Monthly Archives: September 2013
So I’m sitting here trying to think of the funniest thing I ever saw happen at a wedding that I didn’t see on America’s Funniest Home Videos, and I’m at a loss.
I never saw the groom split his pants.
A best man never passed out at the altar.
A priest never accidentally said “shit ass ho.”
No “speak now or forever hold your peace” chaos brought on by a drunk ex.
No mother-of-the-bride taking too many muscle relaxers and basically rolling down the aisle like a wheel of cheese.
The weirdest thing I can remember happening at any wedding I attended was the bride who walked down the aisle to Seal’s “Kiss From a Rose” and I was like, “WHAT IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?!”
I’m working on my column for this year’s Pittsburgh Magazine Weddings issue and I want to share some of Pittsburgh’s funniest wedding moments with the readers.
Email me your funniest wedding story or rehearsal story or reception story or ring bearer puking on the pillow story and I’ll share the best in my column which will appear on the back inside page of the issue for PittGirl’s Last Laugh.
You can email your story along with your name and town to firstname.lastname@example.org.
Also, what does a kiss from a rose on the grey even mean? I AM SERIOUSLY ASKING YOU THIS QUESTION, YOU GUYS.
Oh, I’ll never forget that post where I blew the bandwagon up back in 2010.
On this the eve of the Pirates’ first postseason game in 20 years, I went through my Buccos posts from 2006 to 2012 (not 2009, as my blog was shuttered for most of that year) and found for each year a snippet representing my feelings at the beginning of the season versus my feelings at later in the season. It’s an interesting look at one fan’s fluctuating and oftentimes tense relationship with the Pittsburgh Pirates.
April 11, 2006: “PittGirl reviews Opening Day 2006”
Maybe the Pirates would do a little better if they weren’t so damn scared of the ball.
July 12, 2006: “Dear Bud Selig”
How can we expect different results if the Pirates keep doing things the same way? This town could be a baseball town. Know how I know? Because of the lump that rose in my throat and lots of Burghers’ throats when the cheers rose up for Jason Bay and Freddy Sanchez during player introductions last night. We want to cheer for the Pirates. We want to be proud of them. Yesterday, we finally got a little taste of what it’s like to be proud of the Pirates. We liked it. We loved it. We want more of it. Let that put you, Kevin, and all those Nuttings on notice that we’ve had damn enough of this shittastic management. We’ve had it up to here with all the commitment and desperation and determination. We want some freaking results.
February 21, 2007: “What they’re really thinking: Spring training edition”
The Pirates are in Florida for spring training, hoping that this is the year they turn this team around … any way they can, including embracing Eastern philosophies.
July 25, 2007: “Losers”
The only way the Pirates will see first place any time soon is if they are there to clean First Place’s house or maybe mow its lawn. And even then, First Place would be like, “Please don’t make eye contact with me or speak directly to me unless I speak to you first, you loser.”
February 21, 2008: “Random n’at”
While we sit here trying to unfreeze our snots, the Pirates are down there in Florida … hopefully working their asses off. Burghers, looking at this picture of Freddy Sanchez at camp. I don’t know. It does something to me. It’s making me look forward to baseball season. Like maybe this will be the year? Is it too much to hope? They can’t lose forever can they?
September 15, 2008: “A Light in the suck”
This damn-giving. It is a beautiful thing on Dougie and for that I shall apologize to him for turning my back on him and the team and I will promise him that from now on, I will once again place myself in front of my television so that I can witness those few small moments of shining awesome that we’re fortunate to find hiding within the giant mass of sucking suck.
March 13, 2010: “The mumble-mumble pep talk of the year”
This is me, walking up and down the line, looking each of you in the eye and saying, “Who gives a crap what the editor of a golf magazine thinks about you? Golf isn’t even a sport. I mean, John Daly played professional golf as a 400-lb alcoholic. Your mother plays golf. Your grandmother plays golf. Let’s see them connect with a ninety-mile-an-hour four-seam fastball. And who gives a parrot cloaca about some computer?! Eff the computers! Eff the scientist who forgot to plug ‘playing with heart’ into his ‘algorithm.’ Eff the haters. Eff the pessimists. Eff the statistics. Eff the laws of probability. Eff the management and their shitty profit-driven decision-making. Because this is the year. This is the year you win despite playing for the worst management in all of professional sports and possibly amateur sports and possibly circle-time at the daycare. Screw it all. This is the year you play like you mean it. Play like you want to win. Play like you know a thing or two about hitting and throwing a ball. When that ball comes to you, you slow that ball down in your mind, you look that ball in the eye and you say, ‘Eff you, ball,’ and you hit it square in the nose. Win so they can’t laugh at you anymore. Win for the fans. Win for the kids. Win so I can send that Golf Magazine editor a nasty email. Win so you can kick that ‘algorithm’ right in the junk. Just win. Because I swear to God, if I lose this bet, I will not only make each and every one of you pox-riddled scallywags walk the plank, but I will personally push you overboard and let The Kraken have you for supper.
