock and awe and drunkin' dialin' ensued.  When I met one of my besties, Somp a million years ago at my first radio job, she told me one of her friends from little girlhood had moved to my hometown and attended the same HS.  I recognized her name but couldn't put a face together.  Until Saturday it had always been a smallworldness between us, Somp and me.  I was sooooo pleased to add the final component to it when I officially met her childhood friend, EK.  Even though Somp was camping at Joshua Tree where I suspected cell reception was limited I felt EK and I had to give it a whril.  I knew hearing our voices together would be a surprising delight for Somp who as she later told me, knew EK married a guy from our hometown, but didn't know that he also had attended our HS/my class.  Small ass world! 

~You may have to compose an email containing the line, "you should know that you are incredibly lucky I didn't slip you the tongue when you asked me to smooch you. ;-p" 

~You may learn about people passing.  I was saddened to hear of the deaths of 4 of our classmates.  I had known about a couple but had not heard about the others.  Gone too soon. 

~You may find that you are standing between parents of toddlers and grandparents who years ago walked in the same graduation procession, which I think is a spectacularly wacky combo.  It just underscored how different our lives have become, yet how much we enjoyed one another as we chatted, reminisced and giggled our way through the evening sans awkwardness.

~You may find yourself singing karaoke badly.  In strict adherence to my main rule of karaoke (do it outta town).  I tortured my classmates twice.  Once on my own, once as part of a duet for the Clint Black and Wynonna classic, 'Bad Goodbye'.    

(Irish For Life, 2011)

~You may have sooooo many good n' funny stories that you have to limit yourself in your blog.  Seriously limit yourself.

~You may find yourself saying, "I've had a grrrrreat time" and "I'll see you in 5 years!!"  I did.

Special thanks to all of those who pitched in to organize and put together our reunion, and to those who traveled so far to go home to grab a beer with some folks they hung with a quarter of a century ago. 

A big ass I missed you to all who didn't attend. 

Lastly, a shout out to my folks who on cops/nurse salaries sacrificed to send me to a place where I met such good kids.

P.S. Thanks to those of you who mentioned that you keep up with 'da World.  It came as a complete surprise to me.  A surprise of the most delightful sort.

~Jostled

Yesterday I was out with Peaches.  We were supposed to be on a manhunt.  Unfortunately the only ones we saw were un-huntable for one reason or another.  Too old.  Too young.  Too wrong.  Too smelly, as Peaches had the sad misfortune of being able to report about one that sat next to her for a bit.   It was all quite something.  And by "something", in this case I mean disappointing. 

We were in an area of town that is somewhat unfamiliar to us, but was an equal distance from each of our places.  We didn't have a bad time, we just didn't have the good flirtin' time we expected.  Towards the end of the evening we were sitting at the bar, gabbin' away.  I was seated between Peaches and some guy and his friend.  Next thing I know some girl has wedged herself in the already limited space between this guy and me.  ...And she's bumpin' into me with each of her tipsy bobs and weaves. 

Now, if you don't know me, this sounds minorly irritating.  However, if you know me you know the very last thing I want is to be touched by a stranger.  An angel, sure, maybe.  But some random ass stranger?  Hellz to da no.  This is always gonna cause a problem.  I'm very particular about personal space.  I'm not one of those freaks who doesn't like to be touched at all.  Friends, family, people who I like and know are all fine.  Strangers?  No. 

I was once in the grocery line and this stranger lady was encroaching on, nay was trying to inhabit my BBG bubble.  I don't mean a little too close, I mean right the fuck up on me.  Every time I moved up she moved up.  And then I could take it no more and turned and said, "your idea of personal space is outta whack and I need you to take one big step backwards."  (FYI the look on the cashiers face was priceless.  Eyes as big as saucers.)  So this has always been an issue for me.

