He will bring us goodness and light

(I wrote this one before heading to Florida for Christmas so I could lazily - uh, I mean easily - post it on the appropriate day.  I got sick and obviously I'm a little bit late here!  Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas!)


The following text is from a sermon at church about a month ago.  I enjoyed the priest's message and I wanted to write it down so I won't forget it. 

Some days it's difficult to get out of bed in the morning.  We think about all the things we have to do that day and we think about all the things that are troubling us.  Maybe we're having a tough time with family members, with our jobs, or with illnesses.  That's why Christmas is a perfect time to think about and reflect on why Jesus came to earth for us.  What is Jesus offering us?  Is he offering us a life without pain?  A life without any form of suffering or hurt?  No.  Jesus is offering us Love.  When he came here as a man, he experienced our ailments, our hurts, betrayals, and sufferings.  He knows what it feels like.  It is a very important distinction to remember that he is offering us Love and not a guarantee of painlessness, and he wants us to experience his love.  Having love is more vital than having a pain-free life... keep that in mind anytime you are feeling discouraged.

If you want to be a true disciple of Christ, you must take up your cross and follow him.  No one ever said this life was going to be easy.

Unfortunately though.... for as much as we might like this to be true some days..... certain things are not for us to decide.  We cannot choose for our cross to be made with styrofoam!

Merry Christmas!!  :)

Can you give me a hand here?

I just had another extremely productive Sunday evening.  I must have gotten too much sleep this weekend, because I am fighting off an overabundance of energy.  The Steelers game was a good opportunity for me to wave some of it off and lift my (little) hand weights while watching, but even that wasn't enough to reduce the high energy level.  After the game was over, I literally ran around my apartment and later jumped/danced like a maniac to the radio for a few minutes  (It is a sad evening since the Steelers lost; I had to push myself through the silly motions). 

Then I thought, "OMG, how awesome would it be if I could do a handstand?!!?".  Doesn't everyone think of stuff like this?  I unsuccessfully tried to do it a few times before I had the ingenius idea of looking up instructions on the internet.  I swear to you that I am a 29 year old female and not a 13 year old boy, although I can identify with them... Breakouts?  Check.  First-kiss jitters and sweaty palms on a date?  Check and check.  Moustache slowly growing?  Check.   

Anyway, for those of you who are married with children or even just married, you're probably wondering 1) why the hell would she try to do handstands in her free time? and 2) what is free time?   The answers are relatively simple.  1) I am supercool.  2) Free time = this is what single people have if they have already cleaned the apartment, done all the laundry, talked to the folks, and caught up with friends on the phone.  Yes, there are things I could and should do such as volunteering or a part-time job, but I'm working on those.  In the meantime, I am supercool.

On one episode of Sex And The City (SATC), the characters are discussing their "Secret Single Behavior" (SSB).  In a way, attempting handstands could count as one of those except for the fact that it is not a secret and it is not something that I routinely do (until next Sunday night, of course!).  On the show, they didn't want their boyfriends finding out about the SSB they do when said boyfriends are not around because they were worried it would scare them away.

Back to the point - so after I watched some experts online and got some tips, I decided it would be smart to clear a space in front of a wall so that I wouldn't flip over.  Good idea?  Yes!  Was it a tip I learned from the internet?  No!  I awkwardly slid/crumpled on my first attempt which caused my wrists to crack in a bunch of different places and made my neck feel funny.  Undeterred, my second attempt was so bad I'm not sure what really happened... it was a blur.  There was a loud thud against the wall, my hair was disheveled more than it normally is, and I decided to wait until there was another person around for fear of getting hurt.  See, this proves I'm not a 13 year old boy.  The boys would just do it anyways and then damage something.  I am much more sophisticated/mature than that (read: I really don't want to drive myself to the ER to explain how I broke my wrist and then have to explain all over again at work on Monday.  Not everyone understands the plight of the brave).

Unlike the SATC characters, I'm not afraid to share this SSB with anyone and this is exactly the reason why having a boyfriend around would sometimes be useful.  I'm sure I would be a shoo-in at the pierogi try-outs if I could do a handstand.  The Pirates staff would exclaim, "Oh look, how novel!  That pierogi is upside-down!  Just what the crowd paid money to see!"...Even though an upside-down pierogi probably doesn't look much different than a normal pierogi, assuming there is such a thing as "normal" when a person is standing in a pierogi costume.

I better get to bed and rest up... my social calendar is surprisingly free tomorrow night, if you can believe it, and there are all kinds of fun I could end up having.  And no, shaving/bleaching/waxing off my moustache isn't one of them... at least not yet.

Look at how much fun this is, especially the nineties clothing.

