Category Archives: Random
I was asked recently by a local nonprofit to speak briefly to a group of disabled young adults about social media and how they can use it to effect change.
For every ten times I get asked to speak, I say no to nine of them. This one I said yes to because it’s a subject I feel I truly have something valuable to say on — sentence-ending prepositions and all.
After agreeing, I received an email letting me know quite kindly, complimentarily and apologetically that they no longer had time on the agenda for my five minutes. Was that really the case? Or did they realize how notorious I am, how many local enemies I’ve made in my 9 years as PittGirl, how very little I care these days about political correctness and how few shits I give lately about bullshit in general? Maybe they found someone better. Maybe they really just didn’t have time for me.
Who can know? But, you know what? I had something to say to those young disabled people and my God, I’m going to say it here, because I don’t know that anyone else will say this to them:
Being disabled? SUCKS.
I don’t care what any disabled person will say to your face, deep down in our hearts, there is this truth we look at occasionally: This hand we’ve been dealt?
Whether it be a wheelchair, a cane, a seeing-eye dog, a limp, a hearing aid — or in my case, two hearing aids … having a daily, visible and physical reminder of our disability? Sucks.
It sucks if we can’t dress ourselves without help. It sucks if we can’t navigate an unfamiliar room without a helping hand. It sucks if we’re missing a leg or an arm. It sucks if we’re deformed. It sucks if we have to say “I’m sorry, what?” so many times in a row when we’re on the phone with a customer service representative that they get angry and demand, “Are you deaf or something?”
It sucks when people realize you have a disability and sweetly over-compensate for it. “HOW! ARE! YOU! DOING! TODAY! GINNY! DO! YOU! NEED! ME! TO! SPEAK! LOUDER! OR! SHAVE! MY! MUSTACHE! SO! THAT! YOU! CAN! READ! MY! LIPS! BETTER!?”
I love you. Please stop shouting.
It also sucks when people realize you have a disability and do nothing at all to compensate for it. I could throat-punch soft-talkers. Throat-punch them in their soft-talking throats.
(And here is where I start to realize why maybe they didn’t want me to speak.)
It sucks that we have to try harder and longer.
It sucks that we can’t breeze through our day as easily as others.
It sucks how these disabilities have shaped our personalities. Not negatively, per se, but what would you and I be like without them? I once had a therapist who tried to get me to understand that my shyness because of my disability was basically an affront to God because it meant I cared too much about being embarrassed and about what people think of me. Yeah. Nope. Byeeee.
Guys? It … just … all … sucks.
LISTEN … BUT.
There is this other truth: There comes a time in every single disabled person’s life where they look at their disability and go, “This has served me. This disability has in some way positively altered my life and the lives of those around me. If life is really a series of sliding doors, there’s a reason this is the one that opened. It has made me who I am. It has made me stronger. Stronger than my able-bodied peers. I have learned to rise above it at least 99.9% of the time (we’re allowed to cry about our shortcomings .1% of the time). I don’t 100% know if I would be this effing awesome without having risen above this effing, sucky disability.”
(Yeah, good decision to uninvite me. We’re cool. No hard feelings.)
I would not be the writer I am if I didn’t spend 30 years avoiding human interaction, reading voraciously, hiding inside my head where the voices were loud and crystal clear, honing my own voice. I wouldn’t be able to read Andrew McCutchen’s angry, snapping lips every time he gets beaned with a fastball. I wouldn’t have started a blog. I wouldn’t have written. I wouldn’t have started Make Room for Kids. I wouldn’t have helped orphans in Haiti.
And social media? Social media levels the playing field. You aren’t disabled on social media. You aren’t judged by your appearance, your cane, your limp, your wheelchair. You are only judged by the power of your words and how you convey your message. I am not mostly deaf; I am PittGirl. Hear me roar. You are not blind; you are Joe and you can change the world. You are not in a wheelchair; you are Mary and you can raise $10,000 in two days. You are not missing a limb; you are Jake and you can move an effing virtual mountain.
Basement trolls hide behind their keyboards. Us disabled folks? We’re using them as equalizers.
And that is where we get more power, a stronger voice, a better sense of self-assurance. That is how a shy, introverted hearing-impaired incredibly socially awkward mother of two can become PittGirl. [swishes cape and runs off in dramatic fashion]
You are not your disability. Not in real life and not on social media. Your disability is what made you who you are, the amazing person you are, the incredibly strong person you are … and social media is the microphone that will let you shout that triumphantly to the world with such conviction, change will unfold beneath the rushing power of your voice.
No matter if you don’t actually have a physical voice.
And no matter how much your disability … just absolutely sucks.
1. … “So I says to my friend, I says, ‘I like to blog occasionally so’s I don’t forget my WordPress password.’”
