A few years ago I had been running and running hard. Work, parties, travel, volunteering all Saturday at a charity golf outing, etc. Life tends to move fast all at once and I was balls (breasts?) to the wall enjoying life. It was exhausting.
Sunday finally arrived, but I had promised a good friend that I would work for her about an hour away in Ohio, at the Shaker Woods Crafts Festival. Once again I got up entirely too early, got my shit together and hit the road. It was a long and busy day, but I loved it. The drive home was pretty, one of those perfect August days that others describe better than I ever could.
Puppies were happy to see me when I got home. I didn’t even bother changing out of my dip shit Shaker costume (yes, we have to dress in period clothing while working), instead I fed the dogs, flung the back door open for them, grabbed a bowl of crunchy green grapes (also known as “dinner”) and headed for the couch. Instead of going outside after they ate, the boys came and stared at my bowl of grapes. Flipping through the channels I found America’s Funniest Videos. Mindless television is a great way to end the day.
And then it happened. Thirty two groin hits in forty seconds. There is nothing funnier than people falling down. When they get nailed in the crotch and then fall down? Hysterical.
Except I had just bitten into a grape. A really, really juicy grape. At the beginning of the groin hits montage. I couldn’t breathe. Nothing in. Nothing out. No sound. Nothing. I inhaled in laughter and was now choking. Concertrating on not panicing I glanced at the TV. Folks were still getting hit and falling down, I was still laughing on the inside, but I was pure silence.
I closed my eyes so that I would quit looking at AFV. My mind raced to images of the cops showing up because a neighbor got tired of the barking dogs outside. The cops would come in and find me dead, but at least it would be quick enough that the dogs wouldn’t have eaten my flesh after days of no food. Oh shit, my house is a mess. I can’t have the cops seeing my apartment such a disaster. Perhaps I could vacuum quickly before I pass out. That is just silly. And I don’t want to die. Maybe if I go outside and get into the street someone will see me and call 911 instead of running me over. Fuck, I am still wearing this outfit from Shaker Woods. Just don’t pass out before you get outside. Stay strong. Get to the door. Get outside. Door open. Step through it.
But I was so weak from the lack of oxygen. Not graceful me combined with lightheaded me tripped. I flew forward, knocking into the porch railing. And accidentally giving myself the Heimlich Maneuver.
Not even kidding. I impaled myself on the railing and the grape flew out. Standing there on the porch, coughing and gasping and sputtering, I couldn’t believe I wasn’t dying.
So many aspects of my life remind me that my negatives are in fact sometimes my saving…wait for it…my saving grace.
See, I have grace! Just not gracefulness. 
Years ago I saw a performance of the Rocky Horror Show at the Broward Center for Performing Arts in Ft. Lauderdale which was quite enjoyable, but still nothing like seeing the movie where people are throwing rice and toast, shooting squirt guns, dressing up in fishnets, etc. While I liked the professional actors and the play, I was rather thankful the performance was free.
The other day I received an email about one of the local colleges (Point Park) putting on the Rocky Horror show at the Pittsburgh Playhouse in Oakland. Less than twenty bucks for a few hours and supporting the kids sounded like a good idea. I sent a few emails around and wha-la, next thing I know I had a little group totaling six. A few changes in the two weeks to showtime led to the group being Jim (you probably remember him from when he waxed his balls and posed for HNT), Jim’s son who is 17 and the kid’s girlfriend, who is 20. Knowing that they would all love the afternoon had me eagerly anticipating Saturday.
We started with breakfast at a local diner. Right after we sat down two SMOKING hot men came in and found a table near us. The guy facing me was incredible. I stared at him the entire time we were there. As we were leaving, I walked over, leaned down and said, “I am sure you noticed that I couldn’t take my eyes off of you this morning. I’m sorry, but you two are absolutely gorgeous and I simply could not stop staring. Just wanted you to know that I think you are beautiful. Enjoy your day.” The shade of red they turned was priceless. When they finally found their words they mumbled thank you. Too cute.