Just say it

Just say it - throughout the course of a day, there are probably eleventy-billion thoughts we think to ourselves that we'd like to say (or shout) but instead we keep our mouths shut.  (Sidebar: Thank you Saturday Night Live, for many years ago giving the world the number eleventy-billion...the amount of which no one can fully comprehend yet I'm guessing it's more than ten billion.)  In my case, I've decided to just write it.  Unbeknownst to some, I do not always blurt out everything I think and that very limited censor will remain intact...except for these few things.  In no particular order:

• Stop licking the pages!  I think everyone I know does this except for me, so that would make me the outlier in this case.  Close friends, family, respected coworkers, professors, classmates, even people on TV do it.  They try to quickly flip through a stack of pages and then...they run into stuck pages...and they lick a finger or two and touch it to the page to continue flipping.  Yes, technically they are licking the finger and not the page, but the saliva still remains .....on ......that.....page.  I have tried this once to see what the fuss is all about and I didn't find it effective, but maybe it's because I don't practice.  Really, it's gross when you think about it.  Unless you washed your hands five seconds ago and then decided to find one piece of paper out of fifty, how clean could your hands be?  Are you the only person who has to touch those pages today?  I love many of you who do this, but I don't love this behavior.  Please, just stop.  Struggle through those pages, you can do it!   
• Learn how to drive!  This sentiment is said in a variety of words and phrases to all of the cars around me, because apparently I am one of the chosen few who were taught how to drive properly (thank you Mom, Dad, & Brother).  Unless you are lost or new to the area, you really don't have a valid excuse for not staying in your lane or going slow in the passing lane or going half the speed limit or not using turn signals or braking at green lights or letting four people go in front of you (and in front of Me!) instead of taking your proper turn.  I'm all for being nice, but being fair is a form of kindness too.  I'm also pro-cautious driving  particularly as weather, road conditions, and visibility permits.  The driving problem that irritates me the most is when people drive way under the speed limit and ride the brakes for no reason.  (Long Sidebar, Prepare Yourself: Once I had a very strange guy friend who was interested in dating me.  I told him no, and we remained friends.  My mom wanted me to date him, because "what could be so weird about him?".  I told her that he is a good friend, but he's just...you know...weird.  She didn't understand until he came over one day for dinner.  As we were all eating our spaghetti, as people were talking to him, as he was chewing his food... he was literally not paying any attention to the people or the conversation.  His head was doing slow turns upwards and around, taking in the bare sight of our dining room ceiling, as if he was contemplating the meaning of life and the concept of eleventy-billion Skittles thrown into a bouncy ball gym.  "Would the Skittles get lost among all the other colors?  Would pandemonium break loose and would the children "swim" to the bottom to eat them?  What else would they find down there?  How could you know if you found them all if you don't know what that number represents?"  After he left that evening, my mom said to me - "You were right, he is weird".)  Anyway, there was a point to that ridiculously long sidebar and it is this: Under the speed limit driver with your foot on the brake - I picture you as my very strange guy friend - looking around at the sights in bewilderment while gripping your steering wheel, instead of focusing intently and thus safely on your driving task at hand.  You are thinking in a Patrick the Starfish voice from Spongebob (Click here if you don't know his voice.) - "What is this I see?  What is this road before me, what are these trees and what is this blue sky?  Oh no, what are these other cars doing around me?  Why are they here?  What is this pedal next to my brake?  Where am I?"  And you continue to ride the brake while I fume helplessly behind you.  As my brother eloquently states, "You should always drive fast.  You never know when the person driving behind you is in a hurry because he has to go home and take a crap."  Well said, elder one.  Other drivers, please take notice.
• Men - trim your nose hairs if they extend past your nose.  This is a sad and defeated plea of mine.  No, I'm not criticizing and yes, I feel terrible that you have to shave your face most days.  I really do feel for you on that one, but please take care of business before I succumb to the thoughts in my head and ask you to do so in a tone that I think is perfectly reasonable and calm but you would think sounds like a mouthful of pure crazy that hurts your feelings.
• Stop saying like, like every single sentence.  This one plagues me because I myself am a struggling-to-recover like girl.  I try not to use it when recounting conversations, but it's a hard habit to break.  The word comes spewing out like a baby who spits when she doesn't want to eat any more pureed peas and it makes a mess everywhere.  Like the baby, I don't know whether to laugh at the ridiculous goop on you or cry because the taste is horrific.  Yes, I realize I just used "like" in the past two sentences, well three if you count this one, but these examples are not indicative of the incorrect usage.  As awful as it is to realize you're saying it against your own will, it's even harder to listen to when it comes out of other people's mouths.  Example from a friend of mine: "I was like 'what?'... And then he was like 'whoa'.... And then I was like, I was like....".  Yes, that example was totally pointless.  My point exactly.  Imagine if we showed our speech patterns in written form to someone from a hundred years ago.  Example: The man entered through the doorway and shook the snow off the top of his hat.  He brushed more snow off his shoulders as he wiped his feet on the mat before removing his shoes.  He was like, "Damn snow."  Aside from the quotation marks giving it away, the person from a hundred years ago might ask... "He was... like?...damn snow?  Meaning he was cold like the snow?  Or does he like the snow?  If so, why would he swear about it?"  Oh, you mean that he muttered "Damn snow", or he said or he stated or he cursed or he scoffed or he sighed or he declared or he shouted or he cried or he joked.  It's bad enough when anyone rocking in the free world can write as poorly as they wish on a pierogi blog about nothing at all....please do not contribute to the English language's downfall by continually saying and abusing like, a word which can mean so much when a certain someone whispers in the correct context, "I really like you".
• Stop using comic sans font!  In case you haven't realized just how atrocious this font is and you think I've officially gone over the edge....check out this website here.  It's not just me.  Seeing the font makes my eyes hurt and my face scrunch up like I just bit into a lemon when I was expecting a banana.  My understanding is that it was created for use in comic books, which actually makes sense.  Ergo, it was NOT created for people to use as an everyday font in the workplace.  Its proliferation makes zero sense.  One of my former coworkers was a very smart man; his emails carefully dissected GAAP and FASB complexities in clear language that made commoners like me comprehend.  His words were authoritative but his font was comic sans....which blew the whole tone.  It was difficult to take the man seriously.  Maybe he thought he would finally fit in with all of today's cool kids since he was using the coolest font from 1994, and they would forget that he was the leader of the bookworms back in high school.  Any other font, even webdings, is a vast improvement.  There is an amusing video regarding the font at the website given above, but I've attached a direct link to the youtube video here.  The video is rather crude and long, so viewer beware.
• Who do you think you are?  Is your time more important than anyone else's?  Are you too good to respond in kind when someone says "Hello" or "Good morning"?  Do you take yourself too seriously?  Are you a "taker" instead of a "giver" type of person?  Some people do not realize how good they have it... the lives that we lead, the freedoms we have, the jobs that keep us housed and clothed and full.... the opportunities and basically the beautiful life and world that is out there for us to explore and experience in our time here.  Yes, I'm complaining today about minutia... but I realize it's just that and not important at all, which is why I remain quiet most days.   I don't have any more answers than anyone else, but I do have a modicum of perspective!

