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Do you wear pink underwear?

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“This is the place you go to if you’re wearing pink underwear.”

I was wondering if I had too much to drink, hearing that direct quote from our party (ahem, boyfriend). But we all played along with the I Wonder What Kind of Underwear She Has On game. And could pinpoint the women in the room who were wearing the pink underwear.
BOY, WERE WE HAVING A NIGHT!

Back to that aforementioned champagne lounge.

Looking around, we realized that this bar had all the makings of a pick-up place. And a date place. We looked around and evaluated everyone from the cocktail waitress to those old Mean Girls (who I wrote about here) to the awkward, mismatched couple evidently on their first date (dessert date!) and the sweet glamourous older couple (man, this woman was wearing a FABULOUS emerald green skirt suit. FAB!). This could only lead to a tipsier male-female discussion, of course: What Kind of Woman Are You Based on Your Undergarments.

The boyfriend seemed to have to many opinions on the “type” of women who wear pink under-things. Certain people were boring or predictable. Others were trying too hard (hello, waitress whose underwear I could see through your pants!). But mostly, these women were nearly ALL pink underwear-wearers. And no, I was NOT going to participate in what kind of panties Green Classy Lady was wearing. Ladies, did you know that not only are you labeled a certain type of female, but there is an underwear style attached to it? BECAUSE THIS IS A THING!

And then there are those who wear none. I can’t even.

For the record, I am not one of these pink ladies. Sure, I own a matching hot pink set, but I am not that type. I know what you meant, boyfriend! I am quite proud of my low-rise bikini briefs. For my size, my ass is curvy, and I can’t pull off boy shorts anymore (which were my previous faves) and g-strings can suck my crotch because that’s about all they do for me. Those things are NOT comfortable. I don’t care what lengths you will go to discuss that benefit with me.

So what does that type say about me?

Stop judging me before I kick you in your balls, that’s what.
AND, I LIKE COMFORT, DAMMIT!

So… what type of underwear are you?

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What do you do if your friends don’t like your boyfriend?

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On a recent happy hour adventure (Perl√©, the awesome new champagne bar in downtown Pittsburgh), I witnessed an uncomfortable encounter with a couple of old broads in the ladies’ room (OMG I’M PEEING!). OK, OK, “old” is relative, but this is how I make my 35-year-old self feel better among women in my age group.

Two friends were gabbing on about how they didn’t like another friend’s new boyfriend. The woman, topic of a heated discussion, was not in attendance in said restroom. The lovely new couple (and entourage of girlfriends… what the fuck, awkward!), however, was seated near us in the lounge.

They called him names and said dirty things about his personality (by the indignant tone of their conversation, it appeared it was their first time meeting him — and frankly, he DID sound like an ass, by their standards and vocabulary). But they carried on as if all was normal while on the Fifth Wheel Date.

I wondered if these “friends” shared in private with their female counterpart their disdain of the new romance. I guess, I HOPE that they would. But these women were no less catty than the 20-something drunk chicks on Carson Street, so I suppose hoping for any sort of maturity (aside from aging hands and sunspots) from them deserved a backwards-heavy, disappearing eye roll.

But… I’VE BEEN HERE — on both sides. I have told friends when I thought a man was no good (which never does anything for the friendship, mind you, so long as said relationship continues), and I’ve been told when a guy was a total jerk or complete weirdo. See: 10SB, HG Shady McShadester, Claymation… and strange Chocolate-covered Strawberry Guy. Need I go on?

God damn, that flood of memories was NOT needed this early in the morning. Man, now I wonder if I lost friends over my current relationship. My stomach hurts…

What would you do if your friends told you that they didn’t like your boyfriend? Would you respect them for telling you? Hate them for being bitches (or jealous, natch, because the likelihood of these other two women being single was 92%)? Or take into consideration that THE GUY YOU ARE DATING MIGHT BE A COMPLETE ASSHOLE.

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{penis tuesday} OWWWWWW!

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Holy fucking hell. Thanks to this penis-y news article, I was forced to research “penile degloving.”

What’s penis degloving, you ask? Oh, you could ask Google.

But, just… don’t. That is, if you ever want to look at a penis as a sexy wilderbeast the same way again.
EVER.

Let’s just say that I will never cook a hot dog or sausage so hot as to split the casing.
EVER.

