Three Things

My one cousin doesn't have much to say.  Years ago, I started asking her to tell me three things - could be about anything - that's happened or that she wants to tell me since we last talked.  It's worked pretty well and so I decided to try it here.

1. As any astute pierogi blog reader would know, I have been taking writing classes for the past few weeks which is sucking up both my time and any thoughts worth writing.   I've written about eight pages for class so far and it's taken me almost ten hours.   Here is an example of the writing caliber you can expect from this blog going forward as we shall pretend that all "quality work" is being SLOWLY poured into the novel that I am trying to write.

Writing is a bore

Writing is a chore

And yes, writing is a whore.

Can you believe I thought of that on my own?  (Don't answer.)  I didn't even ask any misbehaved children for help.  (I wrote misbehaved because I'm pretty sure that word was off-limits when I was growing up.)  When I was trying to write for class, I became infuriated that writing is so difficult and that's why I called it a whore.  You'd think it'd be easy.   Especially when I think up genius lame-o jokes like that.


Say, Mr. Rogers, where is my plot?  I started to concoct a disjointed one on my own but I'm sure yours would be much better.   Maybe I should change into a button-down sweater and sing a song to help the creative process.

P.S.  To My Dear Friend Writing - I'm so sorry I called you such a harsh name.  I was just angry with myself.  You're never boring.  You're my favorite.  I love you.

2.  I have a new boyfriend.  His blog name shall be Allen.  Thank you very much for your jaw-dropped shocked reaction to this news... now please shutyo mouth before you start drooling like me.  I haven't determined yet what his quirky qualities are to add to my dating hiss!-story list because he's quiet like a church mouse.  Actually he's not really that quiet, it's just that it's hard for him to say anything since I turn into Chatty Cathy when I'm around him.  I'm sure that won't get old anytime soon.  Men love to hear women talk incessantly about nonsense.  Right?  RIGHT?!!?

If you were paying attention to the crush post, you'll know that I used to have a thang for MacGyver.  Well, new boyfriend has shown that he has strong MacGyverism potential. 

Examples (plural!):

a) I had a headlight out.  I told him it was still under warranty and I would drop it off the next day to get it replaced.  He bought a bulb and replaced it himself.  Ok, so maybe not exactly something as daring as MacGyver would do, but Mr. RDA would have been proud since there were no guns involved.

b) He said, "Let there be wireless internet in your apartment."  And thus he configured it accordingly.

c) He said, "Let there be one super large cord thingy with 3 attachment thingies to hook up to your TV instead of one cord thingy with only 1 attachment thingy in order to give you a better picture."  Ok, so I admit those were my words instead of his to describe what he did.  And thus he configured it accordingly.

d) I said, "Do you think you could please help me with my new ipod, because I am severly technically challenged?"  And thus he hooked everything up without shaming me like a middle-aged parent who is trying to compete in a texting competition.  (Hint: Use your opposable thumbs instead of your pointer fingers!!)

e) I said, "My mail comes in through a slot on my garage door and falls into a basket attached on the other side.  Every other day when I come home from work and open the garage door, the mail falls from the basket all over the place and I have to get out of the car to pick it up.  I've tried attaching plastic bags and it doesn't work.  What do you think I should do?"  And thus he *MACGYVERED* a magical catcher thingamajig to my basket so I never have to get out of my car until I choose.  It holds like a champ. 

f) He made me bacon.  Enough said.

He did these things in about the time it took me to get showered and dressed.  It was less than an hour.  He was able to do all of the above AND diffuse the bomb amidst television commercials, with only common household items at his disposal.  I didn't even have any duct tape.  Very impressive.

And here is a comparison to an ex-boyfriend, because along with loving girls who don't know what the word 'silence' means but they will attempt to explain it to you anyway, men absolutely LOVE it when you compare them to an ex!!!

I said to old boyfriend Jeremy, "My DVD player is stuck shut, do you think you could pretty please look at it sometime when you have a minute?"  And he said quite smart-assily, "What do you think I'm going to do about it?"  as he pushed the Open button and confirmed that it wouldn't work.  And I said, "Uhh, well maybe try and fix it, please, if you could, and see if you can get it unstuck?  So I could use it?"  And he crossed his arms, shook his head, and said firmly, "There's nothing I can do about this.  I tried the button.  You saw that it won't open.  I'm sorry, but there's just no way I can help you with this.  I don't know what you're expecting from me." 

I ended up feeling very guilty for asking such a Herculean request.  Jerkface.  I spent ten minutes with the DVD player one day and was able to fix it myself.  Ten minutes may seem like an extraordinary amount of time, but don't forget that I am the turtle child of parents Bill and Karolyn Slowsky.   This must explain why writing for class takes me FOREVER.  (Happy Birthday Dad!!)  :)

Allen - don't worry - you don't need to be like MacGyver all the time.  I have a silver sequined glove waiting here for you to help me with my handstands the next time I see you.  And I will buy some duct tape just in case you need it to get some peace and quiet from that girl who never shuts up.  I think her name is Cathy.