2. My new front door has a speakeasy (basically it is this door) and the reason it has a speakeasy is because when we were hunting for a new front door, I learned you can have a front door with a speakeasy and suddenly I had a lot of plans in my head for reenacting the Miracle Max scene from The Princess Bride, so I decided my front door would indeed have a speakeasy.
Fast forward to yesterday evening when my parents arrived for Sunday dinner at my house and my sister Pens Fan answered the door through the speakeasy.
Pens Fan: “We’re closed! What’s the secret password.”
My mother: “Steelers stink.”
Me: “Let her in.”
Yes, I quit the NFL, so no, I didn’t watch the game, but I read about it and boy, finding out the Steelers lost so miserably to the Browns is like finding out your kid lost a spelling bee to the class pet rabbit.
3. On a scale of one to “self-folding laundry,” how much do you desire this?
This is the ScareHouse Shake at Burgatory that you can only get this month. It has Oreos, gummy worms, and for adults … chocolate vodka.
Sales of this shake benefit Make Room for Kids at the Lemieux Foundation. You know, that little program you and I and Microsoft started that has now outfitted Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh with over 100 XBOX units and over a hundred thousand dollars in equipment?
Get thee to Burgatory … and then get thee to ScareHouse. I went on Friday and almost pooped my pants in fright. But on the bright side, I didn’t throat-punch any of the zombies that rushed me. Progress.
After I got out, Scott Simmons of the ScareHouse told me I should go in the Basement and I said, “SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH.”
4. Stuff I wrote:
A tribute to Sophie. Snippet:
“I didn’t know it was her idea to give the Pirates their own stadium. The proposed arena was to be — in the words of an Associated Press reporter — “open-ended and afford most spectators a view of the downtown skyline.” She said to the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette after she left office, “It went over like a lead balloon. It was just a suggestion that we look into it, and it almost got me impeached.” I hope in 2001 she drove down Grant Street screeching, “I TOLD YINZ SO!” out her car window.”
I don’t need to write about the Pirates or the Wild Card game. We contended. Again. It’s that “again” that’s so important. We are not a fluke. We are a legitimate baseball club. Worthy of Roberto. Worthy of Maz, Honus and Teke. Worthy of the Jolly Roger and all of its pirate lore. Worthy of the devotion of a legion of fans. Worthy of this beautiful ship we’ll sail again in April. We will dock it with the expectation that the Pirates Baseball Club will offer Russell Martin nothing short of a free trip to space with a monkey-butler should he desire one, if he will just stay a Pirates player a while longer.
Have a read about how MEAN Twitter got.
Here’s my thing. Critics like to say they feel Pittsburgh Dad isn’t a positive representation of Pittsburgh’s people. But publicly being a colossal jerk to him isn’t exactly a positive representation either.
So yeah, me and Dejan have a beef. I unfollowed him; he unfollowed me. We’re probably going to trash each other’s lawns at some point.
5. Cathedral of Learning has a shot at being an official LEGO set. Go give them a vote!
6. Public money accounted for about $23 million to build the August Wilson Center and now public money is being used to bail it out even though there was a buyer with ACTUAL CASH DOLLAR BILLZ ready to buy it, make it profitable, and keep the center’s mission intact.
[headdesk headdesk headdesk]
Let capitalism be!
8. Does “jagoff” belong in the dictionary? There’s a petition to make it happen.
That being said, did anyone have a hard time answering the question “what’s a jag-off?” to the kids in the room when it was used in reference to the clerk at Sam Goode’s? That folks, was a first for me on network PRIMETIME television.
Here’s how you answer it, you jagoff … “Well, kids, a jaggerbush (thorn bush) has jaggers (thorns) on it that are very annoying and therefore a jagoff is a very annoying person … like me.”
9. Tweets that made me LOL lately:
Kramer hires Edgar Snyder to help him sue the underachieving Steelers for pain and suffering.
— Yinzer Seinfeld (@YinzerSeinfeld) October 12, 2014
If you're gonna genetically modify watermelons, focus less on seeds and more on giving them a handle.
— Susie Meister (@susie_meister) October 11, 2014
Parents looking to drive your older kids nuts: When they're using voice to text, just yell out crazy stuff. Deep down they love it.
— Randy Bohlender (@rbohlender) October 10, 2014
I’m SO doing this. “I FART IN YOUR GENERAL DIRECTION!”
User: "I lost my email settings on my phone." Me: "OK, what kind of phone do you have?" User: "A smartphone."
— Mr. theMoon (@Sheepthemoon) October 8, 2014
Today is National Pierogi Day, or as Pittsburghers call it… Wednesday.
— Megan Etzel (@megetz) October 8, 2014
Quit calling them boneless wings. You’re an adult eating chicken fingers.