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{the week} BRB, Yo!

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the week… and weekend:
So, if you didn’t notice (WHAT THE HELL, YOU?!), I took a week off to TAKE A DAMN WEEK OFF. That, and we did some tent camping and wine and craft beer drinking and cheese and s’mores eating in the Finger Lakes. I was desperate for an unplugging. Posts will be coming on THAT shortly.

After spending five-plus hours in the car ride home on Saturday, I took another one-and-a-half trip to Ohio to play in three derby scrimmages on Sunday. YES, I WAS THE WOMAN WHO PUKED OFF THE SIDE OF 76-W NEAR THE TOLL BOOTHS!

Then, I slept for 10 hours. And it was good.

seven things, seven days:
1. {exercise} starting a new training program
2. {moar exercise} …and starting Spinning this Saturday!
3. {nom} amish baked goods. hello, apple fritter bread.
4. {pamper} came home to a goodies package from ULTA
5. {indulge} poshmark is my new mobile obsession.
6. {puke} ugh, car sickness.
7. {derby} first practice Tuesday night with my new derby home team: Allegheny Avengers assemble!

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Two Years in Pittsburgh: the best is yet to come.

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Some days it’s really hard to grasp that it’s been two years since we relocated. Some days it feels like forever… others, I have fresh nightmare-like relapses of the anxiety of movers and boxes and finding an apartment and getting lost amidst the glass structures of the PPG campus. But as time passes, I feel more-and-more out of touch with Cleveland: the city and its development and new restaurant openings… and, sadly, its friendships. While we still have no firm commitment of how long we’ll be staying in Pittsburgh (and, no, we will not be going back to Cleveland), the purchase of a house this past year makes the decision to be here a bit more permanent than temporary (who can even believe that it’s already coming up on a year since we bought the damn thing!).

For now, remaining in Pittsburgh remains a part of our short-term plan.

First things first, my first year review of being a ‘Burgher. Many of these aspects, I can still relate. I really love it here; I don’t think I’ll ever wrap my head around how other transplants have “issues” with things like: finding stuff to do (or finding things, in general) or “fitting in.”

After two years:

I almost know my way around. Even if I still get turned around in the east end and the south hills. And missed the memo on the West End Bridge being closed after Steelers games. But I finally know of at least one or two neighborhoods in the West End. And what the West End Circle is. I can finally spell Monongahela without looking. Shit… maybe not. I’ll work on that. I learned the bus and T system. I can usually find my way home without checking Google Maps.

I’ve deepened my friendships and made new ones. I’ve lost friends. I’ve blocked people-who-probably-should-never-be-my-friends. I have friends to text when I want a margarita. And a favorite place for margaritas. I have friends to call to gossip over brunch. And a favorite Thai place. And a favorite place for cupcakes. I know at least three local skating rinks and their times for open skates. I have connections when I need help with events, marketing, charity, social media, writing, job search or suggestions for the best damn place in tahn. I started working part time with a wonderful local non-profit. I became a chairperson in a local professional organization. I took the role of Head of Marketing in another. I volunteer. I flyer. I adopted another cat…

Gratuitous Cat Photo!

I have a favorite date place with AB. We also have a favorite happy hour. I have a favorite view. I have a quiet, tranquil space just steps outside a bustling downtown. I volunteer. I work sometimes from coffee shops. I have a museum membership, season tickets, favorite annual events and fundraiser parties — and places to shop for just the perfect outfit. We have a local farmers market — we even grow our own produce in a community garden plot within our neighborhood! I finally have a dentist, aesthetician, hairdresser and doctor that I trust, respect and recommend. We recognize our local news people. We know the names of local “celebrities” and can finally be “in” on the local jokes. We can even commiserate over “that other team” with fellow transplants (heh).

Yet, I proudly wear my Black and Gold.

I’ve developed a deep connection with my new city. Well, I suppose it’s not so “new” anymore. I want to shout about it, promote it, be involved… shoot people down when they dismiss how awesome it is here (or at least shoot them a dirty look). I continue to be absolutely in LOVE with Pittsburgh. I love it even more now that we’re part of a close-knit neighborhood with stoop-party-friendly neighbors.

Does two years in officially make me a Pittsburgher? Eh, maybe?
But belonging here isn’t something I need to prove anymore.

Happy Yinzerversary!

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