The gal last night is talking to this guy next to me and bumpin' into me every 2.3 seconds, so I say to her, "lemme move over" (yes, combined with the look) as I move my chair towards Peaches.  Now, I'm already gettin' ticked off and that was my hint to her to watch her drunkass self.  She said something about not knowing she was bumpin' me.  How?  Fuck if I know.  Perhaps booze paralyzes the nerves allowing you to know your touching someone?  Not being a neurologist or an alcoholic I can't say with any certitude.

Peaches went to play some music for the maaaaaybe 1/4 full joint (aka: it's not a packed/you can't help yourself type environment), and while she was gone this broad keeps bumping into me.  Now I'm strongly considering decking her, but am also trying to be a good person, so I turned to her and sez, "I don't have anywhere else to move" as I again am forced to give her the look, after she has bashed into me afuckingain.  Now she's alllllll kindz a testy.  "I'm just talking to this guy, I'm trying not to be all over him he's not my husband", (I'm still not sure what that really was supposed to mean?) "it's not like I'm trying to bump into you",  "geez, what do you want me to do?"...

(BTW nice attempt to make it seem like I'm being unreasonable or somehow the "problem" in this situation you and only you are creating.  No dice.  Parking lot???)

...Howz about stop jostling me?!?  How about you fuckin' wedge yourself between this guy and your hubby, instead of me?  How about you stand behind him to carry on, what I'm sure is some riveting conversation and he can turn to his side in his chair?  How about you stand the fuck still?  There are a lot of options available to you.  Also on the table?  You gettin' your ass beat by some BBG.

After that lil' exchange she took leave of my space and managed to stay away until we took leave of that joint. 

I've said it before. 

I'm sayin' it now.

(I'm pretty fuckin' sure I'll have to say it again.)

Boundaries people, BOUNDARIES!!


So just for the record, hold your arms out.  Fully stretched.  That's personal space.  YOU own that, unless you invite someone into it.  Got it?  Good.  No ass beatin' for you.  Resume your day.

Oh, before you go--  Happy Fathers Day to all Dads, especially mine!!

(BBG and Dad)

~Pool Day, Pool Day!!

Annual Lorna Doone Octoroon Pool Day was held yesterday.  I donno?  Maybe the past six, 7 years or so, my friend Lorna Doone Octoroon (or LDO for short), has invited me to her condo pool.  In all honesty, it's not like I'm only allowed there once per year.  Although that would be a prudent rule.  I probably have a standing, "any ol' time invite', but I know too much BBG is simply too much BBG and I wouldn't want to wear out my welcome, ya know?  Plus, once a year makes it a special occasion. 

(BBG gettin' my burn on)

One of the best things about pool day is that I know just what to expect.  It's the same thing year in, year out. 

• Too much mid-afternoon boozin'
• Too many girlie magazines (sorry penis people, I only meant Cosmo, More and People-ish variety.  Sorry to shatter the lil' scenario of girls scantily clothed laid back lookin' at porn.)
• Too long spent the pool, causing ridiculous amounts of "pruning"
• Too much sun, resulting in sunburns for everyone
• Too many laughs

Pool Day 2011 was no exception.  In addition to LDO et moi, the other annual inclusions are LDO's grown daughter, Captain Morgan (before confusion ensues; the rum-y pirate, not some BBG code name), LDO's crazy ass good corn on the cob and my dill potato salad, which if I do say so is fuckin' outstanding.  Other than that the guest list varies year to year.  This year was a boy heavy year, which resulted in, as LDO put it, "hair flippin' flirtin' from the pool".  I recall no such thing, but am hesitant to outright call LDO a liar, as I do want to be invited back for 2012.

(LDO possibly too tipsy to hold her head upright,

BBG and floating gator comin' after us)

I made a stunning self realization when I arrived for Pool Day.  I asked if I could help do anything as she readied the food cooler.  LDO asked if I would finish blowing up her float-y.  I immediately got all, "uh...really?!?"  In my mind all I could see was my sad ass, semi asthmatic (says the girl with 3 inhalers) who also enjoys 'my retirement plan' (aka: smokes) lungs huffin' and puffin' for the next 3 days to fill this fucking inflatable.  

