Excavations can be fun! Err… don’t Google that anywhere near the words “sex,” “penis,” or “flashlight.” Trust me.
Em & Lo gave me this historical piece of penis today: Ancient Dildo Dug Up
Huh. Imagine that. There was a purpose for small penises… in the years before Christ. Live Science discovers more ancient phallic relics.
This time next Sunday, many of you will be official members of the Burning River Roller Girls!!
For seriously, I am SO excited and SO ready. Nearly six months of training in wRECk and SOZA Fitness and with some of the best Fresh Meat girls — and the moment is finally here.
I’ll be gunning for longest commuter because, well… you know. That Pittsburgh thing.
As some of you have realized over the last couple days, AB & I are moving. Moving away from the annoyances of Cadillac Ranch on college ID night. Moving away from the distraction of the seemingly never-ending, frantic sounds of the Sax Guy. And UGH those damn honking buses on the Healthline. Moving away from our gorgeous, wall-envied many-windowed corner loft on East 4th. And the scary, scar-producing biting bugs contained within it. Moving away from The Greenhouse Tavern just outside our door… *tear*
But to a wonderful 10th floor, two-story loft apartment in the middle of a Cultural District.
In Pittsburgh.
Yes, we are moving away from Cleveland.
In only my second adventure away from Cleveland — the first in 2004, when I moved to and subsequently hated Phoenix, Arizona and returned shortly thereafter (and which seems quite a bit longer than only 6 years ago) — and this time it feels right (especially having visited several times). AB has been traveling back-and-forth each week since February, and we’ve both felt varied stages of loneliness and separation. My freelance job is going amazingly and offers me the opportunity to work from wherever and keep my local clients because the distance is still doable. And with that, Roller derby, well, I’m actually such a nut about this sport that I very well may be driving back to Cleveland for practices and what-not. Until it kills me. Then I’ll drive some more.
My blog will continue, if only to rub in your face how awesome Pittsburgh is. Which, if you don’t want to hear about, is fine. It’s the end of one era and the beginning of the next. And don’t give me any Steelers’ shit because I was raised a 50-50 Browns/Steelers fan. Besides that, PGH is an amazing city, experiencing a steady growth in population and certain industries. It’s a philanthropic city. It even has an even more vibrant downtown than Cleveland (and adding green space, instead of taking it away) with actual PEOPLE who WORK in city limits. Residents don’t fear public transportation or bike commuters. It’s exceptionally outdoor friendly. And we’re still located on some body of water. The biggest plus is the decreased use of my car, whereas most of our places of interest are within walking distance of our apartment, on a bus line or bike-able.
Now, this isn’t to knock on Cleveland at all. Cleveland has many of the characteristics I love about small cities, which is why Pitt was also a great fit for both of our lifestyles. That said, Cleveland still has a long way to go — especially in attracting new residents and keeping young professionals within its limits. While I’m not moving for my job, AB is. Pittsburgh is seemingly on its way up, and being a part of that growth and experience will be, I think, an incredible opportunity.
Of course, I’m sad for leaving certain things behind — mostly friends and family that I won’t be able to see AS regularly. But c’mon, it’s only two hours away, so it’s not as though I’m moving out of touch or reach.
I will definitely not miss that freaking sax player.
Scientists discover that bats have oral sex.
While that headline in itself should be intriguing, the fact that bats have oral sex DURING PENETRATION just blew my fucking mind.
Must. Continue. Yoga.
Apparently this is done to prevent the spread of STDs. Of bats. That’s what you get for being polygamous.
Regardless of your protection of choice, remember the fellatio motto, dear female bats: “Don’t matter, just don’t bite it.”
No, not me, silly hard-ons, King Tut. As in, King Tut’s penis. It is missing.
I mean, I don’t know about you, but that’s the first thing I want to do when an old crush dies — I want to see his penis. Partly because he never let me see it; more so because What Happens to the Penis When You Die?
I found an answer to the latter portion of that question at Cleveland’s Bodies Exhibit a couple weeks ago. And let me tell you, at $22 a piece for admission, there was certainly enough penis to go around. Err, keep me entertained.
I take the prize in many areas for Best Girlfriend Ever and would probably even be a good choice for a housewife, if that was truly my calling — you know, save for my arachnophobia and the watering of plants above my reach and my preference for truffles, not Bon Bons.