So there you have it.  A few of my unspoken thoughts that you wasted your time reading.  I'm sure some of you are wishing you had the five or ten minutes back into your life that it took you to peruse this post, but for the overwhelming majority of you (that's three of four followers, people!)...I think you should come right out and just say it already....

You missed me.

Terrible Advice

One of my best friends recently received her first Terrible Towel so that she will be prepared to attend her first Steelers game when we play the Ravens in Baltimore.  I love her immensely, except she is the only Steelers fan I know who did not own a Terrible Towel up until now....I can hear the collective four gasps across Allegheny county... how strangely shocking, indeed.  No matter, I'm going to dismiss that detail as long as she follows my advice.  I hope her allegiance doesn't falter....she has a new boyfriend who lives in Ravens country and apparently loves the team that is (gag) Purple like a certain (un)popular children's dinosaur.  She tells me he is a great guy although I have my doubts based on team selection.  He must be girl smart for choosing my friend but it sounds like he lacks in the football smarts.  At least he's taking my girl (his girl?) to a Steelers game so I'll reluctantly give him some credit for that one.


Miss KMD - this one is just for you, with much love from your Fire Doodle.  I expect you to know this verbatim with your super-duper memory skills before gameday to ensure you are ready.  Have fun, be careful, and please don't let me down!

Terrible Towel (TT) Advice:

1. Always carry your TT to the Steelers games.  This includes all pre-game tailgating activities and any post-game tailgating activities.  If your apartment is burning down on your way out the door to the game and you had to choose between your ID and your TT, you choose the TT and continue on to the game, calling 911 from your vehicle.  Take your chances on not getting carded and wink/smile at other Steelers fans if you must in order to imbibe responsibly as you wish.

2. Always use the proper technique to wave your TT.  The basic swing is helicopter style above your head, with your arm extended as high as you can lift it and your hand clutching the end of the towel, using your wrist to flick the towel around.  Most of the time I use my dominant hand so I can wave the TT as fast and as hard as I can to help spur on an offensive march or a defensive stand.  You can be sitting or standing depending on the situation.  A frenzied pace is the norm, as a slow helicopter turn may cause the TT to fall on your head...plus you will need plenty of room to do the slow style properly by swinging your whole arm, and it should only be used in special circumstances.  Sometimes the TT can be used in a tomahawk style chop using a downward arm movement if you are angry and need to hit something.  I usually do this on inanimate objects such as my couch or the floor, but feel free to do this on the nearest opposing team's fan if you think he will be a good sport about it and not cry like a baby since you hit him with a piece of cloth.  Feel free to scream and holler loudly while waving the towel.

3. Always wave your TT with pride.  Wave it as a hello to other Steelers fans, wave it as a taunt to opposing teams' fans, wave it to release pent up adrenaline before kickoff, wave it in the parking lot if you love hot dogs and burgers and peanuts and beer and nachos and the great sport that is football.  Wave it at kickoff, wave it for any good Steelers play, wave it in encouragement after any bad Steelers play, wave it on all third downs and anytime the black and gold scores.  Wave it for missed opportunities for the other team, wave it for injured players who make it off the field.  Remember that these are just a few suggestions since pretty much anything can justify a rousing wave of the TT...just don't forget to wave it proudly using the aforementioned technique.

4. Never, ever allow a non-Steelers fan to hold your TT.  They may seem innocent, but do not trust them, even if they "just want to see it for a minute".  Yes, this includes your boyfriend.  I know it's hard, but I don't make up the rules.  Oh wait, I do, and he is not allowed to touch it.  Trust me on this one.  I would not steer you wrong.  Opposing teams' fans are jealous of the TT and may try to harm it.  Guard your TT and protect it with your life.

5. Never wash your TT.  I'm sure there are conflicting views out there on this, but I mandate that you treat your towel with the respect it deserves and don't try to pretty it up with detergent, fabric softener and those Bounce dryer sheets you love so much.  The TT is functional, durable, and not once has it ever been called The Clean Terrible Towel.

6. Always keep your TT within reach during the game.  If you're not holding your TT at the ready in your hands, it can also be worn as an accessory.  I normally hang it over one of my shoulders or around my neck, and you can also tuck it into your jeans pocket or your waistband if you need your hands free for carrying food/drinks back to your seat.  You are much more creative than me so I'm sure you can think of something else, just make sure it is securely on you so there is no chance of losing it and so you don't miss a prime waving opportunity.