Then she showed me the electric float-y filler.  Now that?  That I could do.  After I spent all of :45 seconds and the effort of pushing the go button and holding the doohickey in the stem, I had to quasi apologize for the in a split second attitude I copped, but rationalized it with a--  "ya know how some times you ask people to do a favor and you hope it's not too much, to big of a favor to ask?  And ya wonder, would they tell me if xyz was an inconvenience?" 

Well, apparently, you never, ever have to wonder that with me. 

If I commit to the favor, I'm completely down with doing it. 

But if I think it's gonna entail 72 hours of lightheadedness (Double score new word invention!!) and that cold, clammy feeling just before your peepers start to tunnel into darkness before you actually loose consciousness, too much, I'm gonna balk.  ...Might not be the "proper" way to conduct oneself, however at least ya always know where we stand.  I have zero problem sayin' no.  (It's one of my best and most productive traits, actually.)  And really now, isn't that a much better spin than, I'm a straight up ass? 

~Medals, Mack & Brass Monkey (Yes, That Funky Monkey). Oh, And Lesbianisim.

I had the best time visiting with my Godkids Saturday.  LB2'd brought both Godkid J, who had a karate tournament here, and Godkid Mini Me.  It was a sheer delight to get to hang with them, which I don't get a chance to do often enough.  They are growing up so fast.  Too fast for ol' Aunt BBG.  He's 13 and she's 11.  ...Seems like it was just yesterday I was putting them in pillowcases trying to steal them.  Despite having been subjected to the trauma of surviving an attempted kidnapping They are really, really good kids.  LB2'd is a really, really good mom, and I'm so glad they have (code name) H2B#3 as their dad figure. 

Godkid J earned two medals (or as LB2'd observed, he's "6 medals and a bong away from Michael Phleps").  It was his first tournament, I was so proud to see him compete so well.

(Congrats Godkid J!!)



Mini Me, code named because even though I literally saw her pop outta LB2'd, she, from pretty much go has demonstrated many, many BBG qualities (oh, and whatever the opposite of "qualities" is) to not be mine.  She is a mini me.  Not being lesbians, we have yet to figure out the logistics of it, but somehow that girl is mine. 

Because she is me she didn't even question when I said we were going to get our picture taken in front of the big ass, ol' school Mack truck we spied as we walked into the venue.

(Mini Me and a Mack)



It was a proud moment when I got to tell Mini Me about cab over engine trucks and BJ et the Bear.  (single tear slowly drops) 

(Random:  My favorite Mini Me quote;  "Everything is ok with Aunt BBG, even in war."    While I've never reeeeally been entirely sure what that meant, I've always taken it as very high regard.  Good to know I'm not fuckin' up being an Aunt too much!  Until them I'd had no Aunting experience, you know.)

And yes. 

Of course I had my photo taken with the truck. 

Did you really think I didn't? 

DO YOU NOT KNOW ME AT FUCKING ALLLLLLL?

(Note to self:  While you still look big, mainly because you are,

you look slightly less big in proximity to huge things. 

Strongly consider dating NBA and NFL sized guys,

touring tall circus freaks and Ron Jeremy.)

At some point (as it always does) things took a turn for the, "well.  Isn't that sumthin'".

LB2'd, Mini Me and moi had wondered to the concession stand.  On our way back to the competition area (...I know right about now you're envisioning some grand the Kid and Johnny Lawerence leg sweepin' event, but it was really a somewhat sketchy gym.  Nuthin' bad happened, but there were no mats.  I think there probably shoulda been mats, right?  And a Mr. Miyagi?), one of Godkid J's pals stopped us and said that J was "looking for his parents".   Which struck me as kinda odd.  But I didn't say anything.  

As we proceeded to the no mat/Miyagi free competition zone, we came upon the same kid's father, who also mentions that Godkid J is "looking for his parents", as he seems to be addressing both LB2'd and me.  Which, again, seems odd.  

I can only surmise that somewhere an hour west of here, some parents of some kid Godkid J knows is tellin' a story about meeting Godkid J's two moms.