3. I've been getting some great advice lately from other bloggers (thank you!), but one tip that I've been receiving across the board is causing me major consternation.  It is this:  "Blog regularly."  I get it.  I totally understand that if people are interested in your blog, they don't want to waste time visiting the site only to see that it hasn't been updated since three months ago.  

But... honestly... where do you other bloggers come up with ideas?  And where do you find time amidst everything else going on, this thing called life which is swirling all around us, to sit down and write something?   I'm pretty much out of ideas, people.  And time.  From my globally expansive fan base, I do have one blog request to write someday soon, but then that's it.   Consider this a warning for the upcoming blog hiatus and prepare yourselves accordingly.

I wish there was a blogging fiber that I could buy at the drugstore in order to have regular finger movements.  Maybe I'm just not getting the recommended daily value from the foods I eat each day and I need to take a supplement.  Or perhaps I simply need to pay more attention to the foods I buy at Giant Eagle and switch to the ones that have extra blogging fiber. 

Any suggestions on foods that don't taste like keyboard?

It's just a little crush

Remember "Crush" sung by Jennifer Paige in 1998?  No?  Listen to it here.

I was thinking about the assortment of celebrity crushes that I've had over the years and it dawned on me that some of them could be considered....  interesting perhaps?   Let's review.

1. Michael Jackson - before you snort and hiccup with laughter, keep in mind that this crush was back when I was probably about five or six.  My crush on the man was short-lived but my fascination with him and love of his music and dancing remains.  The man was a genius.  I feel really bad about how weird he became, the appearance, ridicule, etc. 

I was playing at my friend's house up the street when somehow we got into an argument over Michael.  It went something like this:

Me: "He's mine." 

Friend: "He's mine!" 

Me: He's MINE!! 

Friend: "HE'S MINE!!!"

Well I had heard enough of her mouth so I marched over to the wall, moved the stepstool so it was right beneath his poster, stood on my tiptoes, and reached up with one hand as high as I could.  I splayed my palm out over his gloved hand on his chest and looked back at her with the meanest look I could give.  I told her, one last time, that HE.WAS.MINE.  I don't remember getting kicked out of her house, but I do remember seething on the walk home at how it was so unfair that I didn't have a Michael poster of him wearing silver sunglasses and his silver glove when I was his biggest fan. 

2. My Dad - before you cringe/gag/make a face/make a joke next time you see me, again I was probably around the age of five.  And I do know that my dad isn't a celebrity although sometimes if you squint he does kind of look like Mike Clark from Channel 4 news. 

One time I was sitting on his lap and I asked him if he could "kiss me like they do on TV".  I remember he kept not wanting to and he kept saying No and trying to talk about different things.  He kept refusing, so finally I grabbed his cheeks, puckered up, and yanked his head back and forth side to side while I moved mine in the opposite direction.  I thought this was how it was done.*  This lasted all of 1 second because I remember his eyes were wide open in shock and he pulled away.  This thought went through my head, "I feel bad for Mommy.  Daddy doesn't know how to kiss like they do on TV."   For anyone who finds this post disgusting, yinz gutterheads better remember that everything was completely G rated so don't try and twist it into something it's not.  Every little girl should be so lucky as to have a Daddy she wants to marry someday.

*This is how it's done, right?  Please tell me yes, else I'm going to have to change my smooth moves pronto.

3. MacGyver - I was around nine when MacGyver ruled my universe.  The mullet, those eyes dark with concentration, the perilous shows where he always saved the day... (be still my heart!!).  The man was so handsome and he would totally save me someday, I just knew it.  I would always set myself up on the couch several minutes ahead of time so that I wouldn't miss a second of action. 

It was either for my 9th or 10th birthday that my parents surprised me with tickets to go see one Mr. Richard Dean Anderson at a celebrity hockey game at the Civic Arena.  Except they didn't tell me where we were going or what we were going to see.  I was excited for the surprise.  Once I knew it was for a celebrity hockey game, I was excited for that too.  In my wildest dreams, I never could have imagined that HE would be there.  How could I?  We were in our seats as the players warmed up.  We were sitting behind one of the goals, and my parents pointed wayyy down to the other end of the rink.  They asked me, "Do you know who that is?".  There was a player skating with his back towards us. As I looked, my young eagle eyes saw the glorious hair sticking out from underneath his helmet.  I saw "Anderson" sewn on his sweater and I saw the body movement that I studied carefully every week.  Instantly recognizing my hero, I shrieked, "MACGYVER!!!"  freakishly loud enough that he turned around, skated over towards our side and then winked, waved, and blew me a kiss.  To tell the truth, I did yell out his character name but he didn't do that last bit... I think that part came from my daydreams.  If he had, I would have passed out from the sheer force of a MacGyver air kiss, stronger than a hurricane gust that most mortals cannot withstand.

