I mentioned in Friday’s post that an “interesting” fact about me is that I once walked naked around the block in the rain. A few folks commented or emailed me wanting to know more details. Honestly, the story really isn’t all that big a deal.
My first apartment was not in the best section of town. Not that it was in the heart of Wilkinsburg or anything, but still, I officially had the zip code. (To those of you who know the Pittsburgh area, that means something.) Fortunately I had three of the most incredible protectors living next door: Danny, Denny and Gary. They were at least 10 years older than me, some of the best drinkers I have ever encountered and all around perfect neighbors for a young girl in her very first apartment.
[Side note: their old house was split into three floors so the guys each had their own apartment. My apartment was actually the second floor of an old house. I had two large bedrooms, a huge living room, a massive dining room and kitchen combo, a bathroom big enough for a small family to live in, plus a third floor attic for storage. LOVED the place. Stained glass windows above the actual windows, mantels above nonworking fireplaces...just a great started apartment for next to nothing. So lucky that a friend suggested it for me.]
One midsummer’s night we were all sitting on the guys’ porch, where we had been all day. All we had done was listen to music, drink beer, do shots of George Dickle and eat some grilled burgers. Pretty damn good time, actually.
I don’t know what hour it was when the rain started, but it had been dark for quite some time. Since we had been drinking for even longer it made perfect sense in my head that we should get our lazy asses off the porch and go for a walk in the warm rain. I am fairly certain the word “refreshing” left my mouth a time or two. Gary was having none of it. He was exhausted and too drunk to move. Fortunately Danny and Denny were usually easily swayed by my grand ideas so they agreed to walk with me. We each grabbed two beers and off we went.
We walked down the path to the sidewalk and were completely soaked. About one house away they both took off their t-shirts and whipped them back towards their yard. When I made the comment that the guys were lucky that they could be shirtless in the rain, they did what most grown men would do and told me to just take my shirt off. Seeing an opportunity to perhaps get something out of this for me, I told them I would take my shirt and bra off if they took their shorts off. They said they would take their shorts off if I would take mine off as well.
Which is how it came to be that Gary sat on his front porch and watched the three of us standing on the sidewalk taking off every article of clothing and throwing them into the yard. I felt incredibly safe considering the fact that I had a 6’4″ cowboy on one side of me and a 6’5″ cowboy on the other side of me. (And also? I was extremely intoxicated.)
Considering the time of the night and the pouring rain there were no cars around. About three quarters of the way through our adventure around the block we heard a noise we couldn’t place. We turned around to see a guy on a bicycle approaching. There was no reason to stop; we just kept strolling along. Although when the guy on the bike past us he couldn’t take his eyes from the three crazy white people walking naked.
Which is probably why he didn’t see the parked car until it was entirely too late. Imagine how he must have felt when the naked people laughed at him. Poor guy.
Only problem with the walk around the block was that Danny’s parents lived a few doors down, on the other side of my apartment. In our drunken heads it somehow made sense that they would be looking out the window in the middle of the night. So we abandoned the sidewalk for the grass yards and army crawled, naked, through six or seven yards. The sound of the laughter would have given us away anyhow, but it just seemed like the thing to do at the time.
Eventually we made it back to the house the guys lived in. We were filthy so we asked Gary to go in and bring us a bar of soap. Yes, we stood in the rain in the front yard and washed off. Because it is classy to shower outdoors with two beautiful and hot neighbors while a third neighbor watches.
Ahhhhh, the logic of youth. :beer:
An award! For me? There must be some mistake.
Hmmmmmmmmmm.
The lovely Melissa Francis, published author, MILF and all around phenomenal woman, was kind enough to gift me with the Kreativ Blogger Award. I love awards, so much so that I don’t seem to mind the stupid misspelling of this one. Seems she likes me, she really likes me! Wheeeeeeeeee!
Without further ado, and with no more trashing of the award name, here are the rules for the award:
1. Thank the person who nominated you for this award.
2. Copy the logo and place it on your blog.
3. Link to the person who nominated you for this award.
4. Name 7 things about yourself that people might find interesting. (see below)
5. Nominate 7 Kreativ Bloggers.
6. Post links to the 7 blogs you nominate.
7. Leave a comment on each of the blogs letting them know they have been nominated.
THANKS, MEL!