LB2'd and I spoke later in the evening once she was home and we had quite a chuckle over the fact that both of us noticed, and picked up the vibe that that's what these folks seemed to believe about us as they were sayin' it, yet neither of us corrected them.  Laughed our asses off, in fact. 

I figured, what the fuck do I care if two strangers who live 50ish miles away think I'm battin' for the other team?  Answer:  Much like I feel about many people, and many things, I don't.  I felt like poppin' out with, "ohhhhh, we're straights" was just setting two people somewhat newish to our country up for feelin' assy.  Like mistaking a girl for preggers, when she's not.  Nobody wins.  Nobody.  (Except  when this has happened to me.  I have looked at people and said, "noooo I'm just fat".  Ta-dow!!  Frankly, grown ups ought to know better and in such a case I have no compunction for making them feel stoopid.  I win!)  However, I didn't think they deserved to feel stoopid, so I didn't correct them.  Plus, aren't we getting a little closer to evolved and enlightened when being thought gay isn't somehow the same as being thought of as being bad a good thing?  I guess maybe I felt like them not having to feel like asses was their reward for being accepting folks, even if they were wrong in their apparent assumption.  LB2'd and I decided that was our small part of the acceptance for all people fight.  We're probably not hittin' this years Pride, but at least we've done this.  (pats self on back)

After our shenanigans and medal winnings we grabbed a lil' grub before they all headed back to the vaguely Dayton area in hopes of seeing Godkid L on her way to her first prom (awwwwww...), we were standing around chattin' and Mini Me found her way to the front seat and in charge of the radio when she cranked up the tune they'd been listening to:

...Next thing ya know there's a BBG doin' the Brass Monkey dance in the parking lot.  Lookin' a fuckin'  fool.  And so it was; Saturday.  I hope in your own, less weird, less foolish lookin'  way yours was good too!

(BBG Fact:  I fully believe that seeing a cab over engine (COE), or as Izzz calls 'em, 'flat face' trucks, is a good omen.  Always.  Under any circumstances.  I don't know why.  I just love 'em.)

~Operation: HA F'n HA

Maybe the stellar, stealth-y works of our Navy SEAL Six team recently is rubbing off on me?  I donno. 

I do know that I'm engaged in some super elite Psychological Operations.  Yep.  That's what I'm involved in.   Psychological warfare!  And kidz, the BBG is gittin' crafty wit it.  A fact, I'm not particularly proud of, but it gives me a tee-hee, sooooo say it with me now;  SUCK IT!  

As a tactical mastermind, I know that by all rights he shouldn't hold any space in my head.  He still does, albeit far, far less frequently.  I'm trying to frame it as a testament to how much I have the capability of loving, that I can be so heartbroken. 

As opposed to many folks who aren't, for whatever reasons, able to love someone, anyone fully.  They never fully feel the pain when things don't "work out", but they also never really love or feel love fully either.  You've seen those folks.  There out there.  And I'm thankful that after 100 years of dating that I haven't turned into one of the walled off people.  My heart, while still a bit bruised, is still hopeful and open.  Perhaps, that's just my silver lining thinking to avoid bein' pissed off that he crosses my mind at all.  (Ain't rationalization grand?)

But serious biz, let's face it, a whole lotta girls would have handled things in a more (hummm) booyah kinda way, for loss of a better term.  Alas, I'm no car key-er, email hacker or brick throw-er through the window-er.  (Yes.  I do know people who've done exactly those things.  Guess what?  You do too.  I'm sure of it.) 

I am (usually) much more of a, 'the world will bring you your comeuppance', kinda girl.  I (usually) don't feel the need to do something to ya myself.   I'm (usually) pleased enough to just to cut you outta my life, end of story.  While I feel like I'm almost there, I also feel like right now a wee Ha Fuckin' Ha/Psy Ops mission is precisely what is needed for the good of my soul and psyche. 

(Wrong?  Maybe.  You be the judge.)

Ok, let's set the mood.

Yeah, this requires a mood...



