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.

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?"

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!