But what lends very little to my contribution to a successful relationship is my cooking.
My parents are good cooks. They seem to regularly eat well when planned, and I’ve seen my mom make grand Thanksgiving feasts like none other. Yet, somehow I was raised to love macaroni in a box (with ketchup!) and peanut butter by the spoonful. “But I know how to bake,” is my eternal excuse (I really do, and that is because it is an EXACT way of making food, not nibbling and seasoning and playing with, well, fire).
I am just as content with eating white rice covered in yellow mustard and egg noodles blended with mayonnaise — or sour cream, depending on the refrigerator contents — as I am eating at any of the local amazing restaurants (which is why I have chosen not the foodie blogger route). I eat scrambled eggs nearly every day, sometimes formed into a sandwich because THAT’S ALL I KNOW. I make grilled cheese with the toaster, then the microwave — not awesomely in the griddle pan on the stove top like AB.
It’s how I survived for my turbulent years as a single woman. That, and those no-wonder-I-gained-30-pounds promotions of Pizza Pan’s BOGO infamy. That buffalo chicken pizza was the hottest, most bomb-diggity pizza ever. EVER.
Which leads to my sad, underfed — nee starving — boyfriend. He travels weekly for work, which forces meals of the room service variety and local bars, and once home, I expect him to cook for me like he used to. Every. Single. Meal. I ate very well then, before his Pittsburgh came calling. Now, I’m back to my own kitchen casualties of making horrible choices and trying new things that never quite work. I can no longer have perfectly-grilled cheese sandwiches or remotely even cook chicken properly… OK. Maybe once. I do not realize the difference between sage and basil for a simple pasta salad for a potluck. My diet has resorted to eggs. Sandwiches. Ice cream. Cereal. Cat food. Oh wait… Ew.
I impress myself even when I can make a beef gyro or roast radishes. These are all flukes. I have figured out how to make a variety of salad dressings, but too lazy to cut up all those vegetables to make giant salads on a regular basis.
Did you catch the part where I didn’t realize until AFTER I MADE MY PASTA SALAD that I used sage. It tasted like old feet, but I served it to my girlfriends all, “Mmmm. Pasta Salad. Fresh. Light. No mayo base. EAT IT, bitches! I play roller derby. Grrr!”
So, the boyfriend is too tired to cook dinner, which is completely understandable, and what do I have to offer him?
Nachos.
Chips. Melted cheese. Salsa. Sour cream. My dinner of choice for nearly four years of my life.
All the thanks to today’s Penis Tuesday goes to my mother. Yes, my mother. Many cheers to the woman who made this perverted mind all possible — and prompted by a Facebook comment, nonetheless. Our regular family summer road trips were to Conneaut Lake Park (in Pennsylvania, our favorite amusement spot as kids). We were season pass holders, went camping, and even as really young kids, we went to Story Book Forest to visit Humpty Dumpty and friends. So many memories of such a small little town.
One trip in particular, we planned a trip to the local food festival in coordination with our park adventure…
The Weenie Roast.
With a supposed ever-awesome tagline: It’s not how long, but what’s in it.
I might have made that up, but it just… err, fit. But seriously, size matters, blah blah blah…
It was a festival of corporate-driven lameness, much like the “rib burnoffs” made by popular during Memorial Day weekends, and from what I remember, horrible music and terrible food (read: lamest of all food festivals). And I distinctly remember pot smoke. But I digress.
After our exit, walking around in the middle of nowhere in the dark, we — as kids all under the age of 10, mind you — yelled at passing cars and patrons, “Don’t go to the Weenie Roast.” And I’m pretty sure I remember yelling at a local news crew or maybe they were filming us stuffing our faces with massively disgusting hot dogs. I need that video. Take that, corporate America.
And my parents claim they’re not hippies.
But for what it’s worth, it is an awesome July 4th memory and still cracks all of us up to this day.
So, when you’re hungry and looking for a little bit of holiday fun, dear PT Readers, don’t go to the weenie roast.
I think I’ve surprised myself as to how long I could stay mad today.
And the surliness is beginning to strain the muscles in my forehead. So, I think I’m done now. You know, for sake of the lessened elasticity and propensity for wrinkles in my 30+ face and all, not because I am not still angry.
That is all.