So to bring you up to speed, since the breakup I was contacted by one of his ex's (code name: Peaches), who has actually known him since middle school.  A few emails were exchanged and the next thing you know we're sitting across a table from each other.  She's a lovely person and we had a very nice chat. 

While we were chatting we cooked up a lil' mini (fuck you redundancy!) mind fuck.  (Yes.  I did just use fuck twice in a sentence.  You're welcome.)

...And let's just say, somebody is gonna get a surprise when he sees this:

(Moi et Peaches - aka: the ex's)

Oh to be a bug on the wall when "somebody" logs on to FB and sees my posting of these two faces together simply containing the caption, "Yep."  (In her own independent shock and awe and for extra good measure, Peaches emailed the same picture to him.) 

I'd imagine seeing us together is going to be quite a WTF?!? moment for "somebody".  Two people who's paths had never crossed, and would never have crossed if "somebody" had conducted themselves in a better, less chicken shit manner, standing there photo gawkin' at ya.  Surfuckin'prise!!  

I gotta tell ya, I don't think I'd like to see two of my ex's together, gabbing.  Of course, as much as I wouldn't like the thought of it, I don't have anything that anyone could say that would be embarrassing to me, or that I would feel really shitty about.  (--A side benefit of being a decent person.)  I would guess two ex's knowing scads of less than stellar details would be more disconcerting than, if let's say, PotRoast and Mr. Man ended up sitting across a table.  I'm gonna guess that seeing this precious moment captured on a digital memory card will cause a jolt to the system.  ...And that, for right or wrong, totally and completely in my core makes me laugh.  Hard. 

(Reminder:  I never said I was a good person.  I've only ever contended that I'm a person who tries to be good as often as possible.  Clearly, today it wasn't possible.)

Before our meeting I had been feeling bad for myself (only from time to time).  Now I just feel bad for "somebody".  I have no shame to my game.  I'm not always right, but I'm strong, I'm kind, I'm true and I'm a girl of my honor, which is leaps and bounds beyond how "somebody" is capable of comporting themselves.  And that's sad.  That must be miserable to look in the mirror and see each day.   

In my nearly uncontrollable side splitting laughter subdued and appropriate level of glee I'm reminded of the ironic words "somebody" is fond of sharing; "Love is giving someone the power to break your heart, but trusting them not to"  (...Really?  Tell me fucking more.  I'd love for you to expound on that...)...

...And the eternal, sage words of one Nelson Muntz;



Update:  Apparently the pic has been spied.  I have been FB defriended.  (sniffle, sniffle, tear, sniffle)  ..With friends like that, blah, blah, fuckidy, blah, right?

I now feel weirdly giddy.  And strangely free.  

Mission Accomplished.

~A Day In Review: Saturday

Uncle John and I hung out with AnonD, her hubby R and their 3 chocolate labs Saturday.  It was a day of firsts, some gardening, some mockery and some old treasures revisited.  Here's what happened:

• I tried some pomegranate liquid.  It tasted like if a grape and a blueberry had a baby.

(Also test drove this purple nail polish.)

• I decided, once I saw this:

That their wackadoo neighbor was 100% probably dead in her home.  I couldn't fathom any other reason that a single lady's fence to her heavily wooded back yard would be open.    AnonD mocked and attributed to my Po-po parents that I immediately, so naturally decided that they now lived next door to a dead body solely based on an open fence.  I am very aware of my surroundings.

It turns out that their weirdo neighbor chick is still alive.  And still lookin' a hot mess.  I swear, I don't know why that lady insists on introducing herself to the world everyday lookin' that bad.  I've always suspected she owns several too many cats and doilies.  I donno.  I was relieved to see her pull out of her driveway later in the day, as was R, who by now I had convinced that house next door would soon be available.  (Sorry, R.)

• For the first time ever I planted bulbs.

I didn't hate it. But I'm probably never gonna plant any bulbs 'round these parts. Although, I can't wait to see what they become at AnonD's

• AnonD and I frightened a child.

