Random n’at

1. A text from my mom after I replied “LOL” to the preceding text from her telling me I am to design her new kitchen:

“No LOL unless you mean Lots Of Love because I am DEAD SERIOUS. And so is YOUR FATHER.”

Of course I responded LOL to that and then her head exploded.

2. Russell Martin reportedly wants AT LEAST $75 million over five years.  Choose one of these reaction gifs. All are appropriate.






Maybe not the last one; I just love that gif.

3. I solved the mystery of why we’re slowing down at the mouths of tunnels in Pittsburgh and wrote about it for the November edition of Pittsburgh Magazine. 

A snippet:

You’ve slowed down. You’ve read the 40 signs. You’re prepared to stop, foot hovering over the brake. You’ve ensured you’re not hauling any flammable liquids, as four signs have warned against. You’re not over-height, as three signs have warned. You’ve included a bibliography and page numbers. You’ve now slowed to 35 miles per hour.

You jerk! Don’t you see the signs next to the “Pedestrians Prohibited” signs and the “No U-Turn” sign? Don’t you realize they want you to “MAINTAIN YOUR SPEED?” But you’re slowing down because you still haven’t read the four “Stay in lane” signs. (The actual hellmouth will open, unleashing the tunnel monster if you change lanes within a Pittsburgh tunnel.)

Go have a read and see how I managed to talk about helicopter parents in Upper St. Clair.

4. I’m in the final stages of compiling this year’s Burghy Holiday Gift Guide for the magazine, so if you’ve got an awesome idea for a gift made or developed right here in the Burgh, hit me up at virginia [at] thatschurch.com.

Immediately. Right now. Go.

5. County controller Chelsa Wagner held a press conference, an actual real live press conference with news cameras and press releases and a lectern and microphones and VISUALS on an EASEL to announce that Rich Fitzgerald hasn’t been logging his miles appropriately for his county-issued 2007 Jeep Cherokee.

She used his Twitter account and made screencaps of it and cross referenced it and then blew them up and put them on easels and blasted it to the city and then blasted him and then never bothered to send him the report.

Chelsa, seriously. Yes, please do your job and watch out for the taxpayers, but there’s no need for the press conference because we all know you and Rich Fitzgerald have a personal beef and therefore you just look ridiculous and petty and immature standing up there with your charts and lectern placard.



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Rich, log your miles correctly.

Chelsa, do your job without the unnecessary public fanfare to call out a person you very publicly hate.

As if I don’t already have enough people who hate me on Grant Street. Meh.

And please do not bother trying to draw a comparison to Lukey taking the brand new police-assigned Homeland Security SUV to the Toby Keith concert. He never should have even TOUCHED that car. This is Rich’s county-issued car. We’re just talking about miles here. So just shhhhhh.

6. I tried watching a bit of the Steelers game last week, but felt gross about it in light of my quitting the NFL and turned it off.  I turned it on this week for about two minutes to see the Steelers looking like Rod Barajas running through three inches of mud.

High-five if you get that joke. Little Pirates throwback there.

7. Finally, on a personal note, which, LOL (NOT Lots of Love, Mom) because everything I write in this space is personal, I have decided that in 2015 I will read one book a week. Fiction, nonfiction, pop-up book about dinosaurs, recipe book, doesn’t matter. One book a week.

What should I read? What’s good? What changed your life? What made you a better person. What made you get to the last page and whip that book at the wall in anger like I did when I got to the end of Gone Girl?

Leave some suggestions in the comments, please.

8. I’m out of time and have to end this post now!



My car tahr is on fahr.

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As you know, Pittsburgh was determined by the readership of Gawker to have America’s Ugliest Accent.

Now before you get your Steelers boxers in a bunch and start constructing a thousand-word comment on the Gawker piece in which you use phrases like barf breathers and SONSAJAGOFFBITCHES … read what I wrote. (Sometimes you write something and you think, “This isn’t bad.” And then you drink a shot of tequila and the phrase “putrescence of tongue” enters your brain and shoots out your fingertips onto the keyboard.)

Read about why we shouldn’t be too insulted.

Read about why that accent represents more than just inflection, intonation, and linguistic nuance.

A snippet:

Compared to the accents of other American cities, Pittsburgh’s is distinct. Rougher. Harder. More abrasive. And internationally speaking, it really begins to pale. It doesn’t have the breezy playfulness of the Australian accent, the curly musical frills of the French accent or the absolute majestic glory of the English accent. A man with an English accent could say, “My mucus is phlegmy,” and American ladies would strongly consider throwing their bras at his feet in ecstasy all, “Oooh. Now say, ‘My pimple is painful.’”

Speak in Shakespeare’s iambic pentameter an ode of love in your best Pittsburgh accent, and it will still sound like a bowling ball felling pins. 

Stop what you’re doyn and go read it immediately or I’ll set your tahrs on fahr.

What I would have said …

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?

Kinda sucks.

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.




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.

Doors. Sliding.

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.

Rock on.


Random n’at

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.”

“The Pirates Lost and Pittsburgh Twitter Went to Hell in a French-Fry Basket.”

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!

7. Neighborhood Flea in the Strip is coming up!

8. Does “jagoff” belong in the dictionary? There’s a petition to make it happen.

Also, an episode of The Goldbergs used the term “jagoff” and LOL at this comment about it on IMDb.

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:



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:

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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.

OK, bye.

Then I see this from the Penguins’ official Twitter account.

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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.

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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? 

And, NFL?