We found unbelievable parking, which is unheard of in Oakland. Our seats were in the second row, on the aisle. The desk of the criminologist was right in front of us. As we settled in I loudly said, “Ok, people. Cell phones off.” An adorable college kid in front of me whipped around and thanked me for the reminder. That talking to strangers is something I totally would have done. Fucking perfect seats.
There really aren’t words to describe how terrific the performance was. Those kids were so much better than the professional actors I saw in Florida. At times I was dancing and other times I was drooling over men in fishnets. Sexy, funny, well timed and with a magnificent use of a small space. If you are in Pittsburgh and like the Rocky Horror Picture Show at all, please do yourself a favor and catch a performance before the run ends on the 11th of April.
After the play we did the Time Warp all the way back to my vehicle and decided to go get Jim a beer as big as his head at the Hofbrauhaus. The place was packed so we sat outside and therefore didn’t stay too terribly long as the brilliant young’uns didn’t have jackets. We did a long walk around the block, stopping to encourage a child who appeared to be about eight as he was climbing the REI climbing wall as well as to check out the Urban Outfitters store.
I bought a few books and the coolest ring ever. The ring is a bottle opener and will come in handy at tailgate parties. What I didn’t buy was the world’s worst sunglasses:
On the way back to the office parking lot where we left Jim’s truck I put in a mix CD. We enjoyed the various tunes, but kept the volume low enough so we could talk without screaming. I pulled into our lot as Frankie Valli started to sing “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You.” The moment I eased the vehicle into park I flung the door opened and hollered, “I LOVE YOU BAY-BEE!” and began to dance. Didn’t take the group long to join in. We laughed and danced in the parking lot.
The next song was a club type beat and we went nuts, jumping and dancing with flailing arms. I laughed so hard it hurt and danced, thankful no one was watching our group.
My dogs needed to go out and they were hungry so I headed home. I wasn’t there long when Twinkle Twat and her husband called. Seems they wanted company watching the Pitt game. When Pirate names start being thrown about (I’m River Red, Twinkle’s husband is Rowdy Roy) I know I have to go play. Especially when they came all the way over to my neck of the woods to hang out at the Sharp Edge.
Unfortunately Pitt blew the damn game so we decided to go back to the Hofbrauhaus for more beer in mugs as big as my head. Something about holding that massive glass mug just makes me so happy. I called Aunt Tinkle and informed her that we’d be by to pick up both her and her boyfriend. Ryan had sent a text message so he was easy to persuade to get his ass down to the big beer heaven.
We laughed, sang along with a German band, drank shots of Barenjager (which must not have a high alcohol content because I drank MANY shots), had beers as big as my head, talked and all around had a great time. Didn’t leave until they were closing the joint. And I didn’t have to drive!
Great fucking day.
Even if I am still singing this:
Ξ March 29th, 2009 | → 14 Comments | ∇ me |
Most of the churches here in the Pittsburgh area have little old ladies who cook up a storm on Fridays in Lent. Don’t get me wrong, a lot of churches have folks who don’t have blue hair, but it seems like most of the fish fry churches are staffed with adorable old women.
My uncle is the head fry cook at my local church and he would be most unpleased at my generalizatoin.
Yet it is true. I love the old women who take too long to write down my order, take my money and give me change before my food comes. They are adorable and they just might be my future.
Normally a few coworkers and I run out for lunch together at one of the local churches that offer a variety of Lenten foods: baked or fried fish, mac & cheese, halushki, crab cakes, coleslaw, fried shrimp, potato soup, etc. We feast in the church basement and share lots of laughter.
Yet this Friday was not to be. Seemed as though all of my normal coworkers who share lunch had errands to run. Since lent is only a few weeks, there was no way I was going to let a tasty meal, cooked by the blue hairs, get away. On my way to my traditional church I saw another that often advertises. I pulled in and purchased some of the tastiest pierogies that I have ever consumed. Thank you, church ladies!!