— Ali Spagnola (@alispagnola) October 5, 2014
What would you even do with 72 virgins? That's like sitting through 72 flute solos from 72 girls who've never played. Sounds more like hell.
— Justin Kownacki (@JustinKownacki) October 4, 2014
Giants = Paper Pirates = Dog http://t.co/BflGwmx6pe
— Steve Braband (@stevebraband) October 2, 2014
Can’t imagine how good that all felt to Cueto. Hope he gets hemorrhoids the size of cantaloupes.
— Jonathan Wander (@JMWander) September 28, 2014
I'm changing electrical outlets in my underwear. The coroner's photos should be priceless.
— Cryptopher (@pantster) September 12, 2014
10. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go wait for the Jehovah’s Witnesses to come by.
In which I say “bullshit” a lot, quit the NFL, unfollow the Steelers, and piss off all of Pens Twitter.
You know, you turn 40 and you just do not have time for anyone’s bullshit anymore.
Life is flying past and you realize yours is halfway over and the second you see bullshit? KABLOOEY.
You throat-punch it. Destroy it. Tell it that its mother is so stupid she went to the beach to surf the internet (stolen joke, FYI.) You start to understand why the elderly will say anything they damn well please. They are nearing death and they do not have time for your bullshit.
I mean, in my 30s I was already pretty good at calling out people’s bullshit, I think you’d agree, Luke Ravenstahl. But man, now that I’m 40? Watch your back, bullshit; PittGirl will stab you with a rusty knife before she sets you on fire.
Note … this is how you say “bullshit” in sign language:
You’re welcome. When I’m 90 and completely deaf, I am going to use that A LOT.
Anyway, I can’t deal with it. I won’t.
Last week after my husband spent two weeks being nice to a company over replacing our under-warranty broken fridge, I had had it. I called the company, flipped out, threatened to sit in their parking lot with a bullhorn warning other customers away (“And guess what? I work from home, so I’ve got the time to do it.”), and had a new fridge in my home the very next morning.
So bearing in mind I am a crotchety old elderly lady who doesn’t have time for bullshit anymore, you can imagine how I’ve taken to the news of the Steelers’ marijuana arrests and the Ray Rice debacle.
I did what I needed to do. I quit the NFL yesterday, and wrote why for Pittsburgh Magazine. And I feel good about it.
I’m not going to be party to their bullshit anymore. I’m out. Ok, bye.
Then this morning, the Steelers twitter account tweeted this absurdly ridiculous nonsense:
UGH. I don’t care who these men are, because the Steelers don’t tell us. It just looks like a picture of some smiling fans in front of a 9/11 banner. That’s how they chose to illustrate #neverforget.
Nope. Unfollowed ‘em.
Then I see this from the Penguins’ official Twitter account.
You’re going to ask your half a million followers to fill up some unknown schmuck’s mentions column and you’re going to do that under the guise of any sort of professional social media experience?
I had to call them on it.
No, I’m not that crazy and uptight that I don’t think anyone can use the phrase “blow up” on 9/11. But a professional social media account might want to think twice before using it in an official tweet on 9/11. But that’s not really what my issue was; I was just pointing out that poor choice of words.
The REAL issue is a professional social media account asking half a million followers to troll a guy. That’s just immature and unprofessional.
They have since issued an apology and deleted the tweet.
But now I have pissed off all of Pens Twitter and they are letting me HAVE IT. I mean, I’m being called names, being harassed, one Pens fan even tweeted he hopes I get hit by a car.
Another called me a c–t.
And guess how many shits I give? ZERO.
I don’t care if all 11,700 of my followers unfollow me.
I don’t care if the Steelers PR person emails me and gives me a good verbal lashing.
I don’t care if Sidney Crosby himself emails me and tells me to calm down.
I am 40; hear me stop giving a shit.
Grow up, whoever is running the Penguins’ Twitter account. Learn to social media better, whoever is running the Steelers’ Twitter account. Thousands of Americans died. You did a poor job of paying tribute to them. You angry fans tweeting me profanity, threats, insults and nonsense, NOW who’s overreacting?
This is me calling out my lifetime bank, PNC Bank, for a shady fee practice because I want you to know so you can be careful to not get hit with ridiculous charges like I was.
I needed to provide to a mortgage broker a breakdown of some recent deposit tickets to my account.
So I entered PNC Bank’s online system. I clicked on the deposit ticket link for each deposit I needed to show the checks from.
It displayed for me a picture of my deposit ticket. Here’s a snippet:
But I needed to show what those checks were, so I clicked “View Details.”
This came up. Again a snippet. Trying not to reveal important personal info here!
“View now.” GREAT. Click.
I can print or download the image at no additional charge? But I may be charged a fee? That’s confusing. So I clicked on “click here to review applicable fees.”
