Monthly Archives: March 2011

A vacation.

I’ll be taking a vacation and will return to the blog next Tuesday afternoon or Wednesday morning.


Hey, I wrote a poem!


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In which I admit I’m a Republican.

I don’t talk much about my personal politics here on That’s Church because as we’ve previously discussed, I might as well just fling myself into an active volcano because it’d be less painful than reading 500 comments that range from, “How does it feel to be so stupid?” to, “I’ll pray for you and your lost soul and the lost souls of your children and also, I hope you get run over by a bus and when you do, I’ll continue to pray that hell doesn’t burn your soul to Extra Crispy.”

But this Sunday while reading an article about the Port Authority service cuts that went into effect today, I was first shocked to see the 67J was cut, because I assumed that was a pretty profitable and popular route. But I was the most shocked that transit union president Patrick McMahon said this to the media:

Dan Onorato — union buster,” Mr. McMahon said. “That’s the label you will have whatever else you do in your life. You stink. You’re a Republican.”

The very day I outed myself as Virginia Montanez instead of PittGirl, Chad Hermann at the Radical Middle latched on to this letter to the editor I wrote when George Bush was re-elected, wondering how my readers were going to like me knowing I was a Republican. This resulted in some uproar from readers who were shocked I ever voted for a “war criminal.” Yes. WAR CRIMINAL. I voted for him because as you already know ME LOVE KILLING! GRRRRR.

And for those times when I might be talking to a reader or new friend who is a Democrat, perhaps over a drink, and I utter the words, “I’m a conservative,” I can see something happen in their eyeballs. Like their brain seized and then slammed the door behind their eyes. A shutter. A flutter. I can practically hear their train of thought as it screams past the brain station. “OMG. She’s a Republican. She hates gay people. She loves Sarah Palin. She probably agrees with the Westboro nutjobs. She hates freedom. She loves the rich and hates the poor. She hates good. She hates the flag. She hates black people. She is what’s wrong with America. SHE PROBABLY KILLS BABY EAGLES FOR FUN AND THEN STUFFS THEM AND USES THEM TO SCOUR HER POTS AND PANS.”

Yeah. None of that is true. But please, those of you that think that, please continue to paint me Evil with your giant self-righteous paint brush of Truth.

I’m used to it.

I live in Pittsburgh, a Democratic stronghold. Almost every single one of my friends is a Democrat. I spent a decade working for two non-profits in which almost every employee was a staunch democrat. Each election I’m  bombarded on twitter by tweet after tweet about how every Republican is evil and how every problem can be traced back to Republicans and about how Republicans are not worth the filth they must roll around in. (I’m sure there are Republicans on twitter who say the same things about Dems. I think I just follow mostly Dems or something.)

I have learned to ignore it. It doesn’t upset me. I still like those people. They’re still my friends. I hope my actions will eventually prove to them that not all Republicans are radical evil-doers.

Unlike Mr. McMahon, I don’t believe every Republican is a union-busting stinky poo-pants. I’m all for unions helping their members earn fair wages and benefits. I’m not all for unions being bullies that demand more than most of America’s workers are getting and who give unions a bad name by refusing to allow poor employees to be fired.

I don’t believe every Democrat stinks either. I know too many amazing Democrats.

My personal politics have me in the middle, really. There are certain issues I side with the Dems on and certain issues I side with Republicans on. But if you put me on the scale, I probably lean more to the right than the left. Somewhere, my father is congratulating himself for raising me right.

Until I start defending Obama to him, and then he thinks about all the ways  he went wrong.

But yes. I’m a registered Republican. Or as Patrick McMahon might spell it, “FILTH-BATHING GAY-HATING UNION-BUSTING BABY EAGLE KILLER. WHO STINKS.”

Mr. McMahon has taken a dangerous road here. Not just labeling every Republican as a fool. A union-buster. A loser. But going all playground bully/Top Gun sniffing, “You stink,” on a whole lot of Republicans who are riding the buses, who don’t agree with the service cuts, who want nothing more than the Port Authority and the county to come to an agreement that is mutually beneficial to the employees of PAT and the people they’re driving around town.

Maybe you don’t know this, Mr. McMahon, but Republicans use public transportation too.

Enough with the name-calling. The painting with strokes so broad you can barely lift the giant brush.

The childishness.

Uncalled for. Unnecessary. Unproductive. Uncouth.

And as far as I’m concerned, you can stick it up your nose with a rubber hose.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are baby eagles that must needs die. I have dirty dishes.

