Monthly Archives: July 2011

How NOT to tee off

Dear Larry Foote,

This is the standard correct position for completing a swing in golf:

UR DOING IT WRONG.

(AP Photo/Lon Horwedel)

I suck at golf at but not even MY follow-through looks like I’m attempting to successfully land a triple axle.

I assume this shot sliced so badly the ball became a boomerang and shot him in his butt.

Science.

 





The State of the Bandwagon

Screw the State of the Union or the State of the Debt Crisis (la-la-la-la) or even the State of the Steelers (however, if they let my self-united husband Daniel Sepulveda go, who will read the Bible to me each night while rubbing my feet shirtless?! WHERE’S MY GOD THEN?!), and instead, let’s focus on the state of the Buccos bandwagon as drawn up for me by the extremely talented Mitch Donaberger (@msprout on twitter).

I have long wanted a visual representation of this bandwagon I invent each year, drive until July, and then KABOOM! SO LONG YOU MISERABLE PIECE OF GARBAGE. ENJOY THE BOTTOM OF THE MON. I HOPE THE TUNNEL MONSTER DIVES IN TO FEED ON YOUR CARCASS AND TO POOP IN YOUR SKULL.

I have issues.

Not the least of which is that I imagine Daniel Sepulveda reading me the Bible and rubbing my feet while shirtless.

 

(click the photo for a hi-res version)

At some point later in the season, I will share with you another version of this that Mitch did, this one much … boobier.

Why isn’t boobier a word?

First of all, it’d be perfect for a sentence like, “I like this cartoon version of myself. It makes me appear much boobier than I really am,” and second of all, it’d be a hell of a fun Spelling Bee word.

Spell boobier.

BOOBIER. Can you give me the origin of the word?

Some blogger in Pittsburgh.

I prefer “Gotham.”

[swishes cape dramatically]





Don’t call it a comeback n’at

1. Somewhere, Brett Favre just sat up all, “DID SOMEONE SAY COMEBACK?!”

That grandpa needs to get to whittlin’ and/or fresh dong pictures and leave the football to the whippersnappers.

2. Listen up. The Pirates are in first place, five games above .500 ball, and while I continue to see lots of debate, even in the national media, about “bandwagon fans” and a bit of complaining from a few diehards that affordable tickets are harder to come by now that you bandwagoners have started attending games, I’m still happy you’re here on the bandwagon with me.

I love you new people who last year would rather have been mercifully run over by the bandwagon than set a single toenail on the scurvy-riddled caravan of delusional rose-colored-glasses-sporting yinzers who were drunk on margaritas and Bob Nutting Kool-Aid.

Have you noticed my bandwagon is a cross between a debauched pirate ship and a rickety horse-drawn wagon? I don’t get it either. I’m pretty sure I spotted Jack Sparrow in the back. He’s confused too.

Regardless, welcome aboard, new blood. Maybe this is the year I drive this bitch all the way to October.

3. I have a new column up at Pittsburgh Magazine and those of you who have scolded me for years about the HORSE PISS I choose to drink (Zima, Bud Light Lime, etc.) are going to be thrilled to read that I have discovered craft beer. A snippet from my column from the August edition:

If craft beer were the Mercedes of alcoholic drinks, and Bud Light the Yugo, Zima would be the three-legged, geriatric mule with one good eye. Don’t flaunt it in the street; hide it in your garage, and pray no one ever sees you near it.

I was never ashamed of my love of Zima, but one person’s purchasing power cannot effectively keep an alcoholic beverage on the market. So when it was announced a few years ago that Zima would cease production, I threw a little funeral for my soon-to-be deceased three-legged mule.

I talk a bit about horse pee, too. Go have a read!

4. Remember Tassy? Now that he’s on his way to complete health, back in the states for the final surgeries, Team Tassy has set their sights on a new Haitian to help, this one younger. I can’t reveal many details about the new “Tassy” mostly because I haven’t been given that many yet! The time to learn about him or her (okay, I at least know the gender, but I’M NOT TELLING), will be at A Night for Tassy 2.

I’m telling you this for three reasons.

  1. Mark your calendars and buy tickets. It is going to be a fun yet inspiring night as we meet the new “Tassy” and also enjoy the witty banter of hosts Sally Wiggin and Randy Baumann, to whom I plan to shout “OH, JUST HAVE SEX ALREADY!”  It will be very appropriate.  You’ll notice that when you go to purchase tickets, you’ll need to choose Team Sally or Team Randy. They’re having a little wager, you see, so choose wisely. I’d tell you which team I’m on, but I’m not stupid.
  2. Cookie table! There will be a cookie table! I love cookie tables so much I can’t even stand it. I even offered to bake cookies! I will be sure they are clearly marked so you can avoid them on account of my #cookingwithginny tweets.  EVERYONE FINDS WORMS IN THEIR FRUIT COBBLERS ON OCCASION SHUT UP.
  3. If you’re interested in sponsoring the event, there is contact info on the link. It’s such a great cause. One of the most rewarding I’ve ever known.

