So the other day, on my beloved cousin’s birthday, I happened to mention finding a photo of her in which her hair was all WOW. But instead of saying her hair was all WOW and oh my fuck, I wish I could rock that, perhaps I said something in the comments like it was all “Edward the vampire” and totally adorable. Regardless, Janie was oh so not impressed.
Let’s not fight with her over the validity of the Twilight books and movies. Instead, let’s discuss whether or not she was 20 years ahead of Edward’s hairstylist:
(Yes, that is Janie on the far right. Be nice, she is my cousin and friend. I’ve been known to throw punches in her honor. (She doesn’t know about them. Shhhh.) Also? How could you not be nice to a crazy teenager in the 80′s? She is damn cute! (Fuck. She probably hates the word “cute” and yet I’ve been drinking so FUCK IT, I’m hitting publish, even with all of the commas and parenthesis, even without a proofread. COZ I CAN! God bless America. And the Internet.)
Tuesday after work I went on a photo hunt. Through OLD albums. See, a wonderful invisible internet friend, Kristy, started a fun little site called Promtacular! and she’s eagerly accepting everyone’s prom pictures. Of course I found a massive amount of non-prom pictures, but only two that were taken on prom night and neither is with my actual date. (So yeah, sorry that you have to wait a little longer, Kristy. I’ll find em, dammit.) Regardless, if you have those fantastic prom pictures that you wanna share with the internet, please upload them to the site. Also? Check out Promtacular! (Some funny stuff.)
But back to me. I started thinking about high school and all the angst, drama and hormones. Even dealing with it all I remember being a fairly happy individual. Sure there were days that the parents did something parental that I didn’t agree with (translation: I didn’t get my way) and I cried as though I lost my favorite puppy, but for the most part my days were filled with happiness. Going through those photos a piece of paper slipped out. I am pretty sure Zwehla wrote the wonderful little poem out for me, but it might have been Lia. (Let’s be honest, I have killed *many* a brain cell over the years and does it really matter who did the scribing?) There is no name written down on the paper so I have no clue who the actual author is.
Somehow I have managed to keep this well over 20 years. The paper isn’t as white as it used to be, but I love it all the same. Hope you enjoy…
Have you made someone happy
Or made someone sad
What have you done with the day that you had?
God gave it to you
To do what you would
Did you do what was wicked
Or do something good?
Did you hand out a smile
Or just give a frown
Did you lift someone up
Or push someone down?
Did you lighten some load
Or some progress impede
Did you look for a rose
Or just gather a weed?
What did you do with your Beautiful day
God gave it to you
Did you throw it away?
The words came rushing back and I practically spoke them out loud from memory, yet I was reading a paper I haven’t seen in years. And tonight that simple little scrap of paper made me smile knowing that even in high school I was trying to look for the good in the situation. I don’t always succeed, but yay for reminding myself to lift someone up instead of pushing them down.
Happy Wednesday, internet. Hope your day is tremendous.
A friend wanted to go to the museum and I was oh so excited to join her. LOVE This town’s museums. Pittsburgh is truly blessed to have had Andrew Carnegie love this place enough to present to us quality museums. His gifts to the city bring me great joy. (Say “great joy” out loud. Does it make you smile the way I do EVERY time I say it?)
This trip was a quick one, though. The gold medal hockey game started at three so we picked the top “must sees” and wasted no time getting to them. (I know, I know…it was like picking your favorite child or meal: damn difficult.) We saw the “new” dinosaurs, the whale exhibit from New Zealand, the Egypt exhibit, the birds, the North American mammals, the Hall of Sculptures and the Hall of Architecture and Casts. I’ll have more photos later, but I wanted to show you something.
Yes, I went to the museum and what am I sharing with you? A photo of my red hair that no one believes is redder than before. You have to be able to see it in that photo, right?