7. Always give the TT a prominent place in your home for display, especially during football season.  I suggest making it the focal point of your living room (or whichever room where you watch the games).  Color-coordinated furniture, such as a sleek black leather couch, is not necessary but would be a nice touch to enhance the gold TT.  If you have multiple towels then you can display one in each room.

8. Always carry your TT with you on any trip where you might want to grace everyone with a little bit of Pittsburgh pride.  This is a valuable instruction when traveling to any place in the U.S. where an NFL team plays, but it is especially important when traveling to other teams in our division.  Nothing makes Cleveland residents happier than seeing you wave your towel for no reason other than you feel the need to thank your lucky stars that you were raised right.  Cleveland fans might even give you a special wave back with one finger.  You can hold up six fingers in response.  Throw in a little dance if you feel like shaking it to the "Here We Go" song playing in your head and then follow that up with another wave of the towel for good measure.

9. Always carry your TT with you on any trip where you have even the smallest chance of getting on TV.  Nothing can bring a tear to a tough Pittsburgh Steelers fan's eye quite like seeing a TT held up for the world to witness behind Matt Lauer's head at the Olympics or any other place for that matter.  This will provide encouragement to those Steelers fans who are having a bad day and happen to see you with the TT...they will know they are not alone and the Steeler Nation is alive and well.  It's actually not a bad idea to carry it with you year-round, because you never know when it might come in handy.

10. Always consider giving someone the gift of the TT if he does not own one already or if he needs more than one.  It will become a cherished possession and it will never go out of style...the TT fits every budget and it's on everyone's wish list, so you can't go wrong.  Nothing says "I love you and want you to be a part of the best sports team ever" quite like a TT.  It will be a good friend all season long, through the wins and hopefully playoffs and hopefully the Super Bowl, year after year, and it will absorb your tears in times of loss.    

HERE WE GO STEELERS, HERE WE GO!!!

Dating Hiss!-story

This post is not going to be caustic as the title might suggest.... just a little bit of insight to those of you who find this subject absolutely fascinating (I really don't know why that is the case since my life is happily ordinary, but you know who you are).  Think of the "hiss!" coming from the black cat silhouette with it's back arched against the moon in the background.... you know, the Halloween cat.  It's a "hiss!" because anybody who's spent time in the dating trenches would be a little bit battle-weary as they approach the ripe old age of twenty-nine.  (I'll give some of you time to roll your eyes at that remark..........ok, let's continue.)  Also, as with a couple other things rattling around in my mind, this is a way for me to remember things that I would otherwise forget with the passing of time and to feebly attempt the ancient art form of writing.  All names have been changed to protect the mostly guilty parties.

I hit the dating scene early; my first boyfriend was in kindergarten.  From what I can recall, he was the cutest, funniest boy in class and he just so happened to be interested in ME.  I remember being at his house for a play date and then returning the favor at my house.  Everything was fun and games while we were jumping on my brother's bed, until I had to flaunt my leaping prowess and come crashing down, not timing the landing correctly as little kids do.  The tears flowed, my embarrassment was at an all-time high, and he was not my boyfriend shortly after that.  I was so smooth.  Through the years, it turns out that he wasn't the cutest or the funniest, but neither was I.  We both became something in the middle and became good people, which is a very high compliment in my book.  We remained cordial friends and say hello when we see each other.  I hear he's married now with a family and I'm happy for him.  Besides, I don't know how any kindergarten relationship could survive after the traumatic lesson I displayed in the physical dangers of jumping on the bed, especially the ego-bruising kind.

My next "real" boyfriend was a much older "man" due to the fact that he was two years older than me.  I remember having those long and important phone calls that were so important I can't remember a single thing we discussed, aside from one defining moment when he asked my age.  I had to think fast for a second since I had just turned fifteen a few days before.  My brief panic turned into relief and I casually replied "Fifteen".... as if I was on the verge of turning the blissful sixteen and the fact that I was still fifteen was beyond boring.  He then asked me to "go out" with him and I said yes.  My answer was the same when he asked me to the Christmas dance.  Wow!  He was so grown up that he even had facial hair when most of the freshman boys in my grade did not.  Needless to say, my dad did not like the idea of the two of us together.  I was baffled as to why he wouldn't want me with such a distinguished, older man who was almost a senior and oh-so-cool.  My whiny defense of "but Daddy he dated his last girlfriend for two whole years!" did not help matters and again I was perplexed.  Obviously this meant my new boyfriend was interested in a committed long-term relationship, right?  Um, wrong.  He never even kissed me.  After the dance we were sitting in his truck outside my house, listening to music while I waited for the kiss that would never come... instead I was astonished to hear the break-up speech.  Somewhere in the hazy mumbo-jumbo of words I heard "Your brother said he'd kill me if I touched you".  The relationship spanned two entire weeks and to this day I don't think I've even asked my brother if he did indeed threaten him or if that was simply his excuse to find a more mature woman of sixteen or seventeen.  I'm pretty sure that one turned out for the best and I'm guessing that my dad was secretly pleased.