Coolest part for me was the two computer printout signs tacked up on the board next to the table where they take the money. Loved these signs:
I know a lot of you won’t appreciate these, but I really do love them.
Remind me sometime to tell you about my dancing on a Saturday afternoon…
Monday I had the pleasure of getting to the ballpark early. Maybe stick my toes in the grass, maybe watch batting practice, maybe grab a beer for breakfast. Ya know, spring training baseball stuff.
Which lead to me meeting several players. Only one of the guys I met I could pick out of a lineup. Not that Jack Wilson is anything but the pilar of society. Seriously, I ran into him a year ago at a Penguins hockey game and he handled himself with poise and kindness. Monday when I mentioned the situation he immediately smiled and said, “You mean that Pens game against the Maple Leafs?” I was sure to inform him of how impressed I was with his character. Not your typical sports douche bag.
See: 
Then I met a guy who reminded me of Britt‘s husband. Jared is tall and thin, so is Bixler. When I slid my arm around his waist, it kept wrapping around because little Brian did really not have much of a waist. I giggled and told him he was too skinny. And then, embarrassingly enough, I told him to eat a cheeseburger and to bulk up. Because obviously I am an ass and should not be permitted in public. Anyhow, doesn’t he totally remind ya of Jared: 
Brian was way cool, even though I said stupid stuff to him about him being too thin. Hell, he even let me photograph his hand. Love me some strong hands on a man.
My favorite typical me part of the day came when some cute player that I didn’t recognize was there, being all friendly. I pose for a photo and tell him not to worry, that my hand is where it belongs, on his lower back. He made the mistake of asking where it didn’t belong. So I um, well, I slid my hand down to firmly cup his perfect ass. He smiled for the photo and chuckled a southern laugh a bit. My knees may have gone a little lot weak at the Southern accent. We took a bunch of photos. Here is one:
Turns out Matt Capps is a relief pitcher. I seem to have a thing for closers.
More to tell, but I am tired. And you guys are probably all about tired of me gushing about Spring Training.
At least I am not gloating that the Pitt Panthers have advanced to the Elite Eight. (Oh yeah, bested Xavier and are movin on…whoooooooooooot!)
Sunday my Pirates sucked it up against the Reds. All was forgiven considering how wonderful and intimate our Spring Training facility is. I was THISCLOSE to every thing and every one. It was almost too perfect, like a dream baseball experience. Especially when I thought I caught a glimpse of my all time favorite baseball player.
When I was a little girl, he was our closer. Our relief pitcher who broke records. The tall, skinny guy with thick glasses and an unusual sidearm throw. The Rubber Band Man. It was a pure love, nothing sexual. I was just a kid and he was a winner. The Pirates’ theme song was “We Are Family” and we spelled relief T. E. K. E.
As the youngest of six kids, baseball games weren’t a weekly pleasure. When I had the rare opportunity to attend, I would pray that Kent Tekulve would be our relief pitcher. Most people went to see Dave Parker, Willie Stargell, John Candelaria and later Tony Pena. Not me. God and I had conversations where I begged to have Tekulve take the mound and save a game for the Buccos.
When the Pirates traded Teke in 1985 I cried. Major sobs. Wailing, actually. NOT pretty. I just didn’t grasp the business side of baseball and was truly angry with the Pirates for not continuing to love Tekulve as much as I did. A solemn vow for a boycott of the Pirates was promised. There was no way I was ever going to see another game. It only lasted about two years, but to a girl who was only 14 or so when the Pirates broke her heart, it was a long time.
Flash forward to this past Sunday, while I was in Bradenton, FL to watch Spring Training games. I could have sworn I saw a tall man wearing number 27 and hanging around. At one point he turned enough towards the stands and, embarrassingly enough, I squealed. Loudly. Might have even hollered, “OH MY FUCK, THAT’S TEKE!”
