~Reminder: I Am Old

My 25th H.S. reunion is comin' up.  For some inexplicable reason, we had a ten and 15 year reunion, but no 20?  I've never planned one so I'm not gonna bad mouth someone for not pulling all of the hours needed to put a reunion together.  First of all, that's gotta be like wrangling cats.  Trying to locate all those folks?  Getting RSVP's back?  Planning the logistics of the soiree?... Ugh.

A quarter of a century milestone sounds like something old people go to, and yet I received an invite... (Do they not know I was carded this weekend?)  It feels at odds with my actual life.  Most days I just barely feel like a grownup, let alone someone who could be attending a 25th anyfuckingthing.  Old enough to do anything I want to...but still young enough to want to do a lot of crazy ass shit.  I don't feel old... I don't feel eighteen, but I sure as shit don't feel what my drivers license tells me. 

I mentioned to one of my classmates (summer school companion and coinkadinkaly, college mate, DJP), that while most people seem to look at the time marking milestone of 25 years as a reminder of their youth, I conversely view it as a reminder that I am old.  

Honestly, I need a reminder to express my grownup'dness.  ...Pretty much always.  In fact, I'll go so far as to admit that every decision I make I've fought off a more childish option.

(That's right.  No matter how poor you think my decision making skills are, surprise:  I ruled out 8 other worse/less mature ways to have approached it!) 

Imagine the possibilities I shot down as being 'too ridiculous', before I honed in on a hot dog for breakfast this morning?  Were there grownup options like cereal, eggs, toast, etc. readily available?  Ummmmmm, yes.  They just weren't appealing options to my inner BBG kid.

I'm not rippin' and runnin' like I was when I was a kid, but I still know how to turn this muther out when necessary, or when at a minimum, 'questionably appropriate'.  While I was thinking about that, it dawned on me how much effort I put into fighting my natural inclinations and into actively attempting to behave as a grown up.  A lot of the trappings of adulthood are second nature to me, but other things?  Well, I only have a tenuous hold on.  Fine.  Sometimes no hold at all... 

I mean, what else could explain my decision to have the hot dog for breakfast this morning?  I feel like one of the glories of being a grownass girl is that if I want a hot dog for breakfast I can fuckin' have a hot dog.  But I know that most of my peers are of the mind set that a grownup just really shouldn't have a hot dog as the most important meal of the day, period.  I stick with; Suck It!

Also, it's probably not a strong endorsement of my adulthood that the other night I was changing purses and as I decided on things needed vs. leave behindable*, my headlight and yo-yo made the 'must have' list.  Yeah.  It's like this and like that ya'll.



Since more frequently than I'm sure most people would sanction, I'm trying to suppress my kidness* , that I have such a strong connection with, it only makes sense that I'd be looking forward to seeing the people I spent every day with between 13 and 17.  Some of the folks I'll see I've known even longer, as we went to Our Lady of Bad Catholic Kids together in elementary and middle school. 

Getting to spend time with people who I have kept up with since H.S. (LEM, GinCat, Fidget, DJP, etc.) and getting to see people I haven't seen at all in the ensuing years is a recipe for fun I can not resist.  I love seeing how people have changed.  I love when one of the shy kids has become gregarious, when a hard knock life kid turns into the done well adult,  or when an ugly duckling has morphed into a swan.  I would love to find out that the guy I had to slug in mass for calling me the n-word has turned into a better human.   

Of course, I'd be a straight up liar if I didn't admit to being prone to a small amount of schadenfreude when it seems someones assy behavior has brought them a craptastic turn of events. ...Maybe that's some of the immature inner kid left in me too.  (Yes, I know, I'm going to hell.  But at least it won't be because I didn't truth.)

Although I haven't used the time to grow old up, a lot of time has passed since the milestone we re-une*.  (*Digression Alert:  I'm sorry, I don' t mean to get all political over here, but God Bless George Bush and Sarah Palin for making it acceptable to make some fuckin' words up.)  