All of that extensive and valuable dating preparation led me to my actual first boyfriend who was around for longer than two weeks and who didn't leave after seeing me cry for the first time.  We were both sixteen when we met.  If I ever thought another boy was cute up until that point, it all changed when I saw Demetrius.  He had chiseled features, perfectly shaped kissable lips and a straight, proportional nose.  His eyes, oh my goodness, those eyes...well, everyone who met him would tell me how he had the most amazing blue eyes they'd ever seen, as if I didn't stare at them every chance I could.  His hair was brown and it varied over four years from very short to almost chin-length, while his face looked great with either style.  Some even compared him to a young Mario Lemieux, but at the time I thought he was way cuter.  One of my jealous friends said that he was too good-looking for me and instead of getting angry I merely agreed with her factual assessment.  I didn't see a point in arguing when someone's right, although now I have a healthier self-image where I would at least stick up for myself more... not to mention I now think Lemieux's got it over Demetrius, but I'm digressing.  Besides, it really is what's on the inside that counts...and he had that too while I knew him. 

Our relationship was a typical high school sweetheart love and we were happy for the first few years, even surviving the first two years of separate colleges, apart in distance but still together.  The more I learned about him the more I loved him and it worked in reverse too.  Isn't that odd how that happens?  When it does happen, it's fun and exciting and addicting.  I loved basketball and he loved soccer; we'd cheer each other on from our rival high schools.  Demetrius was more than just a pretty face and we'd spend hours discussing our thoughts on life...not unlike most other couples although we thought we were unique.  I remember the tears in his eyes when he saw me for the first time after I had emergency surgery; I remember him playfully teasing me about drooling all over his arm when I fell asleep during a movie in my freshman dorm and he didn't have the heart to wake me up; I remember the way we'd laugh and laugh about all kinds of silliness, delighting in each other's company. 

Our last year together is when the inevitable slide started - neither wanting to admit that our lives were getting crowded with other people and new things to experience - wanting to move on to become the people we were meant to be and yet wanting to hold on to each other in the process.  Lots of bitter fights and tears ensued and we broke up on September 11th, 2002.  I thought that my break-up was tough but I knew it was nothing in comparison to what the victims' families were going through and would endure for years....that was certainly much bigger than me and my boy problems.  Demetrius and I tried to stay friends for a couple years which (not surprisingly) failed.  He was a good first boyfriend.  I don't regret my time with him and I would hope that we are both better people for our time spent together.

Jeremy was my second serious boyfriend.  He was the anti-Demetrius in some ways... his hair the color of wheat, his body built more for football which caused me to feel secure in his embrace...his eyes were a wonderful blue and he was also handsome.  Now Jeremy would tell you that his eyes are green, and those pesky arguments over nothing are one of things that we did best.  Oddly enough, I find crooked teeth attractive and his top teeth had just the right amount of imperfection.  Jeremy could be a gentleman at times and he was funny and very sweet.  It puzzled me how he managed to be both innocent and cynical at the same time.  He had strong beliefs and valued family, with that last quality beginning to carry more weight as time changes us from college-aged to late twenties.  Like Demetrius, we'd laugh together and have fun doing mundane things with each other such as going to the grocery store.  However, he kept wanting more than I was able to give.  It became exhausting for me as I tried to be everything in the world to one person and to convince him that I loved him.  The constant barrage of questions where I had to account for my time really tested my patience.  I had to carefully parse my words for fear of upsetting him, which is something I don't envision myself doing for the next fifty years or so (God-willing).  In the end it was Jeremy's lack of self-confidence that destroyed the relationship, although I would bet all of my money that he would whole-heartedly disagree.

My last boyfriend was Carlo.  He had me completely fooled from day one.  It was as if he knew exactly what I was thinking and what I wanted in a partner, so he said and did everything he could to prove to me that he had it all.  His skin was the perfect shade of tan - courtesy of the Mexican sun - and his hair was the color of the Steelers' home jerseys (minus the gold).  Carlo's hair was starting to thin and his hairline receding, but it made no difference to me.  He had very skinny long legs that I found adorable and dark eyes, full lips.  He was a brooding and serious kind of handsome, whereas Jeremy was a happy and bright-eyed kind of handsome.  Carlo lured me in with his promises and with some of the best food I have ever tasted...cooking multiple course meals for me on a regular basis with each inexplicably being better than the last.  Along with his other fine qualities, Carlo was also a proficient liar.  Stupid men, silly me.  We wanted different things out of the relationship, which he eventually admitted once he realized the gig was up.  Thankfully I found out sooner rather than later.  I left that relationship a little bit wiser and very proud of myself for standing up for what I want in my life.  Most importantly though, I left that relationship knowing how to make an authentic guacamole so delicious you would swear you're in Estados Unidos Mexicanos.

I have briefly dated several other people aside from the serious five (okay, serious three) above.  Searching my memory, I think it's a conservative estimate that I've ruled out at least fifteen other men by way of at least one date each, if not two or three to be on the safe side before throwing in the Terrible Towel.  The process of elimination is a powerful tool; albeit one that can be slower than molasses.  Unfortunately this man-vetting process is taking a toll on my mom and my close friends.  My friends are polite so they listen and ask questions on the latest prospect with interest (mostly genuine, sometimes feigned).  "Name?  Age?  Employed?  Religion?  Manners?  Height?  Does he like Pittsburgh sports too?  Oh he does?!  Good!  ...Wait, I'm sorry, which guy are you referring to again?  Refresh my memory."  