I keep my relationship fresh by consistently updating my underwear drawer. Because of what derby and daily workouts has done to my body, once the boyfriend has returned from his weekly travels, it starts the “No Pants Weekends.” It only works while I can physically stomach the sight of my ass and legs.
Or I use this all as an excuse to get sucked into Gabriel Brothers with my sister for three hours because I’m pretty sure that all of my underthings to my boyfriend are synonymous to meh. Meaning: Just Get Naked.
THREE HOURS of shopping for a self-professed intolerant-of-public-places shopaholic. I have no idea how this happens, the time slipping away like nothing, but once I’m in a Gabe’s, it’s like I’ve met my fashionable higher power. I’m even relaxed and kinda enjoyable to be around. Likely since everything around me is less than $7 and OMG SO CUTE!
And then, I shriek and start undressing in the aisles immediately.
It’s really the ONLY time I think lingerie and table lamps are necessity items within a shopping cart. Only because the total still will remain under $100, and I have four dresses, a frilly jean vest, another cream cardigan, a shitload of accessories, two new pair of sunglasses, workout attire, cat toys and a corn butterer to show for it. YES a contraption that you place a stick of butter inside of it, and it melts onto the corn. Like, I was looking for one of these! Deal.
I can also rarely leave a Gabe’s without at LEAST two pairs of shoes. Report on those coming soon.
That said, check out my cute ensemble that I picked out ALL BY MYSELF to make me even cuter (still haven’t painted my fingernails either in over three weeks. I need to change this horrible lazy habit over the weekend):
Like I said, I am comfortable showing my legs this summer after YEARS of hiding in capri pants and sweating in jeans. But hey, not shaving made more sense then.
Shoes: These are moderately comfortable (depending on the amount of walking or activity, of course), which I purchased on eBay for like $8.99. I wish I would have ordered them in eight colors, as they serve the purpose of cute, soft insoles and flat for easy maneuvering.
Outfit: dress is from Urban Outfitters (sale rack) a couple years ago and hung horribly unused in my closet for just as long. Everyone seems to love this dress on me, including the boyfriend — it’s even cute without the belt (from Target). Cardigan was also an eBay purchase (I bought three of them in different colors because, hello, POCKETS). White tank is a $2 score from the last Sisters Adventure to Gabe’s. Necklace and bracelets are old accessories from Claire’s.
My ring is from here.
Also of note: after shopping, I lopped two-and-a-half inches off that unruly hair at Teeze West Salon and Spa in the valley. Side swept bangs are finally back on my head and my hair feels so much lighter and breezier for summer. Why do I wait six months between haircuts?
Welcome the recent addition to my Shoes Shit List:
Are you as impressed that my pedicure stayed in tact? I know I am.
Absolutely adorbs, right? I thought so too upon their April purchase in Chicago. I used to wear BC Footwear over a decade ago when I worked for PacSun. And looking at their online catalog, they are still every bit as fashion-forward as I remember. Cute, flat, GREEN! And comfortable. *sigh*
At least while I was in Chi-town. In Cleveland? Not so much.
Last night, a walk to Progressive Field proved to be disastrous for my poor feet. Again. And required two heel band-aids and a solid dousing of spearmint cooling spray at the base of my toes when I got home. Also, yesterday? No episodes of “summer bloat” as it was barely 65 degrees.
And if you can’t see, the inside of my feet still have bruises from the Bass-wearing incident. Grrr. I swear I’m really going to start wearing my skates every day.
I wake up to Cleveland’s largest penis every morning. {SFW, I promise}
I’m a lucky girl.
Side note: For the life of me, I cannot figure out why Wordpress is uploading my pictures in landscape. I’ve even tried renaming, resizing, saving with different extension, saving sideways — only to have it upload again, well, sideways. HALP!
Did I tell you last week that during a wRECk practice bout that I had an 18-3 jam (or likewise obnoxiously awesome difference in score) without even being lead jammer?
No? But seriously. It was awesome because the OTHER jammer was, ahem, so “jammed” up by the line that she didn’t realize she was lead to call off the bout. Therefore, for two glorious minutes I was able to lap my opponents with a couple of grand slams I might add. It’s not something that happens all the time, of course, but it was one of my more Yay-Me! moments.
Carry on.