And yes, I was totally horizontal on the floor of the Hall of Sculpture. The ceiling is cool and I was trying to get a decent photo. Finn would have walked away with spectacular images. Me? I failed. Exhibit A:
Failure Exhibit B: 
All the photographers of the world breathe a sigh of relief that I am not out to take their jobs. Yeah, I know I suck, but at least I have fun with it. Like laying on my belly and taking this shot:
Photo might not be great, but damn did I enjoy taking all of these from the floor, even if my friends did think I was crazy, laying there and taking pictures of myself. And perhaps giggling a bit.
Rumor has it that Pittsburgh isn’t done with winter. Phil was correct in his shadow prediction, the calendar is right and winter is planning to throw some more snow and brrrrrr chilly wind gusts at us. And I’m cool with that. I mean, it isn’t even St. Patrick’s Day (all bow your heads for a second in appreciation of the High Holy Day) yet. Sure, we aren’t really dug out from the last snow, but fuck it, let’s add a bit more to the winter most of us will never forget.
Although the awesome guy who colors my hair (I call him the Hedge) told me the Farmer’s Almanac says we are going to get one hell of a storm around the 6th or 7th of March…more snow than we have ever seen. As I was driving home tonight I started thinking about the Almanac. It is something I never read so maybe this is a simple answer, but is it geographical or just for the entire country? I mean, maybe that huge snow is gonna be in Montana or Maine or something. Ount know. Regardless, I have the Sam’s Club toilet paper bundle so I’ll be safe if I get snowed in for a few days. And really, who can’t use another day off from work?
~~~~~~~~~~~
On a totally different note, I COOKED THE OTHER DAY! Go me!
Saturday K forced me to join her in the adventure that is the new Market District grocery store out at Settler’s Ridge. I’m not a fan of the joint. Put all the fucking crackers together, quit having them in three locations so I have to go through your stupid store several times. Assholes.
As I was saying, we were at the grocery store and I just got this crazy idea that I would use my crock pot thingie. After the brand new, still in the box crock pot was ruined in the flood of 2004 that took most of my shit I made sure to buy another one. Five years later and that bitch was still in her box, sitting in the basement. Well dammit, I was about to change that. Yes, the woman who doesn’t cook at all was going to feed herself something other than chips and salsa with Kraft American cheese slices. Whooooooooooo!
I had no idea how to buy a roast to K picked one out. She also had to pick out the potatoes and the garlic. Seriously, I live under a rock. Thankfully the Chinese guy and the Italian guy know how to deliver food to me. How did I not starve before now?
So last night I threw more carrots and onions than a one pound roast could possibly need into the crock pot. A few garlic cloves and some leftover garlic pesto dressing from Mad Mex went in as well, along with a bunch of potatoes and some broth. All spice and pepper. Cook on low overnight.
Except I woke up at 2 AM ravenously hungry. Now I know why people cook that shit when they are at work. Damn! Good news is I survived and packed it up for lunch. My coworkers all ohhhhh’d and ahhhhhhhhhh’d over the fact that I cooked. All around fun.
So my first attempt at cooking red meat was ok. Next time will involve more seasonings, but I was afraid to be heavy handed. Actually, next time will probably involve chicken since I actually like chicken, but still, I am all about happy with me and my crock pot adventure.
Please note that this post would have had a photo, but when I accidentally sent it to TwitPic instead of myself a few people thought a carrot looked like a penis so I pulled it from this post.
Oh hell, who am I kidding? If I read a blog who pulled a photo I would ask for it. So here ya are:
This daughter of a teacher turned nurse and her k-9 cop husband wasn’t brought up with a lot of money, but we were happy so I never coveted material things. I don’t make a lot of money and I am ok with that. As a single woman I have my own home that I share with two of the world’s most loving and kind dogs, a SUV that goes in the snow (and two cars that I don’t run at all) and a job that has kept me happy for a little over 11 years now.
That being said, I do love nice things. So I’ll save when there is something large I desire to acquire or a trip I want to take. I’ll do without some stuff in order to secure other things. Credit cards were cut up back when I was in my 20′s so I am not tempted to over indulge on fun stuff. (And we all know how much I *love* the fun stuff!)