After reading through my own dating hisstory, I've realized that I need to take some of the positive qualities from each person and that would make for a fun next boyfriend.  His strong points would read as follows:

-Jumps on the bed just for fun

-Exudes oh-so-cool vibes yet is still afraid of my brother

-Earns approval of my dad

-Cares not about my drool on his arm

-Laughs with me

-Wants a family someday

-Makes me yummy food

I can certainly think of a hundred other things to add to the list, but ninety-five percent would be mostly silly things like some of the ones here....and I think the list above is pretty comprehensive for now, until a new boyfriend comes along to add his own qualities.  Besides, he must have the serious qualities first in order for me to get to know him enough to figure out the silly ones.  And if nothing else, he's got to have a very good answer to this crucial question that I may pose to him someday... "Does this pierogi outfit make me look fat?"

To Eat or Not to Eat

I've had a major dilemma on my hands and I'm hoping that you will support me in my decision.

If I want to be a Pittsburgh Pierogi, does this mean that I am allowed to eat pierogies whenever I want?  Or does this mean that I am supposed to banish the delicious flavor fusion of butter, onion, cheese and potato from my often spoiled palate?  Sometimes my life is so difficult (sigh).

Here are my thoughts on the two options:

1. You are what you eat.  If I eat enough pierogies, will I eventually turn into one?  My grandmother used to say that our family ate so much spaghetti that the insides of our bellies have turned red.  As much as I want to be one of the pierogi runners, I really don't want my belly turning into dough.  I prefer it to stay the same - slightly soft, slightly roundish, but overall it's thin enough and made of human skin and tissue (and apparently it's rather red inside).  I also don't want my family, coworkers, and the general public wondering what suddenly smells like butter and fried onions when I walk into a room.  The only exception to that last sentence would be if Daniel Sepulveda just so happens to love pierogies that much where this could bode well for me...I'm just sayin'...there's a chance, even if it's Lloyd's odds with Mary in Dumb & Dumber (one out of a million for those of you who haven't seen one of the greatest movies ever).

But....I want to eat pierogies!  I want to eat them for dinner and I want to go back for seconds and maybe thirds, and then I want to eat them the next day before noon...I want to have five too many and my poor mother will worry that I have an addiction.  An intervention might be necessary, but hey I don't have a serious problem, I swear.  I normally only have two or three and I can stop anytime I want.  I'm fine, really I am, but this could jeopardize my end goal of becoming a star participant in the Great Pierogi Race.  I've been called a lot of things, but a cannibal so far is not one of them.  It's probably not the right way to make friends on the team.  If I do get my shot, the other pierogies would run so fast out of fear that I would most certainly lose the race.  But oh, Oliver Onion, sometimes you look so tasty and it just makes me want to nibble on your broad shoulder.  Sauerkraut Saul texts me constantly, but I keep telling him I'm all yours.

2. Proper nutrition + rigorous exercise = No pierogies for me.   In every novel or movie, there is typically this fancy thing called a "plot", which usually revolves around some sort of conflict that must be resolved by the novel or the movie's end.  One of the problems with plots is that there can be several twists and other possible paths that the characters or the story could take which can ultimately ruin something that started out so promising.  Remember those Choose Your Own Adventure books that were popular in the 1980's?  I'm at one of those crossroads here except I would have to wait a year (a year!) until I get to attempt another outcome in the pierogi saga. 

Banning pierogies would improve my odds of becoming a runner since training would be a heck of a lot easier if my belly simply stayed the same instead of turned into mush.  And unfortunately I don't think pierogies help meet my daily recommended amount of protein, either.  Maybe I can have my pierogi and eat it too, as long as I work out twice as much and make sure that my plate reflects the proper overload of vegetables with only a teeny-tiny portion of carbs?  Unfortunately, I don't know if I can trust myself to have just one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But chew on this thought for a minute:  In cheap slasher movies, they usually have the ditzy blonde "go check" downstairs when she hears a noise instead of locking the bedroom door, calling 911 on her cell phone, grabbing some sort of weapon and deciding either to book it out the window or stay put until help arrives... like any sane woman would do.  However...wouldn't it be boring if the naive party chick didn't meet her fate after tripping over her own sky-high heels, squirming helplessly because she somehow forgot her ability to stand, while the killer s-l-o-w-l-y saunters after her in his three big strides?  You wouldn't be able to sit safely in your seat, shaking your head.  You couldn't whisper impatiently to the screen, "Just get up and run dammit!!  I knew this was going to happen and I don't understand why you wouldn't listen to me!  Hmmph!"  And the expression on your face would change from exasperation to supremely smug, as if such an untimely exit could never happen to you.

In the same way, this particular conundrum of mine would not be nearly as entertaining if I choose option number two and abstain from pierogies.  I realize this puts me in the doomed category along with the blonde, but you don't want the story ending after five minutes without the chase, even if you think you already know the inevitable outcome, do you?  And sometimes, the ending may very well surprise you.  In my case - I sure hope I don't fall over during try-outs while a large fork looms perilously over my head.

I am choosing option one, and I am doing this for you.  Yes, you specifically, and for your enjoyment.  Unless you have a very persuasive argument for option number two that comes with free Clinique products and a Flip, I will commence with cannibalism.  This will make my fight harder, the race uphill for now instead of pretending that I am on the level and manicured PNC field.  Picture your heroine training in a puffy pierogi-shaped costume with her black tennis shoes and yellow laces, dragging her mattressed self up the steepest hill in Dormont that you've ever seen, running towards an imaginary finish line where dinner awaits as the prize.