August 25, 2010: “Click. Click. KABOOM!”
For now, I’m just going to sit and watch the pretty fire, and drink what’s left of the margaritas until I’m too drunk to care about 18 years of losing. Burn, baby, burn.
February 28, 2011: “Destroying the Manatees”
I’m not saying “THIS IS THE YEAR!” because I promised you I wouldn’t do that no matter how rosy my Cult of Personality glasses make everything seem. I looked at a pile of dog poop the other day and it looked like a chocolate doughnut. These glasses are of the strongest rose-colored prescription money can buy.
I must let you know that the Pittsburgh Pirates spent a sunny Florida day bitchslapping the Manatees stupid.
September 14, 2011: “Tuck and Roll”
March 5, 2012: “This is important”
But things are changing. The tides are turning. This stinking, putrid, battle-maimed ship of scurvy and suck is afloat and heading in the vicinity of the right direction, as in if the “right direction” is east, we are heading south south east, which is better than west.
ANYWAY, my point, as always … THIS IS THE YEAR!
October 5, 2012: “Oh the Humanity!”
Me? The resident “everything else” blogger who built and piloted the Pirates bandwagon this year? Well, I just want to type a lot of profanity and then when I run out, I want to invent new, more expressive forms of profanity. I want to punch things and then kick them where they fall. All of my attempted heartfelt, nod-worthy and Amen-pulling sentences get interrupted with keyboard smashes. “The Pirates, for the first time in two decades, came so close to a winning season they jksdfj welkfjaf;lkjawe;flk awef;lkwejfj–“
As the unofficial builder, recruiter and driver of the bandwagon, I’m sad and I’m going to be sad and really really angry until about February. Then the weather is going to shift and by early March a warm rain is going to sweep away 2012 and I’m going to really wake up to 2013 and the possibilities it can bring to the Pittsburgh Pirates because I’m a sick individual. I’m going to build a new bandwagon and recruit like never before and I’m going to go to opening day and say, “This is the year!” and I’m going to believe it in my sick heart.
But for now, if you’re still on my bandwagon, I can’t say this adamantly enough: Tuck and roll, because this sucker is about to burn like the fires of hell before meeting the bottom of the Mon.
I bet that’s a pretty good representation of your relationship with the team too.
Hope. Despair. Hope! Despair! HOPE! EFF YOU, PIRATES! EFF YOU TO HELL!
Those days are gone. Tomorrow we put our butts in the seats, and I don’t care if we lose by a score of 20-1 … we stay in our seats and when that game is over, we stand up and we applaud those men for giving us more than what we’ve been wishing for for 20 years. They weren’t content with a winning season; they took us to the postseason, and then they brought the postseason home to us.
Tomorrow we go to bed loving the Pittsburgh Pirates. No matter what.
Let’s go, Bucs.
The things Ben Roethlisberger has said about himself since going 0-3.
- “We can’t, I can’t, turn the ball over, plain and simple.”
- “I honestly thought the two fumbles were good plays. Sometimes I don’t want to call it luck, but sometimes they hit the ball just right and it pops out.”
Things the Duke of Fug and the Earl of Gross has said about the rest of the team:
- “You can’t get a read on him. One day, he’s practicing, one day, he’s not; one day, he’s going hard, the next day, he’s not. If he was a guy like Heath Miller that you knew was busting his butt every day to get back … Le’Veon is a rookie. I don’t know him quite well enough yet. But if he can come back and help us, we’ll take him.”
- “I’ll go say something to him to see if it hurt his feelings.”
- “Be tough. Be nasty. If you have to get a penalty because you’re going to be nasty, a holding penalty or you’re going to choke someone out on a run play … I don’t always think that’s a bad thing if you get a penalty every once in a while because you’re playing tough and nasty compared to not getting any penalties and just playing passive. I know the O-line coach [Jack Bicknell Jr.] probably didn’t want to hear me say that, but I just want them to have the confidence to go out and play the way that I know they can.”