Because my head is always on the swivel, I noticed some kid rounding the corner down yonder walking door to door.  (I'm on everything in my parameter, people.)  I showed the kid to AnonD as we were about to go inside, we decided to stay outside so that kid didn't have to have the livin' shit scared outta him when 250lbs of chocolate lab came to the door to say helloooooo.  All d oh double g's are really well behaved, but let's face it, lotza people are afraid of large dogs.  So because we're some fuckin' nice ass people instead, we stood in the yard chattin' as girls do.  This kid, maybe 14ish.  Goes to each and every house on our side of the street.  Knocks on the house next door, comes down the driveway 4' from where we stand...and starts to walk the fuck across the street.  Really.  Reeally?!? 

So if you know me, you know I'm not havin' that. 

I sez to the kid, "are you sellin' sumthin'?  Or..." as I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.   He tentatively comes back towards us and tells us he's going around with his dad who is painting addresses on the curbs for a donation, or whatever ya feel like paying.  As AnonD and R are already set up, she declined.  But the kid, once he decided we weren't going to lure him into the house with breadcrumbs and put him in the oven, he was very polite.  A trait not as common place as it should be with kids these days (...wait, whaaaaat?  Am I officially old enough to turn a "kids these days" phrase?  Fuck.  Damn you cold hard truth!)

I don't know about you, but I like to do what I can to promote good behavior out of kids.  I'm just tryin' to be a good villager, ya know?  So as he walked away I said loud enough that he could hear how polite he was.  I think it's good for kids to hear. 

After taking a wee break once we returned to the great outdoors I saw the dad walking/painting.  As he walked on the other side of the street I found myself wanting to say something to him.  But, because I'm o-l-d (remember the "kids these days" incident?), and couldn't reeeeeally see his face, I couldn't decide if I should "sir" him, or "dude" him  (Ok, so I never say duuuuuude.  Honestly, I'm more of a "hey mister" or "excuse me" type.  Anyhoo...), I somehow ended up giving him the 'come here' finger waggle.  Go bless the finger waggle.  Works every time.  He started across the street and I asked if he was that kid's father and he said he was and then I told him how mannerable he had been.  Again, just 'cause you're a grown up doesn't mean you don't deserve a little acknowledgement of your good work too, right?

• Uncle John supervised our work:

• I saw this beautiful butterfly:



• I was the operator of a wheelbarrow for the first time!  I really kinda liked it.

 

Honestly, until just a few years ago, I thought it was a wheelbarrel.  (so much for that great Catholic school education, huh?  They also didn't teach me what a foundry is.  On the other hand the sheriff still talks about how cute I was in my "Catholic schoolgirl uniform", so there's that.  --And yes, that does kinda creep me out to hear.)  I was shocked to discover it was a barrow.  None the less, there I am mastering it.  Whoo-hoo!  ...And being once again mocked that I have multiple sets of latex gloves in my car, "just in case".  AnonD asked, in case of what?  Fine.  Really I donno.  But if I ever roll up on some accident at least I won't be too afraid of contamination to do something, so suck it! all you people who'll have to let some stranger bleed out rather than get your hands covered in their bio hazmat juice.  (If I'd had a penis, apparently, I would have made a fanfuckin'tastic Boy Scout.  I am prepared for any glove necessary emergency.  Latex merit badge please.)

• I indulged in a lil' sumthin' sumthin' I hadn't had in forever.  I'm not sure how the subject came up but next thing I know we're talkin' about Shirley Temples and AnonD is saying words like, "we have everything needed". 

They were soooo good!  Yes, that's right, "they".  You don't really think I just had one do ya?  The count ended up being 4.  And I was seriously considering purchasing Grenadine and 7-Up/Sprite for my own personal home gorging usage.  Then I caught a glimpse of the back of the Grenadine label, which listed it's first ingredient as high fructose corn syrup.  Even a BBG knows I probably shouldn't invite another opportunity for added high fructose corn syrup consumption into my body, or home.  Yep.  Look at me wearin' my big girl panties.   See.  It's not alllll ridiculous-ness.  Sometimes there's a modicum of pragmatism.

Fine.  It is mostly ridiculousness.