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This is a year.

I didn’t realize how out of touch I’ve become with Major League Baseball until my husband drafted his fantasy baseball team last night.

“Who did you draft first?” I asked, knowing for damn certain I wasn’t going to recognize the name he replied with unless he said, “Babe Ruth.” In which case I’d be all, “Hey! I’ve heard of that guy!”

Kind of like asking a rocket scientist a question about rocket science and then when he responds with, “Well the flux capacitor has to reach a variable temperature of combustion before the aerodynamicalitudeity of the thrust and gravitational manifestation …,” you just nod your head like you know all about that shit.

So my husband replied, “[hispanic name I’ve never heard before].”

I nodded like a bobblehead riding a racehorse through moguls.

No clue. But he went in the first round, so I be he’s all that and a box of Cracker Jacks too.

Saturday after a quick stop at Dunham’s or Dick’s Sporting Goods*, my husband returned with a free baseball poster that featured five or six of what are probably baseball’s brightest stars. I recognized Andrew McCutchen, but as for the rest of them? You there, with the faces, who ARE you people?!

Then a reader pointed me toward this great picture posted on the Pirates’ facebook page during spring training down in Bradenton.

My first thought was, “Aw. Their names look like Forbes Field!”

My second thought was, “For the love of God, who ARE YOU PEOPLE?!”

I’ll be at the home opener supporting the men wearing the uniforms, not the men wearing suits and using hundred dollar bills to wipe ketchup off the corners of their mouths. I’m going to do my best to learn who our guys are before then or I’ll find myself popping Cracker Jacks and saying wisely, “I’ve heard good things about that Van Slyke guy.”

* Dear Dick’s Sporting Goods. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for buying

** Cracker Jacks are kinda gross, but even as an adult, I’d eat a box of raw oats if I knew there was a prize at the bottom.

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Are there tumbleweeds in Wheeling?

I feel like I can now say with some certainty that Wheeling, West Virginia must be the most boring place on the planet.

I can say this because a Pittsburgh man created a facebook page called “Protest the NFL” which has a whopping 2,100 members, and it made the news down in Wheeling.

I’m not making that up.


“We pretty much just want to get the word out. We want people to know that fans aren’t going to allow themselves to be unrepresented no more,” Funk said.

[CRINGE] I don’t know what bothers me more — “No more” or “we was.” Like, if they had a cage match to the death, I’d pray they each delivered perfect simultaneous death blows to the throats.  They could be the opening fight for the main event of “ain’t” versus “‘preciate.”

But that’s besides (oh, the irony) beside the point. The point is a 2,100-member facebook page created by a man in Pittsburgh made news in Wheeling where they don’t even have an NFL team, but where they apparently are easily impressed.

I’m going to create a facebook page called “Nutella is making me fat” and once it hits 4,000 members, I’m going to be HUGE in West Virginia.

Figuratively and literally.

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Yesterday a tornado-generating cloud passed over my house and then pooped a tornado that touched down eight miles away.

Living in Texas for four years of college means I know what a tornado cloud looks like. It’s really really black and low and if you look closely at it, you can see the faint outline of Mother Nature screaming her batshit crazy head off while shooting lightning bolts from her eyes. Also, the air is green.

I saw the cloud, noticed the air was the same color as my skin right before I puke, and ushered my family to the basement where we listened to hail pepper the house, and the wind shriek like it was exerting the force necessary to rip our roof off and hurl it away like a discus thrower going for the gold.

We were only in the basement for about five minutes and were relieved to discover that our house was fine.

But like I said, this was happening eight miles away. A video you’ve probably seen by now as it’s going viral, starting with Mikey and Big Bob on twitter and going to DVE and now national news.

A Hempfield teenager stands outside his house and films the overhead tornado and then has an epic flip-out as he realizes HE’S STANDING OUTSIDE FILMING AN OVERHEAD TORNADO.

YouTube Preview Image

Forget the stuff we learned in school like “go to the basement” or “hide under a table.” This kid is rewriting tornado safety rules. Which, by the way, can easily be “Incoming UFO” safety rules.

1. Grab a video camera.

2. Tape it until you shit your pants or the force of the wind generated from it sucks your eyeballs from your skull. Whichever comes first.

3. When it lands, run away screaming while shitting your pants.

4. ALWAYS REMEMBER TO LOCK THE DOOR.  This is the tornado’s kryptonite.

Now, go back and watch the video and every time he says tornado or twister, replace it in your mind with UFO.

You’re welcome.

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