4. Eddie Vedder - I first heard EV's voice when I was making my bed, somewhere around the age of 14.  Better Man was on the radio and that song, that band, that voice burned into my memory and I bought Vitalogy at a record store when we were on vacation, just so I could get that one song.  I listened to that CD over and over and over and over again and I fell in love with the mystery front man, who had the best music/lyrics/voice I had ever heard.  Mind you, I had no clue what he looked like.  I had no clue about his radical political views that my parents always harped about.  It wasn't about that... it was about the music, man.  Just the music.  And yet there were flannel shirts.  And comfy corduroys and a song called Corduroy.  And then one day I saw his picture and it somehow all clicked.  I bought all of their cds and fell in love with the music even more.  So I don't know if it's EV himself or the band as a whole, but either way it's fantastical.

5. Elvis - Oh, to have lived when Elvis was in his prime!  I would have been one of those screaming girls swooning over him.  Sometimes I honestly wonder if people in the world "get" how great his voice was... yes I know he's still one of the world's biggest celebrities and makes millions even though he's dead and people trek from all over to visit Graceland... but do they do that because of the hoopla?  The outfits?  The showmanship?  The tragedy?  Or do they realize and respect just how powerful his voice was and how much talent the man had?   There's also his hair, his lips, his cheekbones....but those are self-explanatory.

6. Mario Lemieux - Um, this one is quite obvious from the facts:  I am a straight female.  I live in Pittsburgh.  Ergo, I must have a celebrity crush on Mario Lemieux.  When I was 18, I lucked out and got to be in the VIP tent at one of his celebrity golf invitationals.  My friend and I went with a lady who was actually volunteering and somehow they let us in the tent with her.  Lemieux gave a quick speech that I don't remember because I was dumbfounded in his presence. 

He then sat at a table and was available for autographs.  I had several requests, such as:  one for the lady who brought us there, one for my boyfriend, one for my cousin who is the biggest hockey fan I know, and one for my brother.  I got in line and got one autograph, feeling like a baby in front of The Man.  He smiled at me and I stared.  He handed me back my piece of paper and I barely managed a "Thank you".

I promptly went to the back of the line and waited for my turn again.  Each time he looked up, smiled and nodded politely, and once he gave me a curious look that said, "You again??"  I am ashamed that I got so many autographs.  I felt incredibly guilty taking advantage of his time.  I was scared silly that he was going to yell at me for being so greedy.  Yet he smiled graciously and I was grateful that he did not admonish me, else I would have surely melted into a puddle of tears at his feet.

And yes, there's this other detail about him.... where he used to play hockey extremely, exceptionally well for the Penguins for years and then he went on to save our team.  He seems to be a geniunely nice guy, so what other choice is there than to like Lemieux?

7. Daniel Sepulveda - review the part in #6 about straight females living in Pittsburgh.  Also this thing where he plays football for my favoritest football team in all the land.... also this thing called his sculpted physique... also this thing where he is a man under thirty who actually attends church and isn't ashamed of it.

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

Honorable Mentions:  Brad Pitt, Jordan Knight, Uncle Jesse (aka John Stamos), Shemar Moore, Jason Kendall, Will Smith, Gavin Rossdale, Roger Federer, Marky Mark, Jeremy Piven, Paul Rudd, Rafa Nadal.

What happens to a dream deferred?

Yes, I stole my title from the exceptional poem "Dream Deferred" by Langston Hughes.  Check it out here if you're not familiar with it, but hopefully it was required reading at some point in your life before you slid so low as to read bizarre posts from a delusional Pittsburgh Pierogi.



I hate to break this shocking information to you if you haven't already watched it on the news or read it on the Internet.  Please make sure you are seated.  Please know in advance that I am very very very very very sorry to have to tell you this.  It pains me so!








































I am not going to be a pierogi. 



...at least not this season.  There, I said it.  You can commence with crying and throwing things.  Throw your hands up in the air like you're doing the "Nichole Why".   I'll give you roughly two seconds for your tantrum.





























The answer to the question "will she or won't she become a pierogi?" is going to have to wait until 2012.  In case you're wondering what happened, I sent an email on 3/1 asking for details on the upcoming try-outs that were supposed to occur sometime in March.  I asked about being a "runner" full-time versus once.  Check out the response from the nice gentleman who controls pierogi fate at the Pirates:


"Unfortunately for 2011, we are not going to have tryouts to add to the staff. We have a full staff heading into the season. If anything changes, I’ll be sure to email you ASAP if we need to have a date for everyone to tryout.

