Thursday, July 13, 2006

Note To Self: Carry Camera More Often

Some days I look around and wonder how I got so lucky to live somewhere this darn pretty.

Fort Pitt Bridge, as seen from West Carson Street.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Suzy Homemaker

Or, why I am the only woman on the planet who is not INSANE. Mostly.

Please, please tell me the words to convey politely yet firmly that I do not want china. No, I have no china pattern. It's a scam. Who pays $100 for a dinner plate? CRAZY PEOPLE! (This doesn't apply to you, of course.)

We were unleashed on Macy's with a checklist and a handheld scanner on Monday night to set up our wedding registry. We did put some nice dishes on there, but no, no actual china. My reason for avoiding it is mostly that it feels like a gigantic waste. I'm not the type to use it any more than at Christmas and Easter, and really, that's a shame for something that is so unbelieveably expensive. The rest of my reasons?

1. My mother has two sets of china. Also two daughters. Huh. Well, isn't that all touchy-feely family heirloom and shit.
2. If I break a $100 dollar plate I will cry. If Bob does, I wll yell, then cry. If various friends or family members do? I will smile real nice, say it's fine, don't worry, here, have some more wine, then go to the bathroom and cry.
3. I don't even have a dining room table. Or a dining room.
4. When I do, someday, have a dining room table, people can feel free to come over and eat off of my everyday dishes. I will show my love for them by preparing lasagna with 800 grams of fat and purchasing really good booze instead.
5. Anyone who turns up their nose at us because they are not eating off of Lenox? Is never invited back. Ever.
6. Who. The. Fuck. Cares?

Also, I'm having enough trouble with the concept of the registry itself. Look at me, I'm getting married, buy me presents!! Oh, the guilt. But other people's registries? Love them. I am all about getting people something they like and will use. And I'm happy to do it! Yes, I realize this makes no sense.

/end rant

Although, normal dishes that I can break without having a meltdown? Those would be nice. More than three plates that match? Wow. What's that like?

Now if I could get people to stop looking at me like I just kicked a puppy when I tell them "no china", I will be a very happy woman.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Meant To Be

Bob and I met four years ago, almost to the day. I was about seven months out of the No Good Very Bad Breakup, and looking again. He was, well, drunk.

My friend Sherry and I had tickets to see The Clarks at Station Square here in Pittsburgh. When we got into my car to head to the show, I looked over at her very seriously and said, "Sherry, tonight I'm finding a man."

About halfway through the show I became aware of a couple of drunk guys standing behind us. Drunk #1 was tall and built like a linebacker. He desperately needed a shave and, god help me, he was wearing a Hawiian shirt. Drunk #2 swayed back and forth and looked as though he might vomit on his shoes.

A slow song came on, and, being a good sport, I held up my lighter and swayed in appreciation. Apparently I flicked my Bic a little too long. It exploded in my hand.

"Whoa!" Drunk #1 slurred. "You blew up your lighter!"

Ah, romance.

We chatted here and there, as well as anyone can over screaming guitars and crowd noise, for the rest of the evening. When the lights came up he stumbled my way.

"Hey, you wanna go out some time?"

I looked at Sherry. She looked back, her eyes so wide they were ready to pop out of her head. Then I began to understand temporary insanity.

"Um, sure, why not?"

I would like to take a moment to point out that I was dead sober at the time.

"Cool! What's your number?" he asked as he killed his beer. Drunk #2 looked on, apparently still considering that shoe thing.

I gave it to him. My actual, correct telephone number.

"Awesome. I'll give you a call sometime."

Or, "Awshum! I'zl give yooooo a ca, call shumtime."

We said our goodbyes and Sherry and I scurried off to our car. The hilarity of the situation hit us. We ended up doubled over laughing in the parking lot. Sherry called my mental status into question more than once. I defended myself by saying I just wondered if he'd actually call, and that it was good practice flirting for the next time. Certainly I would never actually go on a date with the guy.

I'm marrying Drunk #1 in three months.

As for Drunk #2? Well, he's the best man.

Friday, July 07, 2006


I sure hope they were using protection.

By the way, meet Cat. You may also address her as Fucking Cat. She does have a real name, Penny, so called for a song by local band The Clarks called "Penny on the Floor". Just plain Cat stuck instead.

She and Stitch are, like, totally in love.

I swear this is not going to turn into a blog about my cat. Really, I promise.