Thanks given, logo up, linkies done…and now I am to name seven things that yinz might find interesting. Are you serious? I am an open book and probably have already written about all my interesting crap before now (I take my own washcloths when I travel and don’t stay at a hotel, my bra is big enough to fit a grown woman’s entire head, I keep my Mom’s ashes in my spare bedroom, etc.). What is new that you might want to know? Let’s try these:
- Roses are my least favorite flower (I prefer daisies and sunflowers ANY day).
- When I was about 20 or 21 years old I walked around the block naked in a rain storm.
- Most nights I sleep on my incredible couch with both dogs instead of in my brand new queen sized bed.
- I don’t talk to my biological father, but his brother is my favorite person in this whole world.
- My Mom’s mom would read my palm when she got to drinking beer at family reunions when I was little. And I got my ears pierced at a family reunion by an aunt using a needle and a potato when I was five.
- While I truly don’t care what most people think of me (clothing, body, attitude, financial status, etc.), I also rarely believe people when they tell me that I am a breath of fresh air…probably because so many people tell me that so often that it seems insincere.
- My house is my (VERY messy / dirty) sanctuary and I don’t like to let anyone in…family, friends, workers, no one.
- For a long time I thought I didn’t know how to flirt until it was pointed out that I flirt with EVERYONE, including men, women, children and animals.
Shit, now I need to nominate others? Don’t people hate memes and awards and chain mail? Well, rules are rules so I am nominating and linking:
Britt of Miss Britt (you all know her, but she so deserves this award so I am giving it)
Gwen of Everything I Like Causes Cancer (she might call me a monkey, but I just love her blog)
Jen of Run Jen Run (her photo booth series make me so happy!)
Adam Avitable of Avitable.com (I know of no other who is even remotely close to this creative!)
Heather of A Coal Miner’s Granddaughter (coolest self proclaimed dork who’s a mom and does paranormal investigations EVER)
BBM of Burgh Baby (she takes wonderful photos of her child and dogs, but writes in a manner that gets me every time)
Nanna of That’s a Nanna (the woman makes me feel like I am reading a blog my Mom would have written so there was just no way to leave her off of this list!)
Mike of LeSombre (crazy Canadian who makes me laugh)
Faiqa at Native Born (love the intelligence, wit and perspective)
Yes, I know that was eight for both facts and bloggers, but there I go, being all Kreativ. I mean, I could have kept going. You are lucky I stopped where I did. Especially with the bloggers. Sheesh…what about Finn, Hilly, etc.? Hate this limited naming crap.
Fuck, now I have to leave comments on the nominated bloggers’ sites? Good thing I read these folks daily anyhow!
Ξ August 26th, 2009 | → 18 Comments | ∇ mom |
That guy from Canadia that we all know and love, LeSombre, wrote a bullet post that included mention of a colombarium he passes as he travels between work and home. Since the word “colombarium” is a little unusual the topic popped up again in the comments. Delmer mentioned that he wasn’t familiar with them and went on to joke about putting ashes in the back of a pickemup and driving around.
And that got me to thinking. Because Mom’s ashes are in an urn which resides in my spare bedroom. Not that she is in there alone, there is a bunch of her stuff: rocks she collected; a lamp; her favorite turtle; pictures; books; artwork; etc. I don’t consider it a shrine…more like I had a home full of stuff and then had to empty Mom’s house so lots of stuff found its way into the spare bedroom.
Here’s a photo of where Mom is. 
Although just now, trying to look at it from an outsider’s eyes, I just realized it might look kind of shrine-ish. When I back up and take another photo, you can see the picture of me and Mom that hangs above where her urn sits.
(Yes, it is too high on the wall, but that is where the nail was. Bite me.)
So now we arrive at the question portion of my post: If I were to extend an invitation for someone to sleep over, should I let them sleep in Mom’s Room, or move Mom somewhere else while the guest was staying at my house? What if YOU were that guest? Would it be weird to sleep in a room where someone’s ashes were sitting at the foot of the bed? Would it matter if you knew my Momma?
Man, I am full of questions today!
Anyhow, please feel free to comment without worrying about hurting my feelings. You can tell me that is or is not normal to keep Mom’s ashes (I would scatter them somewhere if I knew the perfect spot, but I don’t). You can tell me I need a shrink for joking about my spare room being Mom’s Room. You can give me shit by bastardizing a quote from Dirty Dancing (“Nobody puts da Momma in the corner!”).
Don’t be shy.
You know I love yinz.
:pph:
Several years ago I was out of town…south and far away from home. A man I knew, adored and desired just so happened to be staying in the same hotel, a floor up on the other side of the hotel.