A lot has gone down in the past 25 years:

• Wham disbanded 
• Gas was $0.89/gal
• Hoosiers, Top Gun, Stand By Me and Wildcats were new at the theater
• I was 'escorted' from the mens room of the theater by a member of the local constabulary for drinking screwdrivers...wait, classy, bottled screwdrivers with several other underage boys and girls while seeing Rocky Horror
• Microsoft hit the NYSE at $21/share
• Travelers enjoyed their last in-flight smoke 
• I flew to visit nearly half of our great country (all smoke free)
• We said goodbye to Charlotte Rae and hello to Cloris Leachman
• They gave a girl named Oprah (or 'O-frah', as Nana to this very day calls her) a tv show
• The Challenger exploded
• I was in 11 weddings
• I saw 2 babies born
• Lindsay Lohan was born
• At 20 yrs/4mos, Mike Tyson became the youngest heavy weight champ before going on to chomp an ear and get a definitely not crazy distinguished face tattoo
• I had to deck a friend's husband, a Chicago police officer.  Laid him out in some bushes.  Told him not to get up
• In less aggressive news, people held hands across America, although I don't remember why
• The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inducted it's first class
• Michael Jackson went from:

(Post Pepsi, circa 1986)

To:

To:

..If all of those things can happen in that span, here's hoping that even if some of us haven't officially turned into grownups that we find the past 25 years have turned a good buncha kids into good gaggle of adultish people and that the intervening years have been kind to all of my classmates.  Reunioning will be fun!  Hooray for being old!!

I shall leave you with our classy motto;  Party Naked

(Dear God,
For the love of you, please don't let old, saggy, lumpy, middle-aged people congregating after 25 years actually do that.  Thank you in advance.
Love,
BBG)

~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)

An Open Letter to my Neglected Instrument

Dearest Yamaha Keyboard,

I know how you must feel right now, cloaked under a foamy plastic cover while renegade dusts settle in between your buttons and keys. I know you feel disused, forgotten, abandoned even, and I don't blame you for that. I admit, I have been busy with something else lately and it must be painful for you to watch me as I cuddle up with my laptop night after night while you stay sulking quietly beside me.

But please know that my love for you have not lessened over the years. I remember the time when we would spend time with each other for hours, me attempting to do the scales and rigorous finger bending Hanon routines at the start of every session. Sometimes, I would just jump straight to playing a piece but my hands would feel stiff and the keys foreign. After a few minutes of treading blindly did I only start to feel the familiarity of your ivory keys, and the composition would start to sound the way that it should.

I remember the hours and days of arduously studying a sheet music as well as the feeling of absolute freedom of trying to arrange my own version of a song. The best part of everything is performing a well-mastered piece, the feeling of my fingers gliding effortlessly across your vast expanse of musical possibilities.

I think you already have memorized my favorite ones so well, the ones that I would not fail to play every time we are together. Canon in C takes the cake, always the first of many classical and modern pieces that would follow after it. Its swaying melody and simple thrills relaxes me and makes me remember everything beautiful about music and you, my instrument. Valentine by Jim Brickman would probably follow afterwards, just because I know it so well I could probably play it blindfolded.

Later would the more articulate pieces follow. The Swan by Camille Saint Saens, Hungarian Dance No. 5 by Brahms, The Entertainer by Scott Joplin, Canon in D by Pachelbel, Gymnopedie by Erik Satie and Claire de Lune by Debussy (yes, regrettably Sparkly Edward's favorite) will flow from your speakers on those times I was feeling a bit peckish for the classical era. It doesn't make me think less of myself to know that most of the sheet music are simplified arrangements. Just as long as the heart and the melody is there, I am happy.

The rest I know by chords and playing these kinds of songs straight from my brain without notes and meters to follow was liberating. Sometimes, when I haven't played an arrangement for a while, since I don't have a piece of paper telling me which keys to press, I would struggle to remember the notes that followed and exasperation will grow on me until such time that I finally get a hold of it. And I always do. I always knew how to find my way back to you.

I guess all I want to say is that I've missed you and I hope that you and I can still make great music together even after all these months.

So you see, dearest friend, you have nothing to worry about, nothing to fear. For the dusts may accumulate but the music is never forgotten.

Who would you like to meet?

Who would you like to meet? This is a question I came across on a facebook application. Of course I am going to assume they mean if I could meet anyone, who would that be. Oh the possibilities are endless, but I broke the list down to just a few to share with you.

1. The Russian Giant: Have you seen him fight?

The Russian Giant

The Russian Giant

2. Christopher Walken : I'd have him read me The Raven.

Christopher Walken

3. Teddy Roosevelt : So many reasons, but mostly "Speak softly and carry a big stick." One of my favorite quotes.

Teddy Roosevelt

4. An Alien: Not the scary Aliens species.

E.T.