No, really.

Welcome to Pittsburgh! Now get off my road.

Pittsburgh is hosting the Major League Baseball All Star Game this weekend. Which is great. It makes for good national exposure for a city that badly needs it. We’re supposed to have spectacular weather this weekend. Lots of folks from out of town will get to see our fair city, and give the local economy a little bump while they’re at it. All in all, a good thing.

Except for one thing.

Apparently hosting the All Star Game means that we need to close down half of our major streets in the name of security. During rush hour.

Pittsburgh is infamous for being difficult to navigate by car. We do the best we can given our topography, but we’re a city built around three rivers and into numerous hillsides. One-way streets abound. No, you can’t go back the same way you came. Don’t even ask me about PennDOT. Those of us who were raised here are used to it and good at it. Those from out of town are basically screwed. But start closing half of town, and even the locals panic.

So, if you’re visiting this weekend, welcome! We’re glad you’re here. Stay a spell. See the sights. Have a drink. I’d be happy to give you directions, or tell you where to get a good sandwich.

Just get off my road.

Thursday, July 06, 2006

Good Intentions

Today is the husband-to-be’s birthday. Since he has to work tonight, I decided that we would celebrate yesterday. In order to adequately express my undying love for the man, I had planned on making him a birthday cake. With my own two hands! And none of this boxed crap for my baby. I was going to make the cake from scratch.

When I last went to buy groceries I scurried around the baking aisle like Emeril on crack. Self-rising flour! BAM! Confectioner’s sugar! Food coloring! He shall have colored icing! Icing that Did Not Come From a Can! Made the way my Nan used to do it, with a pound of butter and enough sugar to choke a horse! With sprinkles, even!

Imagine my displeasure when I got home from work yesterday and realized that I had left the recipe in my desk.

I cursed. I threw a fork. I tried to decide if there were any cake-like recipes that I knew off the top of my head.

There are not.

And then? I flopped down on the couch and took a nap until he got home.

When he got home I looked up at him from my nap-induced haze and informed him that there was no cake. And also, no dinner. I was so tiiired. And so sorry.

“Do you want to go out somewhere?” he asked.


“Well, I could go drive through somewhere.”

Then I promptly went back to sleep until the birthday boy came back bearing french fries and Chicken McNuggets.

In summary: I am the world’s worst girlfriend.

The Conversation Will Go Something Like This

After the wedding, you should stop taking your pills.

What's that you say? We need to pay the bills? You'd like to go shopping for drills? Strippers are good for cheap thrills? Oh! Surely it was the last one. Here's fifty in singles. Knock yourself out.

I'm 28 years old.

I am well aware of how old you are. Do you know how old I am?


Yes! I'm a baby myself! A sapling! A tadpole! I am not ready.

You'll be 25 this year. Besides, you always bitch about feeling old.

No, no, that was the immaturity talking. I am so young it's disgusting. I have no wrinkles or gray hair. Parents have those. I do not. No one has children at 25.

Yes, they do.

No! No one does such a thing. Besides, I can't be someone's mother.

Why not? You'd be a good mother.

:::twitch:::: What?

I said you'd be a good mother.

Listen. I would be horrible. I cut people off in traffic. I do not floss regularly, nor do I eat my vegetables. I smoke, and drink. I yell at telemarketers. I curse. A fucking lot. I charge things on my credit card that I do not need. I buy books and then don't read them. I don't rinse out the recyclables. I waste electricity. I am easily irritated. I can be selfish. And a bitch. I am a selfish bitch! My check engine light has been on for ten thousand miles. Ten thousand! I put my contacts in my mouth and then stick them back IN MY EYE. Do you hear that? I rinse off my contacts with my own spit! That's disgusting, even I know it.

Babies don't wear contacts.

I hate you. And you!! You don't put your dirty clothes in the hamper. You get toothpaste all over the sink. You can't cook. You couldn't even make the kid toast in my absence. Half of your underwear has holes in it! Your car is held together with duct tape!

What's your point?

That we're both impossibly immature, of course! Babies. Feh! Are you high?


We'd have to move. We only have one bedroom.

So we'll move.

We can't afford a kid!

We could if you stop buying all those books you never read. And we'll both quit smoking. That'll save a ton of money.

You want to raise a baby on our cigarette money?


Look, there's not ready and then there's Not Ready. I am, most certainly, Not Ready


Could I possibly talk you into a dog?