In regards to the “guest pierogie runner” we do not allow this anymore. When we did, some people made a total mockery of this, ruining the chances for others like yourself who would truly cherish the experience."

Reading this email was a punch in my doughy pierogi gut.  I wish I could change the mind of the one man in the universe who has the ability to pull pierogi dreams out of his pockets as easily as lint.  I'm pretty sure Oprah doesn't even have as much power in Pittsburgh as he does.  If she did, this would have been one of the top giveaways during her favorite things episodes.  A pierogi dream for you!  And you!  And you!  You're ALLLL getting pierogi dreams come true!  



So what does this mean?  This means that I definitely won't need to train as hard at the gym as I was originally planning to this month.  This means that my couch will get some quality time with my ass.  This means that the name of this Pittsburgh blog - even the blog itself - is in jeopardy.  How long can I keep up a blog calling myself a pierogi if I most certainly am not one?   Sadly, I'm not even a pierogi-in-training.  I hate to disappoint my five followers.  Even you too, because I know you're reading.



What happens to a dream deferred?   I think in this situation it is only appropriate to take a cue from the Pirates.










"Maybe next year....".

Tostitos: Snack or Sword?

In case you didn't know it, eating alone can be dangerous.  Aside from the risk of choking to death after panicking because you can't give yourself the Heimlich, there is also the risk of overeating.  With someone else in your vicinity, she could either force you to share... or stop... or at least remind you about your new pants that just barely fit. 

 

Pathetically, I had a quite scary "I eat alone" Tostitos food attack the other day.  No, I didn't start choking.  I wasn't overeating either since I only had one bag of Tostitos and Yesterday Me already ate half the bag.  Half of a bag in one night = modest portion control.

 

(Sidebar: I recently observed that I have five boxes of microwave popcorn.  Two movie theater butter, one extra butter, one homestyle, and one very large good-deed-for-the-day-but-thankfully-it-still-tastes-delicious box from the Boy Scouts.  Is it strange that I have five boxes?  I find it worrisome that I only have one microwave that was new back when The New Kids on the Block were, um, new, and not middle-aged men attempting a sad comeback circus.  I should probably buy a microwave just in case the other one breaks.  I don't ever want to live through a terrifying popcorn shortage disaster.  My parents didn't sacrifice and work hard to help me get an education and a good job only to go popcorn-less, of all things.  That would be disgraceful and quite an embarrassing phone call home.  "Hello, Mom?  Can you please come over as soon as possible with some freshly popped popcorn?"  ...And here I am accusing NKOTB of having issues.) 

 

I was happily chomping away on my couch as I watched TV, ignoring the fact that my lips were tingling with salt overload, when It Happened.

 

I crunched into a perfectly crispy Tostito, and a piece of that bugger flew right up into my unsuspecting wide-open eyeball.  Usually my eyes only like to take in things that are pleasing, such as the sight of Sepulveda shirtless.  There's nothing like getting bombarded by a sword flying into your eye in the supposed comfort of your own home.  Why in the world is my eye-blinking reflex so slow?  Is this why the optometrist says I have dry eyes?  Too many Tostitos?  Help!!!  Is it still in there? 



Can you believe that the optometrist actually told me to "remind yourself to blink more often"?   As if there aren't enough things in life to think about... like bills, or Silly Putty, or Girl Scout cookies.... things that aren't supposed to be automatic, things that you might actually forget to do and... oops... hold on while I blink.

 

It's amazing how a piece of chip can burn and stab like it's a marble-sized piece of rock salt.  Or a sword covered in rock salt. 

 

Getting back to my earlier point that eating alone is unsafe...  did I run to the sink to rinse my presumably red eye with water?  Did I at least put the bag down and back away slowly, giving it the appropriate mixed regard of respect and fear, knowing that it could strike again, much too fast for my remaining eye to handle?

 

Of course not. 




No one was there to save me aside from Ryan Seacrest and JLo and... oh... I guess they weren't really there either.

 

In the words of bad-ass George Thorogood, "I eat alone... yeah with nobody else...  yeah you know when I eat alone, I prefer to be by myself!".  

 

What are you saying?  The lyric is "drink" instead of "eat"?  Guess it depends on your mood or your blog post topic.  Check out the song here if you don't know it.

 

Anyway, I plowed through the rest of that bag bleary-eyed and considered it a small personal victory over the company that I help keep profitable (Frito-Lay).  Not exactly sure why victorious was the emotion, but you should allow me a pass on this one since I was wounded in an unarmed attack. 

 

Dangerous, indeed. 




Be careful out there. 
Use the buddy system. 
Remember to blink. 
Time the big crunch for when your eyes are shut. 




This is world-class advice from someone who knows... and you can't find words of wisdom like this anywhere but a pierogi blog.  Now if you'll please excuse me, I must go play with Silly Putty.