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I'm everyone – hang your label on me

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The Post You’ve All Been Waiting For

Y’all know I’m a Seahawks fan and some of you haven’t been really kind about it, but that’s okay, I love you anyway. But yeah, so that game on Monday happened and the entire nation and all those yapping  faces at ESPN felt the need to jump in and start antagonizing the 12th Man and the team and Pete Carroll and probably we kidnapped the Baby Jesus at some point. I never know exactly what it is we as the Seahawks nation do wrong other than being a new-er team and not being one of the big ol money cranking machines that some teams (and some of these teams have actively sucked for the last couple of years) that other teams are.

My Raiders Nation people always joke that they get penalized for being the Raiders. I assure you my friends in the Black Hole (and holy moley you’re a rad bunch, nothing but love for you) we get the same thing. We get penalties for having the audacity to have a football team in Seattle. I’m pretty sure there is a meeting every time the Seahawks are on regular ol’ television and re-show some of these chuckleheads where Washington State is.  I’m almost sure there is a chorus of “Wait, there’s football in South Alaska?” on those days, and then they pull the map out again and show them that Washington State is NOT Washington DC  (What up Redskins?!)  and that it is actually in the lower 48. (What up Alaska?! You have some great Hawks fans and we love you too!)
The point I and my new blogger BFF, superstar Math Teacher Brandon are trying to make to some of the world (only some, really like what 98% of them?) is that if this had been reversed and the Packers had won, the rest of the world would’ve just went,  “See those Seahawks sure suck and they deserved that horrible call,” but when it’s America’s Favorite Son we’re like killing kittens and hating Jesus or something.

At any rate I have three more points to make and then I am never talking about Week 3 again, so stop asking after you’re done reading this.

1-The Seahawks sacked Aaron Rodgers like 8 times. Not the refs. Not me either by the way. That was the actual Seahawks. The guys who make enough money to take your b.s. and abuse because you’re sooooo unhappy with the outcome of the game. The Seahawks sacked Aaron Rodgers.  They did that. Cats and dogs then went on picnics together and lived in harmony.

2-No one would give a mad mother eff if this had happened against the Rams (sorry my brothers on the Everyone Hates Us Boat, I love Josh Brown, lets be friends again on Monday) or like the Bengals or some other place that people forget have a team.  If you’re not the Patriots, the Packers, the Cowboys or the Vikings (and nothing but love for you guys either, noble friends in the Northeast), you really can’t win in the forum of public opinion. You don’t sell enough t-shirts so in laymen’s terms you may eff yourself. Unless you’re the Raiders, since you sell so many shirts.  But apparently you guys can still eff yourselves for being the Raiders.  Don’t worry my scary and awesome friends in the Black Hole, we have room for you in the Everyone Hates Us Boat as well. Come on down. We have cookies.

3-The NFL Ref Lock Out is now over. You are welcome.

In the interest in moving forward with the universe, two more things to share: I still want a Marshawn Lynch jersey or shirt.  Also I’m walking to save dogs and cats this weekend and if I make a thousand dollars personally, I’ll do it in my Seahawks Jersey. In Chico California where the “Welcome to Chico,” sign says “Home of Aaron Rodgers.  You can donate to this hot mess by going here:



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for the better

Two years ago tomorrow my life went upside down.

Sounds bad, but it’s not. I met the man that I’m gonna get old with the minute I moved to Chico but it took him a long time to convince me he was the man I was going to get old with. Actually part of it was his determination to make me understand he liked me an awful lot that made me go, yep I’m good with this. Ask him, I was a handful and I was mean because really who was this guy?

NBD just hanging out in Upstate New York

This guy is a scientist. He’s an animal lover. He’s a really bad story teller but I’m trying to teach him. He’s a food adventure veteran. He’s my Costco Buddy. He’s the Cat’s Dad and changes her poop and feeds her for me all the time. He makes herLIKE being carried around and unless I’m sick that cat hates me.

He’s the guy who picked me up from jail. He’s the guy who gets up every October at 5am to drive me to Pumpkinhead. He’s the guy who will cart my friends around. He’s the guy who will, poor bastard, watch Glee with me. He is also the guy who will make me Nutella sandwiches on Glee night or who will buy me shit at H&M because he likes the way I dress and wants me to have nice things.

David Benjamin Calo… I love you. I just love you. I watch you sleep. I get angry on your behalf. I just love you. I don’t want you to ever walk through this world without my angry ass defending any and everything you say.  Anyone looks at you wrong, they’re going through me first. I love you. With every cell I have. YOU are WHY I came to Chico. It’s not official but I can’t think of any other reason than meeting you.

You and me? We’re forever rad together.


Let’s talk about my Grandpa

I don’t talk about my Grandpa much and there really is no good reason for it other than my grandpa didn’t talk much. He’d lost most of his hearing probably around the time I was born and hated his hearing aids to the point he watched baseball with the sound off. (Sometimes though Grandpa had it right, that’s way better than listening to idiot commentators.)

By all accounts by the time I was old enough to hang out with my grandparents and really appreciate them, my Grandfather was an “old man.” At least physically.

My Grandpa was never an “Old Man,” by my estimate at all. Actually when I was really young, probably between 4 and 6 and spent  alot of time at my grandparents house while my parents worked, my grandpa and I played together probably more than most people realize. Grandpa built me a swing that I would use until I almost threw up.  My Grandpa built me forts in the backyard even though we used to have pen up Vicious the dog (he was just big, not mean) so I could play in the back without the big silly dog jumping all over me.  He let me steer his truck once on the back acre when we used to have cows. My grandpa built me a bicycle out of the left over parts of my cousins bikes when I finally got my training wheels off. It was an ugly freak show of a bike but it was mine and I rode all over the place near their house with it.

