Category Archives: Random

Random n’at

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1. I ranted.

I was heard.

I’ve got lots of local media folks pissed with me now.

But I 100% stand by what I wrote. Sometimes I write a rant and then a month later I’ll go back and read it and be like, “Bitch, who peed in your jar of Nutella? You need a chill pill the size of a horse tranquilizer.”

But this one? No. It’s 100% church and I 100% will fight for what I wrote.

100%.

[awkward kung fu moves]

2. Haitian Families First linked up kids in Haiti to be picture pen pals with kids at Sto-Rox Elementary, the Brashear Association, Grandview Elementary, Quaker Valley Middle School, and Shady Side Middle School and they’re selling some of the art to benefit their programs that work to keep families together in Haiti.

Details here. I’ll be there. BUYING ALL THE THINGS. If you bring your kid, they can create artwork that will get sent back to Haitian children in the HFF programs.

3. If you’re a Frozen fan (you are; you just don’t know it yet), then you’re going to love this episode of Pittsburgh Dad. I cannot choose my favorite line, but I’m leaning toward, “Dump a bag of rock salt on her. Movie over.” or “Don’t be a deer” or “Cut open the reindeer like a Tauntaun and throw her in ‘at!”  So much goodness!

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4. I bet the bomb squad just royally screwed up some poor Art Institute film student’s final project.

5. Were they SWINGING on them?!

6. Golf Edgewood; raise money for kids with cancer. Win win.

7. Did you know that marathon weekend includes an official pet walk that benefits Animal Rescue League? I would take my dog for this walk, but he is 15, his teeth are falling out, he’s mostly blind, mostly deaf, and just the meanest little old man you ever met. You best get off his lawn before he burns you with his ancient pee.

8. I wrote about the hilarity that ensued at my cookie-table-less, hokey-pokey-less wedding in Mexico. Here’s a picture from it.

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That’s the face of a man who at that moment realized what he got himself into. How do you say, “Oh, shit” in Spanish?

Have a read!

9. I also published my 2014 Burghy Mother’s Day Gift Guide! If you haven’t shopped for mom yet, snag her one of these ten Burghy gifts. Most all of them are locally made. Click the photo to be whisked away to the list:

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I published this and then my mother went out and shopped the list, buying stuff off of it for herself, even an item I already purchased for her for Mother’s Day.

She’s doing it wrong.

10. Guys, when I started this blog, I was 32. A young woman. Sorta. Mother of one. Married six years.

I will be turning 40 next month. I’m a mother of two and on Cinco de Mayo, I’ll have been married for 14 years. I feel like if you’ve been reading me since the beginning, you’ve watched me grow up a bit here. Sorta.

I wrote about what turning 40 means to me and what it means for my relationship with Pittsburgh.

A snippet:

I am officially middle-aged. Mid-life. Half-death.

I no longer can gush about the new hottie on the Pirates, Penguins or Steelers teams without sounding like a cradle-robbing cougar. I’d rather be labeled anything than that. Even a “tunnel-braker.”

I now have two churches. The new one is the wrinkle-cream aisle at Target. The Sunday-paper circular is my Bible, and Olay is my god.

All hail Olay.

Have a read. 

11. Your hilarious tweets as of late:





Random n’at

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1. I’ll be taking the thermometer down tomorrow, but you can still donate if you want to be part of this year’s effort to bring gaming to three units within Children’s Hospital.  After tomorrow, I’ll tell Woy, “Hey. I tried to take the thermometer off the sidebar and I think I screwed something up with [fingerquotes] widgets because I accidentally deleted my blog.”

Also, it was reader Brian who won the Pirates prize pack. I’m delivering it to him today!

2. Speaking of the Pirates, they are doing just fantastic this preseason because this is the year, and you’re like, “Last year was the year, Ginny.” And I’m all, “Last year was the year for a winning season. This year is the year for the … WORLD SERIES.”

Let me believe, you dream crusher and spirit squasher and hope hater.

3. Found by the P-G’s fantastic Andrew McGill, Pittsburgh as a Tolkien-esque map print, for sale on Etsy:

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Probably for sure 100% maybe going in this year’s Yinzer Holiday Gift Guide.