But here’s the thing…in between when I splurge, I love tricking myself into thinking I am spoiling me, even when really am not. Thursday I went grocery shopping at lunch and picked up something I don’t think I have ever purchased before. While I really like cucumbers in salads, I don’t make salad at home so I never really had a need to buy cucumbers. So why now? To slice and float in water, like they do in the fancy spas.
Oh yeah bitches, my home is now a spa.
Well, in my head it is. I loved the way I felt in Cabo San Lucas after my massage when I sat in the spa, sipping cool cucumber water. Sitting on my couch with a huge cold glass of the slightly flavored water makes me feel indulgent, when it literally cost pennies to have the feeling of the high life. (Lots of folks ask me how I can almost always be happy. Some people think I am fooling myself, pretending to be someone I am not. Personally, I feel like I just choose to enjoy the little “good things” in life instead of concentrating on the stuff that I don’t have.)
Happy Monday. Now go find the little things that make you feel like you have all the money you could ever want or need, even while you live on a budget. And tell me about them…
Fuck my life is fantastic.
Fuck my life is fabulous.
Fuck my life is fun.
Yeah, I don’t get the “FML” folks who want to seriously complain about their lives. Life is just too short and too precious to harp on the negative. Life is truly comical. And there is all kinds of sun stuff around you, you just need to know where to look.
I haven’t posted in entirely too long and what brings me out of hibernation? Meeting a porn star’s husband. No shit. Well, that is not entirely why I am here posting. I’m avoiding running the suck machine and putting away the clean laundry I did. Those always send me searching for better stuff to do.
Today at lunch a coworker and I ran errands together. A stop at the grocery store and me joking with the produce guy had her making fun of me for talking to anyone and saying trips with me were never boring. Then the same coworker and I hit the hotel bar close to work for happy hour. (Dude, $3 glasses of chardonnay certainly make my hour happy. Wheeeeeeeee!)
Anyhow, we were laughing and having a great time. An attractive regular bought us each a drink and we WAHOO’d as though it were a $14 cocktail (he’s bought me plenty of those over the years, too…great guy). As we were preparing to leave we struck up a conversation with the adorable guy at the end of the bar who had been on his lappytop the entire time.
Turns out his wife is a porn sta (her site HERE, their reality site is still in development), in town filming a few things. He races motorcross and we got to talking about the sex industry, sports and websites. Cool conversation with a really nice guy. I gave him my blog business card with my ass on the back. Seemed fitting.
Whole point of this post is to say that I really enjoyed talking to the produce guy for a brief moment (the smile on his face was priceless) and the motorcross racing husband of a porn star, each for different reasons. They both made me smile. They both made me laugh.
And really, isn’t laughter what it is all about?
Happy Half Nekkid Thursday. I’ve missed you, Internet.
xoxo
I haven’t written anything over here in close to a month. There are a variety of reasons why I haven’t written…too busy running around enjoying the fall, having nothing blog worthy to say, being named in a lawsuit that specifically references this little site of mine, just being lazy, etc.
ANYhow, I don’t even really know where to start these days. Just don’t know what to write about. I could tell you that I am too lazy to get out and rake my yard, but that photo above proves that point. I could recap my adventures in Florida when I stayed with Britt‘s family and attended Adam‘s party, but so many others gave much better recaps. I could tell you about my trip to Columbus the few days before I left for Florida, but it already seems like forever ago and most of what I find funny would get lost in the writing. I could tell you how Twitter is sucking the blogger from me, but most of you know the feeling.
WAIT! I know what I can tell you. The night I got back from Florida my neighbor told me there was a reporter snooping around my house, wanting to interview me for a story. Something about my Mom’s work with the Clean Water and Clean Air initiatives. Fortunately my (very hot) neighbor told the reporter that I probably wouldn’t be interested and that he shouldn’t be digging up painful memories since I’m still struggling with Mom’s death even three and a half years later. (I love my neighbor!)