Grandpa actually used to be the one to watch me while Grandma was at work at the mall when I was young. He’d pick me up from the 1st grade and we’d either go to McDonalds and get a happy meal and sit at whatever park that is closest to the Valley Plaza until it was time to get my Grandma from work or we’d just go straight to the mall and because it was the 80s and because I was at the mall all the time I could walk around while we waited for Grandma to get off of work at Broadway. Sometimes I got money for a coke and would get one but mostly, I’d just go look at the fish pond and wait.

My grandpa got me a crazy assortment of animals while I was there every day.  Millions of cats. I always had a cat at my grandparents house and up until Lucy, most of my cats were also my grandpa’s cats. They’d watch baseball together with the sound off while I wasn’t around. I’m pretty sure Binky was his favorite. I also had rabbits and a goat for awhile as well. Not to mention fish.  And my grandpa’s weird dog George who ran away the night my grandpa passed away.

My grandpa and I used to go to the live stock auctions in Arvin on Sunday Mornings. Grandpa called it the Junk Sale and would usually hand me a five dollar bill and let me go get whatever crap I wanted from the swap meet while he watched the animal auctions. I didn’t really like to watch the cow auctions, the cows seems scared but would always look at the rabbits and chickens and then end up buying some Avon or sometimes nothing but a soda and going to meet my grandpa once the cows were done. We didn’t keep cows at this point and I was so young, I really think this was just my grandpa’s opportunity to hang out with his friends but I didn’t realize.

The other really cool thing about my Grandpa is this: My grandpa was so proud of my dad and when I wanted to “play radio,” he made sure I had whatever Radio Shack microphone was available at the time and a pile of blank tapes.  I made radio shows with my Disney tapes leading into Blondie, etc.  My Grandpa was the first person to play me Fats Domino and always made sure I had a place in their house to listen to music, if it was in the den, my room or the weird wall unit record player my grandparents used to have.

Also my Grandpa liked to read and used to slip me books all the time. He gave me “Where the Red Fern Grows,” and told me that if I got into his westerns or Grandma’s books if I could understand the words,  I could read them. I remember him giving me the book of “Forrest Gump,” telling me that “There’s some nasty words in there but I know you won’t say em” and he was right. At least not in front of my grandparents.

When I was really young, like 4 maybe I was obsessed with Star Wars and my grandpa used to tell me stories. He always told me “Indian Stories” before that because of course according to Grandpa he was a real life Indian. But when I started asking for Star Wars stories he asked me who was in it and when I said Luke Skywalker, my grandpa made up stories about some guy on crutches walking on the clouds and making it rain, because clearly that’s what Luke Skywalker would do.

My Grandpa Ivan rocked. There’s no way around it. I feel kind of spoiled because I think I really did get the best of him and the fact he wanted me to believe in Santa forever or the fact that he was willing to teach me to drive or that we never in my life had a Christmas tree I didn’t touch. Or maybe I got the secret memo that our Grandpa was a lot more fun than anyone knew. I don’t know. All I know is he’s a part of me and I love him and miss him every single day.

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what is wrong with people lately

I’m starting to think the Mayans are right. Worlds ending and all that jazz. I mean there is the Royal Wedding coming up first off, but also it just seems like lately man shaped people have no problems talking to and or treating women like dirt for doing basically the same things they’re doing, like riding the bus, watching baseball at a bar with her friends or walking to work (I’ve never really blogged about mentally unstable guy I see all the time but there is a dude that gives me shit almost on a daily basis. I kind of don’t care, I have to get to work somehow.)

In case you missed the point of my post about here’s a chicken wing, shut up bitch guy a couple of weeks ago, it’s not okay to just walk up to a girl who is somewhere alone and force her to speak to you. I do not owe you a moment of my time and you don’t owe me a moment of yours. Most of the time actually if you’re not a total moron the first time you open your mouth to speak to me, I’ll talk to you. I like talking to people. It’s fun. People are fountains of fun. I actually like strangers. Like the girl on the airplane from Detroit who randomly bought Ben two beers or when I met my friend Taylor he was a stranger but we bonded pretty quickly because we hate Michael Vick a lot. I love that shit.

I do not love when I am clearly waiting for a friend to show up or watching a game or just sitting on a patio reading my book or at my own goddamn house being made to be afraid for my life. I shouldn’t have to worry about my safety if I want to sit in the sun. But I do. And to be honest I’m sick of it. And I’m sick of not just taking someone’s head off when they come at me like I’m their property. And I’m sick of NEEDING a man to go with me to work stuff because if I don’t have someone else with me, this will most likely happen when I’m standing in a parking lot hawking cell phones, because for some reason there is a man shaped person that thinks they have the right to walk up to me and talk to me in a way that wouldn’t make his mother very happy. And to call me all sorts of names because I don’t want to talk to him.

I keep saying man shaped person, because anyone who needs to threaten a woman or make her feel afraid in order to speak to her isn’t a Man. A Man is someone who respects others, not just women but other men as well. A Man is someone who knows when to back the fuck up. A Man is someone who understands that all people walking around with vaginas and stuff aren’t doing it to irritate them. (Trust me you can have the damn thing if you think its so great, you can all also take all the pain, messy months and caution that comes with it. Seriously, here you go! I’ll take it right off and hand it to you!)

It’s 2012, it’s time to let us be. The rewards will be better than the fun you’re having at our expense. Promise.