4. Also, Andrew pointed out that Bill Peduto had a scheduled 30-minute phone call with Pittsburgh rapper Mac Miller not too long ago.

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Because why not?

5. This happened way back on Christmas and I forgot to post it, but I must. A photo of a driver fleeing a Parkway East crash.

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Men of Earth, pull up your pants.

6. My self-united bestie Matt Lamanna discovered a new dinosaur, called it “the chicken from hell” and the national media is enthralled.

For a Tyrannosaurus rex looking for a snack, nothing might have tasted quite like the “chicken from hell.”

That’s one way Matt Lamanna describes Anzu wyliei, the species of dinosaur that he and fellow paleontologists unveiled Wednesday.

It’s not the only way, though. Feathered demon also works, which is why Anzu — derived from Sumerian mythology — was chosen as a name. Or you could characterize it, as Lamanna also told CNN, as a 600-pound cross between an ostrich and a velociraptor. And it’s “pretty damn close” to looking like the 6-foot-tall turkey a child famously referred to in the movie “Jurassic Park,” except a lot stranger and meaner looking.

Sounds cuddly.

7. Pittsburghers text while driving more than any other city in Pennsylvania, including those bastards suffering their lives away in Philadelphia.

I’m just going to say this to you if you feel you must send a text while driving:

“Siri, send a message to [name].”

“What would you like to say to [name]?”

“I’m on my way be there in five minutes.”

“Would you like me to send the message now?”

“Read it to me.”

“Your message to [name] says, ‘I’m on my way. Be there in five minutes.’ Would you like me to send it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I sent your message.”

You honestly never need to look at your phone while driving if you have an iPhone. Just talk to Siri.

Unless you’re my husband, whose accent Siri just cannot figure out.

“Siri, send a message.”

“David, say focus for me.”

8. This is so cool. Reader Zachary discovered that if you do street view on Market Square and then drop yourself right in the center of the Square, Google Maps will go from present day Market Square to the old Market Square when the road went right down the middle.

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I had fun poking around.

9. Here’s another cool pic, sent by Jarrett Rathke, taken by his father Bob Rathke in 1960. Derailed incline:

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STUFF. OF. NIGHTMARES.

10. I wrote a bunch of stuff:

“Five Words We Should Never Use Again. Literally.”

“In fact, a quick search of social media has users describing their coffee, hair and “day at school” as epic. You know what? Unless Barack Obama, Bono and Justin Timberlake were there to lead your trig class in the Funky Chicken before handing out giant bags of cash, I promise your school day wasn’t even in the same hemisphere as epic.”

 ”Shock. Horror. A Few People Accidentally Got Parking Tickets Downtown.”

They used “about half a dozen” to mean five because no one cares about five cars, but you can fool people into caring if it’s “about half a dozen” cars. For the same reason, you’re more likely to pay $19.99 than you are to pay $20 for something. For the same reason you won’t say, “I ate about half a dozen cookies” but will instead say, “I ate only five cookies.” It’s psychology. Or persuasive semantics. Or a sick cookie addiction brought on by those enablers at the Girl Scouts of America.

“The Story Behind Google’s Mysterious Happy Birthday Window.”

Perhaps you recognize it as the corner window from the second story of the old Wallace Building in East Liberty that recently was transformed into residential space. It’s painted with “Happy B-Day, Julia” — a sentiment that remained on the window for almost 10 years and became a sort of a public art display for those who strolled past.

That post. You gotta read the comments. Bunch of people lost their shit. And not in the good way. One chick on Twitter was so unhappy with me, she even posted that she would “stab that bitch.”

Happy reading!





Throwback Thursday AKA You’ll never look at me the same again

In honor of once again reaching the Make Room for Kids goal, and surpassing it by a whopping $600 this year, it’s time for me to reveal an embarrassing picture from my sordid past as a Supremely Awkward Being.

I’m still a Supremely Awkward Being, but I’ve learned to internalize it under a candy-coated shell of hair, makeup, drugstore product, and Target clothes.

Underneath, inside, deep down, I’m awkward, shy, weird, odd, uncomfortable … I’m this:

Ginny Tammy Terri

I … I’m sorry. I’ll give you a moment to compose yourself.