I wore those damn Bass sandals around downtown yesterday — walked from my apartment to the Farmers Market on the 9th Street Pier and back — and the soles of my freakin feet are on FIRE. Like, rub-rub-rubbbbbbbb friction burn fire.
GAW. I cannot win. Shoes, you kill me. Literally. Well, my feet anyway.
That said, here’s the newest pair in my collection from Nordstrom:
They’re Converse, so I’m safe. I hope. Although I’m gonna get pissed when they get dirty.
Also, I did NOT take the picture sideways, nor did it download sideways, so WTF is this picture uploading sideways?!
I know, you want another roller derby picture. Here ya go:
Scared, right?
I definitely need to work on my derby face.
But check out those strong-ass leg muscles. Oh yeah, I’ll be kickin’ your ass.
Yeah, I know. Not much in the skating posts department the past couple weeks. Don’t worry, I’m still at it.
I’ve definitely outgrown the wRECk league (but still go every Wednesday), and I’m ready to GET EVEN BETTER with the ladies of the league who are, well, better than me. There is this certain plateau in recreation derby I think everyone hits — I’m in this sport to not only be an athlete but to be competitive, and quite frankly, I’m tiring of many who don’t take it seriously. And OMG, STFU and LISTEN to the instructors. Too many girls are falling wrong because they are not paying attention, and I’ve seen more girls hurt – or seriously stunned — as result.
Anyway…
We’ve been working a lot on falling drills, line drills and endurance (and actually bouting with five on five!). I was paired two weeks ago with a noob to teach falls — one of which, a baseball slide, I’ve never done. I still need to practice it more because while I know it’s important to know how to fall on your hip properly, it’s not something you exactly PLAN. And I’m not even sure if it’s on the skills test, so I need to check on that.
Note: I looked, it IS on the skills test. “Figure 4 / Baseball Slide: Both legs stay on or near the ground during the fall; Able to return to skating within 3 seconds.” The description doesn’t even make sense to me. I’ll find out about the proper formation next week. Or on YouTube. And now, by looking on my skills sheet, looks like I should start practicing hops and leaps. FUN!
Barrel rolls and tomahawk stops are my new favorite skills.
Also, I can do cross overs. In both directions. But clockwise still feels extremely weird.
It’s freaking HOT in our rink in Brunswick now, where with the 90 degree days. It’s unending sweaty balls and swamp ass for two hours straight. Blech.
I’m almost at the one-month away mark to join the league, and I (think I) have FINALLY decided on my roller derby alter ego:
IMELDA SNARKOS
I’ve got Regina Spanked Her in my back pocket, in case there is another name similar to that on the league or otherwise. No stealing. 
The “I Buy NEO” campaign is something I can definitely promote.
It’s all that I practice on a regular basis and only wish more Clevelanders would adapt and make this a priority.
Even when traveling, I try my best to include locally-owned coffee shops, restaurants and bakeries in my itinerary.
Here’s what you need to do:
Accept the Buy Local Challenge.
What that means:
Between July 3-10 make a pledge to spend at LEAST $100 in locally owned and operated businesses. (Good thing I’m not traveling that week). and HEY, get out to the Wolstein Center see the BRRG finals on Saturday, July 10!
Here’s what I do:
I shop at local farmer markets and use a local-farm CSA program.
I refuse to eat at chain restaurants — not only because of the local issue, but for my HEALTH.
And speaking of healthy choices, I go to a local fitness center, not one of those big-box scary lifestyle center gyms.
I buy my daily-use ground coffee from a local shop.
I buy my booze from local distributors, stores and chocolate shops.
I skate at a local (and classic!) roller skating rinks.
I buy ALL my derby gear from local hockey or skate shops (we’re so lucky to have these here!).
I don’t have cable, so I get out often to enjoy all the wonderful entertainment within this city! Take that Time Warner, I’d rather throw my $120 per month at CLEVELAND.
I pay late fees frequently to the Cleveland Public Library.
I joined the TacoTour2010 which is on a mission to find the best (and authentic) Mexican food in the city.
Your BONUS?:
As a “thank you” for participating in the Buy Local Challenge, you will receive a discount card to use at over 40 area businesses and attractions throughout the month of August.
The positive aspect of social media:
Sharing, of course. Encourage your friends, family and online tweeps to join you. And if they don’t? You have good reason to unfriend. Use the #buylocalneo hashtag with Twitter.