See you there. I’ll be the curly-haired chick shouting completely appropriate things at Sally and Randy.

5. I have some incredible friends and nothing has made me realize that more than a little thing called THAT GIANT JERK-FACED FIRE.

That jerk-face has been in my life for almost eight months now, and this Wednesday I get to officially kick its jerk-faced face to the curb when my husband reopens Las Velas for a soft opening, followed by a celebration complete with live music on Friday evening.

The restaurant is beautiful and completely renovated. It’s same, but very different, you’ll see.

But, I was talking about my friends. Look what my friends did without me knowing. They created shirts and sold them for Las Velas.

(photo by Jonathan Wander)

Internet, that’s the first time ever in my life I’ve made a pointing gesture in a picture. It will never happen again. I’m so sorry. Next time, I’ll either do nothing or go balls-out and throw signs like Hizzoner Master Lukey.

Shit. I’m already making the EXACT SAME GESTURE AS HIM. Where do I turn in my cool card?

Oh who am I kidding? I lost my cool card the day I drank Zima and said, “Now THIS is a classy alcoholic beverage.”

Anyway, I’m told my good friend Jonathan Wander (who hooked us up with Goldie Z. Ostrow’s Z Brand Communications to redesign our menus. They’re gorgeous.) came up with the “Viva Las Velas” idea while my good friend and butler Mike Woycheck (pictured. No, not the black guy.) made it happen by bringing illustrator Rachel Sager on board. Rachel also designed my blog header and the Make Room for Kids logo, you might recall. She and I shared a worm-free peach cobbler just two weeks ago and she never let out a peep about the shirts. Sneaky friends.

This journey from December 1 until now hasn’t been easy. It’s been terrifying at times. Knee-knockingly scary. There have been speed bumps the size of the Great Wall of China and potholes that felt deeper than the Grand Canyon, or, you know, a pothole on Penn Avenue. I’ve definitely grown a few new gray hairs. But my family and friends have stepped up in a big way and so have so many of you who have taken time to email me.

The bracelet I’m wearing in that picture was a get well gift from my good friends at CASA of Allegheny County. I love it so much. It’s my constant reminder to smile and count my blessings no matter what kind of poop this monkey we call Life flings at us.

And that’s what I’ll raise my non-alcoholic margarita to at the restaurant on Friday. Surviving the poop.

With help from my friends.

 





While I’m recovering …

I just wanted to point you all to a few things I’ve written over at the magazine while I’m recovering from my torn carotid artery.

As for an update on that, things are progressing slowly but surely. I am so close to feeling completely like my old self again to the point that while the noise is still there, I don’t even notice it some days. Thanks for all the kind emails, tweets, thoughts, prayers and yes, gifts. They mean more to me than you can imagine.

Things you may not have read yet!

1. My column on Roberto Clemente. I wrote a letter to my new hero about who he was, his plane crash, Wikipedia, and even his potty mouth. Burghers, if you haven’t learned about Roberto yet, I cannot encourage you enough to do it. What starts out as a general interest will explode into obsession as you begin reading anything you can find on him and you begin scouring the web for videos that manifest his reportedly other-worldly throwing arm.

Snippet:

When our idols die young, we’re left wondering if they would have remained worthy of our reverence, devotion and mythology. Would they have kept inspiring us to do better and be better? Or would they have eventually become a fallen angel who made us shake our heads and marvel at the drop from grace to rock bottom? I think it’s safe to say that, at 38, you were the man you were going to be for the rest of your life—and that’s inspiring.

2. My opinion on the possible loss of the Pitt Fall at Kennywood.

A snippet:

I don’t know why, but when I ride the Pitt Fall, coaxed onto it by nieces or nephews, I spend the fifty-minute (it seems) trip to the bottom in a state of rage I can’t explain. WHY AM I ON THIS? WHY AM I FALLING? WHO INVENTED THIS? I WOULD LIKE THIS TO STOP NOW. NOW. NOW? I HATE EVERYTHING ON THE PLANET.

3. And finally, my opinion on Hines Ward, the Buccos of Suckitude, the heat, Julie Bologna, and Jaromir Jagr, all wrapped up in one sweet post.

A snippet:

Remember how much I loved Jaromir Jagr and how much I wanted him to be a Penguin again and how I said I had no intention of booing him when he returns to Pittsburgh? Strike all of that from the record and replace it with this: “I will boo him so loudly and so emphatically and with so much pure rage that I will probably injure my vocal chords and black out from forgetting to breathe during my epic booing of that jerk-faced, disloyal, elderly Czech. If I could find the autograph he gave me all those years ago, I’d pin it to a voodoo doll and burn it. May the Karma Boomerang do her thang.”

Happy reading!