I don’t know where to start. Is this Photoshop? Did I really look like this? Dress like this? Believe this to be an acceptable appearance even if it was the 90s?

Yes, 1995. I can’t even use the excuse that I was a teenager. I was 21 in this picture. Drinking age. Maybe I was drunk?

I wasn’t drunk. I’ve only been drunk two times in my life, and this wasn’t one of them.

Maybe it was Halloween and I was going as Slash going as Harry Potter if Harry Potter were in a Mexican street gang? I mean, why is my shirt buttoned all the way up? Why am I wearing a bandana over my ridiculously large hair that right this moment Troy Polamalu is looking at and going, “It’s a bit … much, yes? Maybe some Moroccan hair oils could help?”

Look at my twin sisters. They look so normal. Then look at me. Now look at them. Now back to me. We look about as blood related as you and your dog.

Am I grunge? Am I a Crip? A Hogwart? A Shark? Am I packing a Nirvana cassette, a sawed off shotgun, a broomstick, or a vicious set of musical finger snaps in my belt?

We’ll never know. But we know this for sure … there’s pretty much nothing I won’t do for sick kids.

Thank you for donating, retweeting, sharing, and everything else you all did to make the $10,000 happen.

I can’t wait to show you in April what your donations made possible for Pittsburgh’s sick kids.

Group hug!





Pirates Prize Pack Giveaway!

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Your Pittsburgh Pirates have generously donated to Make Room for Kids a prize pack chock full of goodies including game tickets and an autographed Pedro Alvarez baseball.

And instead of shoving these things into my closet while hissing “my preciousssssssssss,” I am going to be a good person and give the prize pack away to one lucky reader.

You can enter by commenting. I’ll keep this giveaway open until the moment the $10,000 is raised at which time random.org will pick a lucky winner who will receive:

  • Pirates Cooler bag filled with:
  • Pirates replica BP hat
  • Starling Marte Fat Head
  • Andrew McCutchen Bobblehead
  • Raise the Jolly Roger Flag
  • Pirates t-shirt
  • Pirates wine set
  • Pirates beach mat
  • Pirates Tervis Tumbler travel mug
  • 4 tickets to a Mon-Thurs game (except Opening Day)
  • Autographed Pedro Alvarez baseball

I don’t know what the value of all this stuff would be, but I’m conservatively guessing it’s about four million dollars.

Keep them all for yourself. Dish them out as gifts throughout the year. Let your kids fight like Zappalas and Ories over them.

And since I am being so kind as to give this stuff away, PLEASE PLEASE donate a few bucks so our sick kids in the CICU, trauma, and ortho units at Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh can receive a multimedia overhaul that will bring them gaming and distractions.

If you donated today before we switched the contest to comment to win, no worries. You’re entered! Good luck!





“Good night, kids, sleep tight, don’t let the demons bite.”

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I am freaked out by the thought of demons.

Or angry ghosts.

Hell, a HAPPY ghost could tap me on the shoulder in my house and say, “You’re gorgeous. Have a great day today! Really get out there and seize everything this day has to offer you!” and I would punch that ghost so hard in the throat, it would die again.

Who knows what’s real? What’s imagined? What’s a figment of our fearful imaginations?

I’m easily freaked out by the paranormal, as you know if you’ve been reading my drivel at all for the last eight and a half years. I went on a few dates in college with a minister’s son (we PKs stick together and smoke crack together and hit the strip clubs together. Just kidding, Dad.). He told me a story of his father trying to rid a house of a demon. It was a subtle demon, I guess. Moving a particular ceiling tile each night. Things like that. To this day though, that story, true or not, sticks with me.

I was 100% convinced as a teenager, thanks to my father’s excellent child-rearing, that if I ever touched an Ouija Board, I would summon a demon who would make my head spin and my puke reach previously unrecorded levels of velocity.

I still haven’t ever touched an Ouija Board, and just don’t talk to me about demons. Or ghosts. Or anything I can’t see and feel and punch in the throat if called upon to do so.

So, color me flabbergasted (which is, I think, I nice shade of puce) that ex-county commissioner Bob Cranmer is claiming the house he lived in since 1988 is haunted.