Obviously I'm going to need all the help I can get.  Please, please, pretty please... order some homemade pierogies from your local church and donate them to a worthy cause known as my freezer if you can't make them yourself.  Mrs. T is also a very welcome guest in my home and I prefer the jalapeno variety.  You can be one of my enablers...I will come home from work and the gym, where I just burned off the previous night's feast...the butter dripping from my pores as if it were sweat....and I will fry up some pierogies, smiling the entire time through dinner as they go down smoothly.

Digging for Gold on the Bus

When you take the bus to work every day, you quickly learn how to choose a seat wisely.  However, this implies that there is an available seat for you to actually sit in.  About half of my bus rides are spent standing while trying to touch as little as possible, which becomes difficult because you need to hold on to something lest you fall onto the disgusting bus floor (I'm sure if that calamity does happen you're either minutes away from dying due to a slow and painful flesh-eating disease you just contracted or a hot shower).

I chose my seat very poorly this morning.  My decision process isn't overly complicated and it usually serves me well, but today served as evidence that you can't win 'em all. 

It goes something like this:

1. Are there any open seats in the back?  If yes, move towards the back of the bus (since that is what you are supposed to do instead of just plopping down into the first seat you see only to cause a people jam by the door).

2. Where would you have the most room?  The lady carrying her purse, her lunch, her laptop, her carry-on suitcase, and her boxful of God-knows-what does not bode well as a bus partner nor does the man taking up two seats.

3. Assuming this is your lucky day so far and you have an abundant choice of open seats with plenty of room to properly sit the whole way on the seat instead of only half of your one butt cheek hanging on...then you choose by an elimination process that I have termed "Who looks the most normal?".  (No matter the bus route or the time of day, it always happens that I am never one of the first few people able to get a window seat.)

The last criteria is the toughest one of all.  It requires lightning quick thought-processing time and reaction skills.  Tsk, tsk you say.  Judging a book by it's cover?  That's so not right.

Yes, it's not right, but when times are tough and seats are scarce, it's what you must do if you want a peaceful commute.  I've overheard many curse-filled arguments and witnessed pushing struggles because people are exhausted and cranky going in to work and being on a smelly bus that's always running late and full of assorted characters doesn't really help matters.  I thought I was exposed to different walks of life just by going to a public high school, but taking public transportation gives you a much larger variety and perspective.  I have seen my share of kindnesses happen on the bus too, but it's an extreme rarity...like the odd man out who might actually give up his seat for a woman.  I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen that happen and I've been taking the bus for seven months.

Anyway...for those of you unfamiliar with the bus's seating chart, there are typically four seats in the very back... one pair on either side.  Both of the window seats were taken, so I chose the seat next to the man merely looking at his phone instead of the man with music blaring from his ipod earbuds. He seemed innocent enough. 

I got my book out of my backpack and proceeded to read.  After a few minutes, I noticed his hand reaching up to his face out of my peripheral vision.  I didn't think anything of it at first until I realized that this wasn't a scratch and his hand was still up there.  He was blatantly picking his nose on the bus.  Not a casual wipe across the bottom of the nose.  I put my book down and fully turned towards him for a second to confirm my suspicion.  Yup, I was right.  I turned back to my book and tried to read but I was too grossed out to concentrate.  I looked around to see if anyone else was paying attention and I caught a death stare from another passenger.  Great.  I pointedly sighed but the man was either oblivious to my passive aggression or he didn't care.  I thought about sighing again, only louder this time, but then immediately shot that idea down in case he was crazy.  I didn't want him touching me and there was no escape in sight.  This seemed to go on for an eternity but in reality it was probably about thirty seconds....which, in my opinion, is an extremely long time to pick your nose (let alone pick your nose in public) and about thirty seconds longer than what is socially acceptable.

I looked at him again - oh wait, he has to stop and play with the mess in his fingers...ok back in the nose again - and I wondered when he turned into my toddler niece when I wasn't looking.  At least she uses a tissue if she must do the deed, and I've been a witness to this in the privacy/decency of her own home, not surrounded by strangers...and she's only three!  He's old enough to know better...he has gray hair (not prematurely gray either) and I'd estimate he's in his mid-fifties.  I feel bad if someone asks to borrow his germy phone later today.

I wondered if he thought he was invisible.  Yes, that's it...no one can see us sitting way back here in the corner of the bus and I can do whatever I please!  If that's the case, no one clued me in.  I could have used that tidbit of info so that I could openly sneer and roll my eyes when warranted by other passengers or the traffic instead of just looking mildly constipated in an attempt to be polite and keep the peace.

And before you start thinking that I am Miss High & Mighty... one of the questions my grandmother frequently asked me when she was babysitting my brother and me growing up was...

"What do you think you're doing, digging for gold??"

Sadly, the Penguins bus is not mine, but it's much prettier!

Rescued

All he ever really wanted was to be loved. 

He never hurt anyone, never said a harsh word.  He wanted a warm and dry place to sleep at night and he didn't want to search anymore for food out in the trash, roaming the neighborhood all through the days and nights.  Especially when it was raining or snowing... it was just too cold for him!  He hated being cold.

He used to get very scared when his owners would yell loudly at him for no reason.  He would run around the house as fast as he could on his four little legs, hoping hoping hoping they couldn't catch him.  Faster, faster, faster... keep running!!  But it didn't matter.  Several times the young man didn't even bend over to smack him and would just stick out his foot for a yelp-inducing kick.