I told anyone who would listen that they had to get me an opportunity to meet Kent Tekulve. He currently works for FSN Pittsburgh and does post game analysis. Someone had to have the connections to get me to meet my all time baseball idol.
And then Monday at McKechnie Field it happened.
I was lightheaded. I was shaking. Kent was encouraging, reminding me to do the natural thing and breathe. Somehow I didn’t throw up or pass out. The only thing I had for him to sign was my $200 bar bill from the night before. He was a good sport and signed it without calling me a drunk. Then it dawned on my that he could sign the back of my jersey. Without complaint, he signed my jersey.
Then we sat down to lunch. I shit you not. Lunch! With my all time baseball hero! Even though he laughed at me for my by my teenage self boycott, he was kind and open, sharing stories about his grand kids and life in Pittsburgh. While he ate lunch.
It was all that I imagined it to be. More, actually. The photos don’t show how happy I was. Still am.
Thanks, Kent, for somehow teaching a young girl to love baseball and for proving that dreams really do come true. Even if sometimes it takes longer than 20 years!
(Tomorrow I’ll post photos of me with a few of the current players. Especially the one of me with the cute pitcher where I am holding his ass in my hand. Nice!)
We are only here in Florida for three days (Saturday, Sunday and Monday, then leaving first thing at the ass crack of dawn on Tuesday). Here is a photo of the number of containers of bandages I brought with me:
Yep, two.
My reading material = one mag & three books: 
Three days = three pairs of shoes!
Although, in my defense, Aunt Chris brought more shores than I did…
One thing I never complain about is having a lot of booze…
Even if the lemon drop was much more sour than I had anticipated!
Tipsy girls decided to go for a walk. We found ourselves at the corner of 3rd and 3rd. WTF?
Aunt Chris told me to take photos of the palms:
What she meant was the palms:
Baseball game tomorrow. Go Bucs! Hope they put on a good show and beat the Reds.
Happy day!
Saturday morning I have to be at the airport at 7 AM. Aunt Tinkle Tom Tom and I are headed to watch my Pittsburgh Pirates in Bradenton, Fl. Other than baseball, anyone know of anything fun to do the few days I am down there? Just don’t say golf. I still can’t figure out how to swing around myself!
P.S. To Sybil Law…I say this with lots of love, but I hope your Reds suck it on Sunday. You hear me? SUCK. IT! hehe
Nobody escaped Iowa for a week, but unfortunately got stuck several miles south of Pittsburgh proper. Without a car. Poor guy! We met the other night at The Sharp Edge Creekhouse (my favorite beer emporium) and agreed that I would play Tour Guide Becky and drag his ass all over Pittsburgh. His coworkers are not exceptionally fun people, a fact made evident at the Sharp Edge the other day, so he ditched them and I picked him up. Drove him through the tunnel which opens up like a window to my city. Blam, there’s Pittsburgh! He was kind enough to humor me with a “wooooooooooooooooo” that was appropriately timed.
Plenty of driving around, looking at stuff, then I went up to Mt. Washington and made him get out of my vehicle to look at the city. I can’t work my own camera, as is quite obvious from that photo above. There were two nice guys up there with a fancy camera and a tripod so I figured they could take a decent photo. Of course I walked up and asked them to set my camera up so that I could capture the scene and they went one better, using my camera to take photos of us.
(Thanks, strangers!!)
We were starving and Nobody wanted a steak while I wanted a beer so we headed down to the Church Brew Works. It is an old church that was slated for destruction until a wonderful guy with a vision purchased it, spruced it up and turned it into a microbrewery. I haven’t been there since another blogger was in town entirely too long ago and I think my tastes in beer have changed since then. Today I was in love with a porter they had (special brew, not normally on the menu). I did a sampler, then bought a pint of the tasty porter. Nobody drank the closest thing he could get to a Budweiser, a brew I used to down in large quantities. I tried to be artistic and failed:
We both had cold mashed potatoes and veggies with our steaks so the waitress gave us free dessert. Oh my fuck, was it tasty. This photo doesn’t even begin to cover it.