And not just haunted.

PISSED OFF DEMONS HAUNTED. (Although, as I think about it, demons are probably, by their very nature, just generally pissed off at all times.)

BLOOD SPLATTERED HAUNTED.

Check THIS out, Wendy Bell:

It began happening shortly after he, his wife and their four kids bought the house in 1988.

What seemed to be bumps in the night, turned into something more. They began seeing a dark pillar that moved through the house with a repulsive, acrid smell.

“As I called it, a stench,” says Cranmer. “It was a combination of like a burning sulfur or rubber.” 

Burning sulfur. Hmmm. Okay. A smell. That’s not too threatening. I’m sure my son has released farts that could be classified under the “burning sulfur” set of smells. No biggie. Let’s move on.

Cranmer says the presence began attacking he and his family.

Wait. WUT?

“It would scratch us at night, bite us,” Cranmer said. “I woke up in the middle of the night, I was completely turned around in bed – my feet were on the pillows, I was under the covers and my head was at the foot of the bed. Things like that on a consistently on a daily basis.”

Clocks would stop, art work would routinely be turned upside down, crucifixes bent, rosary beads shattered and worse.

“This entire house was marked with a blood-type substance that would be on the walls and the ceiling,” Cranmer said.

On the direction of then-Bishop Donald Wuerl, exorcists and priests assisted the Cranmers to rid the spirit, which became more resistant over time.

“This thing did not want to give up,” said Cranmer. “It was a relentless back and forth battle. Where it would prevail, there were several rooms in the house that we could no longer use. But in the end, the power of the Lord prevailed.”

Cranmer says he and his family still have the scars — physical and emotional.

Two of his children were treated in Western Psych for trauma.

But though wounded, he says their faith is now unshakable.

Now he’s written this book – “The Demon of Brownsville Road.”

Readers, we are not going to get into the religious aspects of this. AT ALL. And if you try to start a religious fight in the comments, I will find you and I will throat punch you, because in case you can’t tell, the sub-topic of this post is how much I enjoy throat-punching.

What we are going to talk about is this:

ARE YOU EFFING KIDDING ME, BOB CRANMER?!?!

Assuming everything you’re saying is true, you had a demon in your home. Scratching your family. Wounding your children. Sending YOUR CHILDREN TO THE PSYCH WARD. Flipping you around in your beds. Filling your house with a pillar of stench. Scarring your bodies.  Biting your family. Painting your house with blood.

AND YOU STAYED IN THE HOUSE?

You continued to live there?

I mean, okay, maybe you don’t leave because of the smell. Chalk it up to Indian food farts, which are, in my experience, the worst of the farts.

Maybe you explain away the fact that you were flipped around in bed as just a really restless night of sleep.

But the day you wake up and your walls are painted in blood and your children are scratched and bitten and crying and scared, well, sir, that’s the day you move out. That’s the day you say, “Pack it up. We’re going to Grammy’s house until this thing is gone.”

You don’t stick around for years, or months, or even days. If I suspected for one SECOND that a demon was in my house, I would have exited like the frickin’ Road Runner, leaving behind a circular cloud of dust and nothing more.

“This thing did not want to give up,” said Cranmer. “It was a relentless back and forth battle. Where it would prevail, there were several rooms in the house that we could no longer use.”

Again, WUT?!?!

You don’t just close the door to certain rooms and says, “Kids. What did I tell you about playing in the demon’s room?! Don’t come crying to me when you wake up covered in blood and scratches and your pee comes out burning of sulfur.”

You don’t wait until you have TO TREAT YOUR CHILDREN IN A MENTAL INSTITUTION before saying, “Demon, we outta here. Have a nice death.”

I’m flabbergasted and stunned and all of the words that mean flabbergasted and stunned.

If my father made me live in a house with a demon, I’d have throat-punched him and made a run for it.

Respectfully of course, Dad.

Meep meep.

P.S. If you chuckled at any point during this post, you owe me five dollars and you can pay it via the donate button up there under the thermometer. Every penny goes to the Mario Lemieux Foundation fund this year’s Make Room for Kids efforts at Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh.

P.P.S. This book better have pictures of blood spattered walls.






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