Download and post the widget or badge on your own blog and spread the word.
Word?
Check out this uber-cute black dress from China. I apparently only have luck finding the missing pieces of my wardrobe from online shops abroad. I mean, seriously, do you know how hard it was to find an ALL BLACK and ALL COTTON tank dress that didn’t cost three months of unemployment?
Plus, I am a SUCKER for dresses with pockets. This is total love on a hanger right here.
Paired with a long, cotton white tank and Franco Sarto sandals. The necklace is from Brigade, from AB for one of my birthday presents (LOVE that it has a “9″ to match the date).
Also of note, my pedicure with OPI’s Jade is the New Black. Take a long, hard look because the likelihood of this lasting past Wednesday is nil. Nail polish tends to melt my polish once inside my roller skates. Weird. On my road trip to South Bend this weekend, my friend and I went into one of those Asian Mall nail places in Mishawaka (I didn’t look that up, so Spelling Gods, I curse you). I brought champagne in a can, with a straw, so we were prepared for the hilarity. Plus, I didn’t notice until the pedicurist removed my OLD polish, but I have a GIGANTIC bruise on my right big toe. It’s likely to last only a few more weeks.
I know, sexy. BUT LOOK AT HOW AWESOME MY LEGS LOOK! Even without a tan!
Who lost 4 percent body fat in one month? This sexy broad.
Keeping with my City Breaks USA campaign for this year, I will be crossing another domestic city off my vacation list in November: Austin. (YAY!)
While it’s no SXSW (one year soon though, I PROMISE you, self!), we have friends to visit with a place to stay downtown, so budgeting and planning for this was way easy. Flights don’t look to be too bad either. Also, hello: work from anywhere! It’s a holiday weekend, so hopefully I won’t be overly consumed, but still, it’s yet another perk of being able to work for myself. That, and the benefit of learning how to speak cat (meow! It means “bird, outside of window — look!).
I have a lot on my plate and mind these days, so fantasizing about vacations is seemingly one small method of keeping my sanity. That, and roller derby training. I’m working on a lot of changes, including those pertaining to my blog. BIG changes, that after eight years of writing for this thing, I suppose, is beyond due. Eight effin’ years. Do you realize how much I’ve changed since the beginning? Well, this space needs to change and reflect who I am now — not the eternal 20-something. Stay tuned for that mess (which will eventually be un-messy, as is my ultimate goal in anything. Except for my hair of course, but that is merely based on my 12-year-old hairdryer that desperately asks to be replaced).
Remember: back-ups, back-ups, back-ups!
As I mentioned in my previous post, I have a limited wardrobe dedicated to “office” clothes since I now work almost exclusively from home. Yes, some days it is a struggle to change out of last night’s women’s pajamas and into, well another pair of womens pajamas but at the very least, my main goal is to stay comfortable.
Also, 95% of the time, my “office” is freezing because of its openness, access to 10 large loft windows and concrete floors — or the fact the thermostat is set regularly to 66 degrees NOT BY ME. I really only need the air conditioning to sleep, where with these massive sleep sweats I experience almost regularly now. (I can’t wear satin, as it only makes matters WORSE). Slippers, for obvious reasons, are a MUST in my apartment, and because of the boyfriend’s horribly uncomfortable and sticky leather furniture options, I find myself wrapped within an afghan or sitting atop a plush blanket throughout my work week.
Recently, I suppose to coincide with my “aging lady” status, I have fallen in love with slips and ALWAYS wear one with dresses. They are also perfect to lounge around in or wear to bed or you know, bed-to-desk-to-couch-to-wherever Rudy will let me work peacefully. Investing in comfy wear is happiness for me, and I found a new site to buy women’s pajamas. Of course, I am fixated on the cotton, breathable short-sets which are so amazing to change into after a shower or a workout (when I decide I’m too “busy” to shower). And those big sleep shirts? I think I have found another new reason to shop! But, like, who needs another, right?
Awesomely, the e-retailer carries adult size footed one-piece sleepers. You KNOW that’s going on my Christmas list.
If you work from home, what do you wear for comfort? Or are you actually ambitious enough to “get ready” every day? BTW, my face LOVES its infrequent application of makeup and is positively glowing these days!
Life, Liberty...