So, who would you like to meet?

~Way To Spin It Lowes

I can see the new tag line now...

"Lowes~  Proudly pissin' off Mom's since 2011."

Daaaaaaam. 

I've never seen dissin' and taunting mothers used as a marketing tool.  ...Guess things have changed a bit since back in my day when I wrote copy.  Back then we respected the ire a person who had pushed a bowling ball through her lady parts, lactated and bled for days on end without dying could muster up when trifled with. 

The Mortal Instruments by Cassandra Clare: Harry Potter, Buffy / Angel, LoTR and Draco Trilogy rolled into one

Draco Malfoy, there you are.

A little background: I spent my pre-adolescent years reading (and writing) Harry Potter fanfiction. There was this certain fanfiction trilogy that was so superb, it garnered a legion of fans, its own fan art and even 2nd degree fanfictions. Fans would wait for the next chaper with bated breath the way canon-loving readers would wait for the next Harry Potter book by Queen JK Rowling. I am talking about Draco Trilogy, and for years, I idolized the Joss-Whedon-quoting, slash-loving and HP fanfiction legend, Cassandra Clare. 

It took me some time to read her books even though I knew (and saw in bookstores) of her published YA novels. Having reread the thousands of pages of her fanfiction Draco Trilogy, I never realized how much I missed the good 'ol days of geekily roaming around the cyberhalls of Fanfiction.net or Fictionalley.org talking about what would happen next. I also missed Draco Malfoy's complicated character in the trilogy, much better than JK Rowling's characterization of Slytherin's little prince, I dare say.

Imagine my awe and amusement as I began reading Cassandra Clare's very own world and her own set of quirky characters. They were so familiar I would be able to tell that they were CC's work even without the title and author info on the book. There were also tons of little inside jokes and other uncanny similarities like the mention of "Still Not King" button (from her Lord of the Rings humor fic The Very Secret Diaries) and even the bedtime story about a little boy trying to train a raven to please his Father (yes, with a capital "F") is synonymous to that from Draco Veritas.

If one have followed CC's fanfiction writing years as I have, one would know that she is also a fan of Joss Whedon's Buffy the Vampire Slayer and its spin-off Angel having used numerous quotes from both the series and her characters having adopted the same witty and peculiar Whedonverse tongue. It is from these inspiration, that I guess, she picked up some of the traits of the altered urban city from her own books.

There are also other things I've noticed like having a pub / restaurant catering to demons is reminiscent of Angel the Series' demon-scattered Los Angeles. Usage of birds and fireplaces for sending letters and mails, lifted from Harry Potter, as Valentine reminds me of Voldemort, the Circle a toned down version of the Death Eaters and Muggles into Mundanes.

The same way Jace is a spitting image of Draco Malfoy from CC's Draco Trilogy, Simon reminds me of Ron Weasley and Xander from Buffy the Vampire Slayer combined and Isabelle has the persona of Draco Veritas' version of Fleur Delacour.

Believe me when I say that all of these are rather well-meant compliments. These are precisely the things that I love most about the series. Amidst the undertone of lack of originality (which is totally not the purpose of the paragraphs above), I relish the Mortal Instruments' world because it precisely took most of the things that I loved about stories and characters that I was addicted to before and meshed it up into this epic tale that hooked me right from the very beginning. Coupled with Cassandra Clare's graphic and intelligent writing style, there is little that I could complain about.

That said, Cassandra Clare's own personal story is in itself inspiring. From writing fanfiction just for fun of it to being a worldwide best selling author of a YA series with probably a movie in the works, one can really say that, the fate that brought her into such avenue (of course with hard work, determination and a little bit of luck) is nothing short of... magical.

~Change Is Comin'

Well...it's taken years.  Since '08 in fact, for me to put an end to this nonsense:

(Too damn much change occupying space in my ride.)

Every purchase I've made since September '08 has required me to carry change out to my car because my festive sushi wallet I had to have has no coin compartment.   (And I rarely have a pocket.)  Which as you can probably imagine, has kinda been a pain in the ass the past (almost) 3 YEARS!!!

But not any more thanks to my new and groovy change purse:

(one side)

(the other)

New kick ass change purse $5.99.  Not having to carry change out of stores in the palm of my hand like a 7 year old.  Prrrrrr ice less.