I called the reporter, who left several business cards shoved in my door and in my mailbox, only to get voice mail. (insert happy girl wiggle here) A day later the reporter called back and left me a voice mail message saying that his story on air pollutants needed someone who had lost a loved one due to the environment and everyone he talked to told him that he should talk to me. Seems lots of folks that knew Mom and worked with her suggested he contact me.
Only problem is that I don’t feel that breast cancer is a direct result of air pollutants. And I don’t think that Mom’s decision not to take one of the meds (Tamoxifen) that could have kept the cancer from returning (to her brain, bones and lungs) was a result of the air. Or water.
Regardless, even if I did, I ain’t strong enough to be speaking on camera about my Mom’s death.
So there’s that. That is blog worthy, eh?
I usually have vivid and intense dreams. Often I will wake up mad at a friend who has wronged me or done something stupid in one of my dreams. Several times I have had my pillow soaked from my tears when I woke up sobbing due to a powerfully sad dream. In my dreams the colors and smells are so real, events are powerful, even if often the dreams are completely bizarre!
Last night was no different.
From my home I decided to walk to another neighborhood. For some unknown reason I made sure to find a grocery cart to take with me. As I was walking the hilly streets and up into the next neighborhood, leaning forward in an effort to allow the grocery cart to keep me from falling totally forward, huffing and puffing from the uphill struggle, I heard sirens. The perfect, classic Ford Model T pulled over so the other two cars kept going. As the police car slid in behind the Ford I realized there was a problem. I got as close to the wall on my left and kept walking slowly, fascinated by the fact that the driver had jumped out and had started running. The cop hollered something about not letting him get away so I stepped into the street, about to do my best Troyus (Troy Polamalu, strong safety for my Pittsburgh Steelers) impression and tackle the shit outta him when Andre the Giant stepped forward and did a move I have never seen before. Something like standing still with his arms out at his sides, like a a giant cross, then stepping forward towards the runner only to bring both of those massive tree trunk arms quickly in to chop the runner in the neck, lift him up several feet off of the ground before dropping him. I was in awe.
Until the (alleged!) bad guy got up and started looking for those who wanted to help the police. Leaving the grocery cart behind I quickly made my way down the street, taking a left onto an old fashioned street. It was easy to duck into a doorway, along with another one of the guys who had considered helping the police. When we saw the bad guy coming towards us we started kissing, pretending to be two lovers caught up in each other, regardless of our surroundings.
It worked. When the Ford driver was past us I left, walking further down the street until I found a covered bridge / barn. The hay on the floor rolled under my tennis shoes and even though I was slipping and sliding a bit, for some reason I felt stable and knew I wouldn’t fall down. Droves of people started filling the space and I didn’t want to be there any more so I made my way out and further down the street.
The next thing I remember is standing at the bank of three small elevators, waiting for our group to be able to fit on one. (I have no idea why I went from being alone to having a bunch of folks with me.) It was a mad scramble when elevator doors opened and lots of foreigners tried to push on. (Right about here I realized I was out of the country and these folks were not foreign, I was!) After a few missed elevator rides due to rude fuckers, I started flirting with the two massive men to my right. Most folks seemed to be afraid of them because they were bald and black, but they joked back with me and the chemistry between me and the one was unmistakable. We all got on the next elevator, packed in like sardines, but since I was smashed up against the cute big bald guy, I was happy. Until the doors wouldn’t close and some angry French chef was insistent that we get off of the service elevator. Dammit!
Everyone piled off and I was looking at the sign to where we were going. It was in Dutch. From the photos it was easy to see that there were several things that the elevator could take us to, the most exciting to me was the amusement park and the Sea World type place. Oh how I wanted to go ride the roller coasters so I convinced the group that we needed to find stairs and walk, regardless of the distance.
