Bravo Sierra Delta

Yes, it is one of those days. BSD Day. Everyone has them.

That term, BSD, goes back to a former life I had. It was a crazy life where rigorous physical activity was combined with bat-shit crazy and rolled around in booze and disreputable women in exotic locales. Bake for eight months at 140. Serve hot in Perth.

I come up the ladder with an eighty pound rack on one shoulder and carrying a fifty pound maintenence box in the other. "We got it, burned relay. Changed it with 3r from 104, knocked down the 138, and jett checked it. It's up and ready."

'We got a warbird, son!"

"Yeah we do, jefe."

"Goddamn, Natural, you havin' a BSD today!"

Side note: every person I have ever known in my old line of work had a nickname. Mine, inspired by the fact that I would buzz my hair down to fuzz every time we went anywhere, was Natural Born Killer.

Sorry for the departure. Ah yes, BSD Day.

Say you nabbed a girl that everyone would be talking about, in a good way, for months. BSD Day. Say you jumped through hoops of fire and managed to get a go up and gone with all manner of challenges to face. You're having a BSD Day.

BSD is about ego, but the kind of ego that doesn't whimper for attention, it merely sits in place staring at the world with one appreciative eye and revels in the world's appreciation of it. BSD Day is the day you walk across the green fields of conquest without stopping for self-criticism.
When you have one of those days where you just feel like running a marathon in your jeans and work boots to show those pansies with the band-aids on their nipples (runners are weird) who the fuck they're dealing with. On a BSD Day you walk a little taller, talk a little louder, and neglect not the oppurtunity to pursue the opposite sex.

There is something aiding and abetting your success on BSD Days. Confidence lights up your eyes and screams out your approach to the rest of the huddled mortals. It's Big, and it's Swinging.

The onset of a BSD Day is usually something that seems a little benign. A friendly game of flag football at Thanksgiving that ends in bloodshed and half hearted laughing apology. Realization of a newly found single status. Realization of a newly found attatched status. Killing something big. Working a composite function the size of Rhode Island with pencil and paper algebra. Concussive detonations and mass conflagration (this one might just be me). The day after you invite the girl over for a three course meal, a little too much good wine and things end predictably. All causes of BSD Days, at least in my own life.

Today, I have:

A) Set the curve in anthropology (paranthropus boisei, bitch!).
B) Rewrote the damn 113 test.
C) Correctly identified the piezoelectric response of tourmaline and indentified correctly willemite, zincite, franklinite, and calcite matrix.
D) Moved over twelve thousand pounds of freight. Over three tons by hand.

Sure, nothing blew up and no one died, or even got all that bloody, but it's all I got right now. And I have to tell you, BSD is in effect. At least today. This might also be the fault of some girl, who knows.

Or maybe I'm just being egotistical. It can be difficult maintaining humility when you are me, but you are not and probably have no idea what I'm talking about.