My room in the high rise property was fairly large and extremely comfortable. Walk into a hallway as you enter the room, large bathroom on the left, massive bedroom at the end of the little hallway. Standard hotel room. So was His room, except you walked into a hallway also, but His bathroom was on the right.
You know where this is going, right? Oh yes. Yes, it is.
A group of us went out drinking. I was trying my best not to drool over the finest man I know, so I drank with the boys. And did shots with the boys. Lots of shots. Lots of drinks. Drunk Becky was out in full force. We leave the bar and I somehow staggered my way back to the hotel. He didn’t realize I was as hammered as I was.
Things get a little fuzzy around this part. Somehow I managed to get myself invited up to His room. Kissing commenced. (Yay!) Clothing found itself in a pile. THINGS happened. For hours. Life was good. Eventually sleep called. Both of our exhausted selves crashed.
Until I had to pee. As gently as a drunk girl could, I eased out of His bed and crept to the bathroom. From what I remember I managed to find the pot, paper, sink, soap and towel in the dark (didn’t want to wake a hardworking man up…He needed his rest for the morning round!). I left the bathroom, took a left, stepped outside of the “bathroom” door and blinked in the bright light as I heard the room door lock behind me.
Yep. Instead of remembering I was in His room which was set up opposite of mine, instead of going right and back to the bedroom, I went left and found myself locked out of the hotel room. Naked. No cell phone. No room key. No nuttin. At who knows what time of the night / morning, there I am, stark naked in an incredibly bright hotel hallway.
Yikes.
Using my fingernails I tapped lightly on the door. No response. I tried knocking a bit, but was terrified that I would accidentally wake up someone else on the floor and have to explain my predicament. In my drunken haze I memorized His room number from the door and decided to brave the journey to the white courtesy phone near the elevators.
It took forever for the front desk to answer. When the nice lady answered I asked her to “Please transfer me call to room…ummmmm…fuck. Wait. I was just there. I am locked out. I need room ahhhhhhhhhhh? FUCK!”
Of course it was easy to give His name and get that straightened out, but how the hell could I have forgotten the room number during a short, albeit naked, walk to the elevator phone? Stupid shots of straight vodka. And who knows what else.
Anyhow, broad at the front desk tells me that the white courtesy phones won’t transfer to rooms and that I should come down to her desk in order to get a new room key. “No. Really. Just please try to transfer me to His room. I am kinda drunk and really can’t come down there now. No, I promise I don’t need anyone to come up here. JUST TRANSFER ME, PLEEEEEEEEEEEEASE.”
Two rings. Disconnect. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Sonofafuckingmotherlovenbitch, she was right and the call won’t transfer. Great. Just fucking great.
Deep inhale. Deep exhale. I can do this. Just call that broad back, tell her the issue, get on the elevator, walk quickly to the front desk, grab the key and get to my room. Breathe. Lift the white courtesy phone.
Wait. What is that noise? Fuck. Please don’t let that be a business man leaving for his morning meeting or early flight. Oh Fuck. Stay hidden behind the wall, lean my head out to see who it is. Just keep my body behind the wall and stick my head out.
SAVED! It was Him. Coming out of the room I had been in, trying to find out where I disappeared to. Yay! Honeslty, I don’t think I have ever been so happy to see anyone before. Pure joy!
I wrapped an arm around my boobs to keep them from swinging as I quickly made my way down the hall. He had the most adorable smile through His baffled expression as He watched me saunter down the ridiculously long hallway, cooter out for the world to see. I pushed past Him and rushed into His room. Guess I mentioned something about the fact that I shouldn’t have taken that left at Albuquerque. As I crawled into His bed He laughed and told me that He thought maybe I didn’t feel well so He gave me some extra time in the bathroom, but when I didn’t return He walked to the door without turning a light on and thought it was still closed. Because I didn’t answer His inquires He tried to knock on the bathroom door, but His hand went straight through. Quickly He realized I was gone and found Himself a tad hurt that I would leave without so much as a goodbye. It was right about then that His room phone rang once and hung up. Walking towards the phone He saw my pile of clothes on the floor. Two and two easily added up to a naked Becky in the hall so He threw on shorts to come find me.
To this day He still teases me about taking a stroll through the hall without so much as a stitch on. I swear it is just because He loves to remember the look on my face when I saw it was Him in the hall. (Fucker!)
I love to give presents. Weird part is that I am not that good at receiving them. It means so very much to me when someone is kind enough to gift me with something they put thought into, considered my likes and dislikes, then went ahead and presented me with a present that they want me to have. In all honestly, I get kind of overwhelmed when given even the smallest of gifts.