Next thing I remember is being in a Renaissance Fair type setting and the feeling of disappointment with not finding a roller coaster. Someone tried to convince me to get on a Ferris Wheel, yet I had no desire. Until I looked over and realized that it was made of flowers. The beauty was unmistakable and I was drawn to it, even if it was French (yes, I am not a fan of the country). Problem was the thing never stopped, we just sort of jumped on. The whole group was seated, but none of us were buckled in. Right about the time we were considering how to strap the safety belts the Wheel left its base and started rolling. There was no time to be scared because the view was spectacular and only got better when we went over the edge of the Grand Canyon. (Except it was not all rocks like the real Grand Canyon, there were flowers everywhere, a lush and magnificent color filled space.) Spectacular doesn’t begin to describe the richness of colors and the feel of the fresh air rushing by as we were rolling along. I wrapped my arms around the bars and held on tight as the Wheel went upside down. That view blew my mind! Fortunately I had no problem staying in my seat as we rolled down into the canyon. (Right about here it should be noted that Britt was the happiest I have ever seen her on that Ferris Wheel.)
Next thing I remember was walking down a street with a strong desire to photograph the old stone buildings, but being without a camera. Since my phone has a camera I tried to snap a few pictures, but Britt was getting angry that I was holding the group back. The group was waiting at a bus stop when I arrived and it made my heart sing to see my Mom with the group. I asked if text messages from another country were as expensive as calls from another country because I needed to send Dave (you know, Dave2 from Blogography) a photo of pooferflargen.
The bus never came. We didn’t have money anyhow. I set off to explore some more and the group followed. My cousin Sarah dropped her iphone so she couldn’t take pictures anymore, which meant I was the only one stopping often to look through the crapped lens of a phone. There was the most beautiful church which had a shrine outside that caught my attention. I was reading what little I could (damn foreign languages in foreign countries!)…which means all I could make out was the last name of the famous Freudeitche (the famous psychiatrist / philosopher Freud / Nietzsche??!?!). Being in his presence overwhelmed me. I was so happy and content. And consumed with capturing the perfect photo of the shrine. So everyone left. Surprisingly, I didn’t care. Besides, I knew I could catch up.
Eventually I drug myself away from Freudeitche and headed towards where the group had gone. I picked up my pace and still couldn’t find them. Turns out it was cool because Cinderella had come back looking for me. Yay, Cinde! She led me to the apartment. Not just any apartment, the casa of the one and only Dutch Bitch!
Dutchy’s place was adorable and filled with lots of fun treasures. Plus, she fed us the most delicious spaghetti that I have ever had the pleasure of consuming. From all the walking we were famished and Dutchy was mortified that she ran out of spaghetti. One would think the guests would have been upset that they ate the host out of all of her food, but not us. We were full and happy. Even if my Mom was using her left hand to serve the spaghetti to everyone.
I don’t remember much more than that.
Probably a good thing…
The morning after the Penguins won the Stanley Cup I woke up, looked across the hotel room and told Britt that my Steelers were in possession of the Lombardy Trophy, my Penguins were now the Stanley Cup Champions and I was so happy, if she wanted I could fly.
When I finally had the opportunity to fucking HUG Lord Stanley’s Cup it was a miracle that my feet stayed on the ground.
Although my knees did go kinda weak when my favorite former Penguin agreed to pose for a photo with me!
I might have squeeed. A few times. 
The moment I saw Phil Bourque enter the room I did the happy girl wiggle. Of course I approached him and asked if he would pose for a photo with me and The Cup. The man is incredible and quickly obliged. Later when we were talking I mentioned that he was always one of my favorite Penguins (well, him and Trots…Brian Trottier). The Ol Two Niner didn’t believe me. He actually said that I probably tell all the Pens that. I only got mostly pissed, telling him I hate liars so I don’t run around telling all the Penguins that they are my favorite. Then I sort of smiled and said that back in the day, while the entire city had a crush on Lemieux, I had a HUGE crush on him. I might have went on about how attractive he was and still is, might have rambled a bit about the way he skated…blah, blah, blah.
All I know is that the Ol Two Niner is ADORABLE when he blushes. And he doesn’t mind the happy girl wiggle he witnessed several times. Squeeeeeeeee!
(I don’t think many people saw me totally making out with The Cup, though. Whew!)
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