He kept up this tiring life until one day on his travels he met a new man down the street.  This man didn't have a mean bone in his body and was always happy to see him.  The man would pick him up, pet him, and say nice things to him, all the while ignoring his fleas and stench.  Sometimes, if he was lucky, he would get to go into this man's home where the man would give him a bath and feed him until it was time to leave.  This happened every so often and it always seemed like a dream to the little one who put up with so much.

Finally a day came when the new man was speaking to his owner at the front door.  He listened intently with his big ears and waited around the corner, afraid to come out into the open where he might be in trouble.  He heard his name being called and he had to move from his hiding spot; he hesitantly put on his brave face.  When he saw the new man bending down to pick him up, he shook with relief. 

Now he is warm and dry and he has his own bed.  He lives with the new man and his wife, who are now his mummy and daddy.  He never goes outside anymore without a leash and one of them with him, and he never has to find food in the trash.  They always have food and water just for him, and he even gets treats!  He still runs around the house as fast as he can, but only when mummy and daddy are playing with him and one of his toys.

His daddy has a heart of gold.  His daddy still picks him up, pets him, and says nice things to him.  He notices that his daddy is nice to everyone...always happy and full of praise, especially to his sister who magically appears home sometimes.  Once he heard his sister say... "I have the best parents in the whole wide world and I had the best childhood anyone could ever have."  He's not exactly sure what all of those words mean, but he certainly knows that he is loved.  He is his daddy's best friend.

November Rain

I'm gearing up for the first cold November rain.  And yes, while writing my very first (and potentially last) blog posting I realize that it is currently October....but who doesn't like that Guns N' Roses song?  The piano and the wistful lyrics complement the drums and guitar shredding superbly.  It's on my Top 25 list of all-time great songs (which will be shared later, just as soon as I compile it).   If you haven't heard the song before or seen the music video, check it out here.  Holy hair band and holy short wedding dress.

Anyway, like a lot of people -and I think many yinzers would agree- fall is my favorite time of the year.  I like it for the usual reasons that most people give if they have an affinity for this season:  Steelers football, college football, high school football, the beautiful and colorful leaves, the autumn smell and chill in the air, hot chocolate, the official start of sweaters and boots season, and the semi-annual Victoria Secret's sale.  Ok, so maybe the last one doesn't really count.  Did I mention football? 

Aside from the standard responses though, the main reason fall is my favorite time of the year is the anticipation it brings.  The anticipation of the holidays filled with family, laughter, and times spent together recalling past holidays.  The anticipation of Christmas and remembering/celebrating Christ's love for us.  The anticipation of the new year approaching and all of the possibilities it could bring.  It's a hopeful time even though the outside world is changing and getting colder each day.  The first snowfall is always magical.  (If I can make the snowfall comment after living in Erie for years with the lake-effect snows-until-you-can't-stand-it-and-then-it-snows-some-more weather, then you should be able to agree.)  Of course, I do realize that snow-falling happens in the winter season, but the waiting for its arrival and the anxious small-talk of "so when do you think it's gonna snow?" typically takes place in the fall and is a small part of the fun unpredictibility of life.  Wouldn't it be awful if we knew the future?  Frankly, I think it would be downright scary to know all of the heartbreak and agony ahead of time, while on the other hand it would also steal something away from the sheer joy in the breathless, happy, and wonderful moments in life if they couldn't catch you by surprise.  The one pesky afterthought of course may be to know the winning lottery numbers, but that's another topic for another day.

So congratulations...you have almost made it to the end of my first blog posting (yes, I'm writing to you Mom and Dad....the only two people who would read this!).  I know you've waited for quite some time for the blog's arrival since I have talked about it ad nauseum, but now that you have actually read it I'm sure you're anticipating the post's ending with an even greater fervor.  I can just hear the conversation now, it would go something like this...  My Mom: "So this is what a blog is?  Why would I want to sit here and read it?  I don't get it."  My Dad: "Now hold on just a minute, hush and keep reading.  I think there's more down below, maybe she will tell us something important."  My Mom: "If she had something important to tell us, wouldn't she have called?  Why do we have to check the internet?"

And finally - I have one more new reason to fall in love with the fall this year - even more so than other years.  It involves a dream of mine that has been slowly and steadily building.  I'm sure there are plenty of other Pittsburghers who hold this very same dream and yet many are not brave enough souls to vocalize it or even to take the first step in achieving it.  (Yes, many of these people are probably ages twelve and under, but who's checking ID?)  It is a thing of beauty, actually.  Everyone who knows me should know that I am competitive and that I love the city of Pittsburgh and Pittsburgh sports teams.  I also love to eat.  What could be better than cheering on the hometown baseball team in the most beautiful ballpark in the country while running a foot race dressed up as a Polish food staple?  Ladies and gentlemen (I mean - Mom and Dad)...I want to be a pierogi.  A Pittsburgh pierogi.  Fall serves as my official start to get-in-shape season to get doughy for try-outs in March.  I will be relentless in my training efforts.  Even if there's a cold November rain, I will have to force myself to get to the gym and "lay it on the line" as Axl Rose would say. 

Like I said before, I love the fall season because it's all about anticipation.  A girl can dream, right?  And if this doesn't work out, then I have a fantastic costume idea for next Halloween.