- “I need them to have a confidence and a cockiness about themselves. Everyone is talking bad about them, but you know what? They’re here for a reason. They were the best ones on their college teams, they got drafted high. They need to go out there and play with a confidence and an attitude that (says), ‘You know what? I’m the baddest guy out here.”
Seriously. Stop talking to the media. You’re terrible at it.
If you’re one of those people who reads my stuff here but doesn’t click over to read my stuff at the magazine … WHY?
Do you think I don’t bring my snark over there? I do. The only thing I don’t bring over there is my foul mouth.
I wrote about the Pirates clinching a playoff spot.
The word clinching and the word Pirates and it’s not about them clinching a losing season.
As I was saying, I wrote about the clinch. I wrote about how I felt and how I acted and what it meant and what it means and I even did some amazing math using Roberto’s numbers and Neil Walker’s numbers to predict that Neil Walker is going to do something epic in October.
MATH DOESN’T LIE, YOU GUYS.
So if there’s anything I’ve ever written over at the magazine, this is the one I want you to go read, because I’ve been writing it in my head for two decades.
I believed the curse. I did.
It took me about 17 years of futility, but I started to believe it. It went beyond poor management and the constant swapping of good working parts for cheap replacements in the ironic name of “rebuilding.” Something bigger was at work here, I told myself. It had to be.
So when my husband came to me a few weeks ago and said he had received the postseason ticket-order form and that he was getting ready to send our money in, I said, “Wait.”
WAIT JUST ONE SECOND, YOU BEAUTIFUL MEXICAN SON OF A —
I put my hand on his shoulder and said quite seriously — and if I’m making this up, may a pigeon snuggle with me every night for the rest of my days — “If you send that money in, we won’t make the postseason. BUT! … ”
My eyes were wide and maniacal now.
“… If you DON’T send that money in, we’ll probably win the World Series!”
I arched my eyebrows and flashed a maniacal, toothy smile like Lady Elaine Fairchilde after botched botox. I had become more superstitious than Sidney Crosby at 8:07 on Aug. 7.
He looked at me like I had just asked him to adopt a gaggle of baby pigeons. (So fluffy, honey!)
And then he sent the money in.
I not only believed in the curse, but I also believed a savior would come to save us from it.
Read about how I feel about Mark Appel [patooie!] and whether or not the Bucs should have celebrated the way they did last night (spoiler alert: HELL YES).
And most importantly … go see the math.
Now, let’s go, Bucs!
P.S. At some point this week, I’m going to mine my eight years of archives and pull up my favorite Pirates posts so we can relive all the drama. It will be legendary to revisit lines like this:
Apparently what happened, you guys, is that Nate McLouth started sucking upon his departure from the Pirates, which is unusual because when players leave the Pirates, they often start playing their Best Baseball Ever. “I’m HEALED!” That’s Satan.
Granted we got Charlie Morton in the McLouth trade, and depending on the month, that makes you either say, “Best trade ever!” or “God. Charlie Morton is a black hole of suck that is sucking more suck into its gaping abyss-like hole of suck.”
More soon. For now, go read.
All parts of the team are broken down.
More turnovers than those that come in an actual box of turnovers.
It looked hopeful for like 3 minutes there and then the portal to hell opened up and swallowed us whole.
I’m not even exaggerating. I saw Satan.
May your boobs shrivel up and fall off. Yours too, Mila.
It’s just a game. It’s not the end. There’s still hope. Don’t fling yourself from the Clemente Bridge. (Unless the Pirates don’t make the post-season, then fling yourself with gusto while screaming ARRRIBBBAAAAAA! the whole way down. The irony will be beautiful.)
We lost and it sucked, but it’s just football.
I know that. But that didn’t stop me from making some memes to make myself feel better.
And that’s all she wrote … about that heaping pile of pigskin garbage:
Seriously, Antonio. That shit is annoying. Knock it off and get back to the huddle.
That was badass and one of the few positives I can point out.
Pregnancy tests. Integers. Ions. Affirmations.
Hahahah! I’m punchy!
Next week. London against the 0-3 Vikings.
Here’s hoping we don’t drop a clanger and make arses of ourselves.
Rumpy pumpy and How’s Your Father?
Throw some shrimp on the barbie!
Did I do that right?