Considering how much I love to receive thoughtful tokens, be they handmade or store bought or plucked off of the giver’s wall, it is no surprise that I love to give people things. It brings me great pleasure when I find the right present for someone. And I get so excited that I want to immediately give the recipient their item. Like NOW. Honestly, I am worse than a little kid. The thrill that courses through my veins is insane and I can’t control myself…if who I want to give the gift to is within driving distance, I am on my way over. Usually with an unwrapped present.
Yes, I shop on Christmas Eve. Many times I have tried to shop in advance, especially since Shaker Woods is in August and has phenomenal items that make perfect gifts. Then I drive home and go straight to the house, bang on the door and tell Aunt Kate or whoever, “Hey, I was just out at Shaker and found the perfect Christmas gift for you. HERE!”
As a woman who has made it to the age of 38 years, one would think I could outgrow this insane excitement, but I can’t get over it and, sad to say, I can’t control it. So embarrassing to admit, but so true.
On a sort of different note, I found the PERFECT gift for a boy who just turned 10, but I had to order it. And it won’t be here until Friday. Can you imagine the happy girl wiggle I am doing every damn time I look at the image on my computer or think of how cool the gift is? Without a doubt I feel as though I cannot possibly survive until Friday when the present is delivered to me so that I may deliver it to its new home.
This would be right about where I do a loud SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! (Again. For the kerjillionth time.)
SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
My cousin Sarah was born on this day 22 years ago, which means August 17th will always be special to me.
Happy, happy birthday, darlin. I miss you and wish I were there today to celebrate you.
:nom:
Remember this:
And this: 
(That last photo has a story that relates to Britt’s post today. Wonder if I should let Sarah write it or if I should. Hmmmmmm.)
Wouldn’t it be great if everyone who was awesome would wear a cape so that we could all recognize each other easily?
Just don’t expect to see me in tights any time soon, k?
(Special thanks to Cinderella for gifting me with the fantastic card that you see posted here.)
Well, technically calling all golfers who will be in the Pittsburgh area this coming Saturday. Please consider this your official invitation to join us for the 15th Annual Grant Channell Memorial Golf Outing.
If memory serves me correctly this is my tenth year volunteering at this fundraiser. All proceeds go to help Dr. Kirkwood (at the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center’s Cancer Institute) battle Melanoma cancer. Dr. Kirkwood has been able to use the over $140k we have raised to keep researchers employed and acquire new equipment.
Our outing is named after Grant Channell, a friend’s husband who died entirely too young from melanoma. You are welcome to read Grant’s story here.
Here are the details…
Saturday, August 15, 2009
New location! Olde Stonewall Golf Club
1495 Mercer Road
Ellwood City , PA 16117
Registration begins at 7:30 a.m.
Shotgun start at 8:30 a.m.
Olde Stonewall is a premier public facility and was named:
Top 50 Public Courses in US
Top 10 Public Courses in the State
PA’s #1 Public Golf Course
Golf Digest
PA’s No. 1 Rated Public Course
Golfweek
Top 10 Courses You Can Play
Golf Magazine
Refreshments and snacks will be offered during the event. After golf, a luncheon will take place along with the brief check presentation to a representative from the Melanoma and Skin Cancer Program at UPCI. The winning team, contest and raffle prize winners will be announced.
Speaking of raffle…I GOT THE STANLEY CUP CHAMPION PITTSBURGH PENGUINS TO DONATE AN AUTOGRAPHED FLEURY JERSEY. Yes, it is just going in the regular ole raffle. Just a few dollars worth of raffle tickets might get you #29′s autographed jersey. If you don’t golf, maybe register for lunch and come support the outing that way?
The stunning and kind and funny and smart and a whole bunch of nice adjectives Dutch Bitch asked me to guest post for her. I said something along the lines of oh hell no…well, if you really need someone.
Crazy Bitch insisted. So today, I’m over HERE, @ THE DUTCH FILES.
Do you like apples? This is my 411th post. How do you like them apples?
The other day I was looking for a photo that showed me with my natural hair color. (Oh please, that collective gasp of surprise is as phony as my red hair…hush.) I found a few that I scanned for your viewing pleasure…
Me in 1988. 
And around 2000.
Me in July of 2001, when I turned 30 and went red. 
And me a few weeks ago.
Although this has nothing to do with hair, here is another one of me in 1988 with the body I want back:
(I know…what’s it like to want? I KNOW!)
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