Tag Archives: Google

leToy dogs are not weapons. Kinda.

2 May

The happy couple

It’s May and there are snow storms hitting the country.  Snakebite might escape summer school. I just read a weirdo story that happened in my ‘hood..not Florida. Strangeness is afoot.  You need to read this too, and then we’ll talk. Click the link.

Okay. What in the hell? How awful to be beaten with a dead, wiggly-necked Pomeranian by a Dude that looks like a back-up dancer for Color Me Badd.

I need to get it all-straight in my mind. Stay with me.  Dude is 27 and his Woman is 40.  Dude is angered that he is living in an apartment on Roswell Road with some dried out woman 13 years his senior. Got it. Makes sense. What did a Dude named Emmanuel Alfredo Tadeo think his life would be like on Roswell Road versus verdant south-lands? Champagne dreams perhaps?  This is life lesson #1: going forward, shit ain’t gonna be right.

The lovely couple had been arguing while Dude was slamming liquor shots. Alone. Well, with her judging presence. Who pulls out a shot glass and orders themselves Goldschläger and Buttery Nipples at the kitchen dinette? This is life lesson #2: this relationship is going nowhere. He’s not the one, Andrea.  You and your dog need to go for a long walk. A very long walk: quickly!

This will MAYBE protect you from the Tooth Fairy. Nothing else.

Word to the not-so-wise: If you are going to have a douchey boyfriend, who’s got nothing to lose, except maybe his Visa , “staying” with you (and you aren’t Cher), you should get a dog that knows how to take care of business. A Pomeranian is not going to protect anything other than a fabulous pair of ballet flats or a snakeskin clutch in the entry hall. To quote, “During the argument, Tadeo allegedly grabbed Armintrout by the hair, threw her against a wall, and beat her about the face. Afterward, he went looking for the dog, which he found cowering under a table, according to police.”  Life lesson #3: if your dog is cowering, it’s gonna go down. Count your bruises, lick your wounds and get ready for more. It’s about to get interesting.

SupAnimalAssault_RoyBlBlk_small

So, Dude went outside, snapped the “dog’s” neck and then re-emerged, using it like num-chucks. I don’t need PETA all over me, so I won’t mention how a Pomeranian must be useful for something. That would be rude. Totes. So I’ll give you life lesson #4. No matter how wimpy the animal, said animal isn’t a weapon. (Well, unless it’s waaaay olden times and you’ve attached a sharpened jawbone to a spear while hunting or protecting the gatherers. See Clan of the Cave Bear…it’s Daryl Hanna’s best acting. Ah-hem).  If someone is flinging something dead at you and it isn’t a sheared mink car coat, get out.

What have we learned? People are screw-ups. Disregarding age in relationships doesn’t work for poor people. Doing solo shots at a kitchen table is no good. Women should always have back-up, be it a taser, pistol, blade, brother on call, or a nasty dog.  Due to the upgraded charge, a Pomeranian is now considered a deadly or dangerous weapon…for an assailant. Like a brick or a bottle gleaned from the ground. It is no defense for a victim.

I am not shocked that Woman didn’t want to press charges and was uncooperative. What does shock me is this excerpt: “Rose said the alleged crime has shocked the community.”  The date of this event was June 2012. It is May 2013…and today is the first that I have heard of this. This is my stomping ground. How could the community be shocked by something they don’t know about?

Last bit of advice: Google works. Had Woman just let her fingers do the walking across her keyboard she would have seen at least 3 prior booking photos of Dude ranging from battery, visible harm, cruelty to animals, d.u.i., and theft by taking. Had Dude Googled Woman, he’d have know that she’d been booked before, too…with prescription pills without a license and possible meth.  Aah, true love. It knows no boundaries. Apparently, like does attract like.

Googler

6 Apr

Do you Google?  I do.  I Google everything.  Unless you are an aspiring door-to-door encyclopedia salesman or a licensed private investigator, you love Google.  What can I make for dinner using seasoned rice vinegar?  When did Prussia fall?  Where can I buy a cat-of-nine-tails?  Can a body really be dissolved in a tub acid?  There are so many questions and I don’t so much care whether the myriad of answers available on the internet are completely accurate or not; I just need them to sound about right enough.  And volume speaks volumes to me.

Googling isn’t just useful for planning trips and tracking your ancestry, it is my go-to stalking tool.  Oh, don’t be so shocked.  Besides, stalkers aren’t sad and lonely.  They are informed and safe.  Who hasn’t been curious about their neighbor, the new teacher at school or wondered what ever happened to that special crush from fifth grade?  Back when I was dating, Al Gore hadn’t invented the internet yet.  I had to do all of my investigative journalism through old-fashioned gumshoe work.  There was *69 (which could only tell you the last number that called you), asking friends, the white pages, alumni directories, drive-bys and the occasional hide-out in the bushes if you wanted to dig deep.  Luckily, I found my fella at a college friend’s wedding, so it was pretty easy to tease apart the story of his life before the first official date.  Forewarned is forearmed.  And luckily, in his early twenties there just wasn’t time to do much more than finish school, have an internship or two and a job.  Nothing too juicy had happened yet: no kids, no dog-fight organizing, or bankruptcy.

My hero...Google

But  if I was dating now?  Years later, it’s a whole new gig.  You can believe that if I made a dinner date on Monday for Thursday, by Tuesday I would know everything.  And I do mean everything.  It is just about impossible to keep anything private anymore.  Maybe that’s why I blog…I can beat anyone else to the punch.  Seriously though.  As much as you think that you are keeping things close to the vest by not having a Facebook account, published phone numbers or using a fake name on your youporn.com account, you will be exposed.  Other people will post a picture of you from a college mixer with hunch-punch stains on your t-shirt, your elementary school is slowly scanning and publishing their archived yearbooks, your gold-level sponsorship of a local special interest militia group has been noted and celebrated in their on-line newsletter.  But better yet, there could be that wedding announcement in the community paper or maybe a piece in The Blotter about your “repeat offender” status.

I am actually more concerned when my search engine comes up empty than when it is full of underlined and bold-lettered text.  Why can’t I find you?  How did you scrub Google?  Some of my girlfriends have never married, or they have recently become single again.  I have watched enough Lifetime movies to know that if my friend tells me about a great guy whose parents have pre-deceased their meeting and his only brother just succumbed to cancer…well?  Stay away.  Or the dreamboat who always meets her at the restaurant and only uses cash?  Check, please!  What about the dude who works in Atlanta during the week, but has to fly out to “trade shows” every weekend.  Really?  Really?  With the miracle of Google, I am almost thinking that a gal legally assumes the risk of being Chloroformed, ball-gagged, bound and stuffed in a 55 gallon drum if she doesn’t Google any potential suitor, coworker or handyman.  Take a cue from town harlot, Kim Zolciak, and let your fingers do the research and click them keys.

Footnote:  After I wrote today’s blog, I decided to google myself.  Buried within my own feedback is an apparently well-known and lauded Black Panther activist and poet whose maiden name is just one vowel off from mine and we have the same last name, too.  FYI: I am not moonlighting in Tanzania under the nickname “Mama C”.  I just wanted to clear up that confusion.