One thing that was pretty funny about the whole adventure was that Nobody’s coworkers were all freaked out about him meeting a female in another city that he didn’t know. They were so worried about his wife. (Don’t worry, she knows that we were gonna hang out! She is way cool and had no problem with the fact that I rescued him from the hell they had him trapped in.) I mean, when they came to the Sharp Edge for dinner, I was at the bar with Cinderella and Doodle and the coworkers would not even look at us. As they were heading for the door I hollered good night or goodbye or something and only one of the two turned around to half wave. Either they are way antisocial or they have some deep loyalty to Nobody’s wife. I am trying to give them the benefit of the doubt!
Regardless, I hope Nobody brings them both to the Hofbrauhaus tomorrow for happy hour. I’ll only fuck with them a little bit.
As you could tell from the posts of the last two days, I had a damn good time at the High Holy Day’s parade and after party. Love me some St. Patrick’s Day. Also love this blog. So of course I had to combine the two.
At the Harp & Fiddle after the parade I was enjoying conversation with my cousin’s friend when he lifted up his green shirt ever so slightly so that we could see that he was wearing green underwear. (Yum!) The small section of his side and belly looked incredibly good so I told him about how I participate in Half Nekkid Thursdays. He is oh so not shy and agreed to pose for a few photos. Thanks, Luke!
I love this tease.
How about showin me that you Believe, Luke. 
I think this might be a great photo.
Maybe if I make the photo larger I’ll be able to properly analyze the picture.
Sorry, can’t think…just drooling. This post is done. If you want to see what others are showing off this fine Thursday, check out the comments over where it all started. HERE.
As I mentioned in yesterday’s photofest, we had a little to drink at the parade. Well, Twinkle didn’t drink at all because she had her son with us. He is only three years old and is damn precious cargo.
Happy faces.
Fish faces. 
Stick your tongue out!
Make a mean face. 
EVERYone make a mean face!
Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to mind that I was not exactly sober. That said, embarrassingly I give you a quick video. Seriously though, ignore my stupid self and concentrate on the cuteness that is my cousin’s son.
Those photos were taken on the car ride to drop him off at his grandfather’s house so that Twinkle could catch up to Tinkle and me in the booze department. We grabbed a late lunch and then headed to the Harp and Fiddle in the Strip. Great, great fun. Lots of music. And hot men.
Like this guy that was standing in front of me at the packed bar. He was wearing a kilt and a woman next to me dared me to lift it up. When I ascertained that she wasn’t his wife I firmly tapped him on the shoulder. It was like tapping my finger against a tree and I freely admit it was kind of hot. I wasn’t even looking when he turned around, I kept my eyes on the massive shoulders, but I asked if I could touch his bum. (Yes, I said “bum.” Since it was in an Irish accent it somehow worked. Shut it.) Quickly I was granted approval. Didn’t have to tell me twice! I grabbed the kilt, lifted, rubbed the beautiful bum, gave it a squeeze and then slapped it. Three times. After all of that I let go of his kilt, leaned forward and asked if his wife was now going to kick my ass. He laughed and said she doesn’t mind. So I asked for a photo.
CUTE! Yep, I realized he was cute when I looked to see if the cell phone took an ok picture.
I made my way back out to the best spot in the place, on the porch, under the tent. Lots of laughter with Twinkle and Tinkle. Lots of Smithwick’s Irish Ale. Sometime after too many beers I met some cute guy with phenomenal arms. So I made out with him for a bit.
Then I ran into my favorite bar’s bartender.
Not long after I ran into my coworker who was in town from SC.
Twinkle’s former coworker decided to join us at the Harp and Fiddle. He kept us laughing.
We had fun!
Hell, even on the way out drunk girl met another attractive man.
You guys know I saved the best photos for tomorrow, right? Half Nekkid Thursday has a guest who wasn’t shy and wanted me to see his green underwear. Wow, you are gonna wanna see this one! Yum!
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