This came up:
Okay. So you can display the DEPOSIT TICKET for free. (Thanks, PNC!), but to display the images of the checks associated with the deposit ticket? “CLICK HERE.”
I clicked here. ANOTHER window pops up. What are we on now? Four?
Whew. Okay. I don’t use Virtual Wallet. I click on “ACCOUNT PRICING CENTER” and hey! It displays a FOUR PAGE PDF OF FEES. I first went to the Online Banking section, but there wasn’t anything there about displaying checks. Then I went to the correct section of the FOUR PAGE PDF:
“Self-service requests through online banking for items within a deposit ticket detail list.” I don’t see “display fee” anywhere. So clearly under “Images and Photocopy Requests” they mean if I ask them to email or print for me the image I display. Right? Great. I just want to bring the image up on my screen. Too bad I didn’t read down further to see there’s a separate section for mailing and faxing. They’ll mail you the deposit ticket copy for a dollar. But it will cost you $3 for them to mail you the check copy. Because they have to get on a camel and ride it across the desert to go into the vault to manually pull it out and copy it, I guess. But they keep the deposit tickets right on site, so it’s cheaper. Again, I’m guessing.
So I went back and clicked on the link to display the check image. And of course, each image came right up and ready to go for me to print or save to PDF.
But then a few days later:
WHOA! I was charged three dollars a pop to DISPLAY a check on my computer screen.
DISPLAY. DISPLAY FEE.
Is this my fault? Technically yes. I get it. My bad for not catching it properly.
Is PNC Bank ridiculous? Oh, yes. Because …
1. DISPLAY FEE? You charged me three dollars to bring an image of my check up on my screen?
2. If I had instead deposited these checks one by one, without a deposit ticket, I would not have been charged to display the images. It would have been free. But because I had to click one extra step to get to the check, it cost me $3 a pop.
3. I actually only displayed eight checks, but I got charged for ten, because I DISPLAYED two of the checks twice. ELL. OH. ELL. Gosh darn displayin’.
4. This is 2014. Are you telling me, PNC, that the only way for a consumer to know what this particular transaction is going to cost them, is to have them click through five different windows to download a four-page PDF? Don’t you have the capability to have your website bring up ONE window that says, “This will cost you $3, Virginia. Continue?”
Did I just blow your minds, PNC?
Either way, I called and expressed my displeasure at not only their practices to make it hard to figure out what you’ll be charged, but at flat-out charging people $3 to DISPLAY a check. They refunded half the charges.
Sure I screwed up by looking at the fee schedule and thinking if I don’t see “display fee” then they can’t charge me a “display fee.” I can’t help feeling though, that this is kind of screwed up.
Display fee. A fee to display a picture of your check. For three dollars.
WHOEVER HEARD OF SUCH MADNESS, MILEY CYRUS?!
Clearly I need to upgrade to Performance Checking. Or a different bank.
Does the anti-liquor privatization lobby make you want to punch faces like it makes me want to punch faces?
Then you’re in for a real treat because have you seen this commercial?
“So . . . *attempt at a confused look* . . . politicians want booze sold in stores where kids and teens go . . .?”
Wait. Wait just a minute. Are we supposed to leave our kids and teens in our cars when we go into the state liquor stores?! Crap. I’ve been just walking in to buy wine with my kids in tow. I let them look at the wine bottles. I am so embarrassed by this incredible parenting fail. Next time I’ll leave them in the car. Don’t worry. I’ll crack the window a bit because God forbid a child be in the presence of retail-ready alcohol containers. They could just grab one off the shelf and guzzle it down before you can say “Yo Gabba Gabba.”
It is so ridiculous and almost embarrassing for the union.
Remember when Huffington Post named Prantl’s Burnt Almond Torte “the greatest cake America has ever made?”
Well my family put that to the test recently by pitting Prantl’s versus Oakmont Bakery’s burnt almond torte cake.
Partygoers crowded around the person taking the test. We watched in absolute silence. We waited breathlessly for each decision as if Maury Povich was about to read paternity results. “When it comes to this cake . . . OAKMONT IS YOUR CHOICE!” *wild cheering and incredulous weeping*
Soon, it was tied. Siblings divided. Marriages splintering before our very eyes. We were so desperate for a winner that we attempted to have a 9-month-old baby cast a vote, but she just inhaled both pieces of cake and burped. What good are you, baby? We’re trying to do science here.
We were eyeing the dog as a possible voter, when we realized there was one cousin who hadn’t yet taken the test. This was it. The tie-breaker. For truth. For science. For cake.
He tasted. Chewed. Swallowed. Tasted. Chewed. Swallowed. Silence.
JUST TELL US ALREADY, MAURY!
Happy Memorial Day!
I’m turning 40 next week!
[CRIES ALL THE BITTER TEARS!]