Hey! I Can See That Leprechaun's Butt Crack!

Happy St. Patricks Day!

(The day after.)

Thanks Dave for showing us the Irish undercarriage of Portland.

Noah, I hope you're not dead.

I would like to highlight a few of the funnier points of last nights festivities:

-Modeling the Eddie Bauer tapered leg, pleated, over waist high pants (high heels included).
-Waiting in line at Gritty McDuffs in negative 10 degree weather with a bunch of people in green, sparkly bowler hats and blinky green pins.
-Being introduced to the "Grateful Dead" and joining "Club Drunk". I came back tan!
-Coming face to face with the "3 Doors to Hell" and, I think, choosing the correct one.
-Kareoke.
-Tracy and her essence of bleach. (Dave suggested Crystal Meth?)
-Garlic Breath.
-Dumb losers dancing on the bar.
-Rounding out the evening with an hour in the parking garage. Lots of peeing, mixed nuts, and honking!

Good bye St. Patrick! We'll see you next year!

$1.99 Lunch Special: 2 Lesbians & a Soda

Donald Stinebaugh.

Please close your eyes and gather a mental picture of what YOU would imagine someone with the name Donald Stinebaugh looking like.

Really sound out the name.....Don-ald Stiiiiiii-ine-baugh......Stine-baugh........

Perfect. Now you've got him.

There is something so iconic about the name "Donald Stinebaugh." If he was someone you had gone to elementary school with, you would probably always remember the name "Donald Stinebaugh." Just because it kind of epitomizes "that kid" that we all went to elementary school with. He probably ate paste. He probably smelled like meat and syrup. He probably brought a knife to 2nd grade. He probably had greasy hair. He probably had I.S.S. every thursday. He probably came from a pretty rough family.

Well, while home in Pennsylvania over spring break I was out to lunch at the local Pizzeria and was pleasantly surprised when the One-Donald-Stinebaugh's sister, Linda, approached our table to take our order.

Now, please take a moment to picture what you would imagine LINDA Stinebaugh looking like.

Nice! She was wearing a Slap bracelet!

As we had just been wondering about the legend of Donald Stinebaugh, we were excited to inquire as to his whereabouts. Was he living in Bali, swimming with dolphins? Was he combing mayonaise out of his flaxen locks in Germany? Did he live in Beartown, cultivating his My Little Pony collection?

Alas we were disappointed to find out from Linda that he was married, had a little girl, and was managing a Red Lobster. BOR-ING.

BUT. Linda continued on that Donald's brother, Mike, was still living in Waynesboro.
Oh, and "He's a little weird....." Linda said.

It seems Mike is the father of six children.

Six children.

All to different women.

Three of them lesbians!

Two of which were now a couple and raising the children he had spawned.

Hmmmmm.

It seems like we should spend a few moments conjuring up a mental picture of Mike.

And his family picture at Christmas.

Crackers and Salty Pete.

Here are a few of the things I've been thinking about the last couple of days on my drive back and forth to school.

A lot of times my ideas start in the middle. Like, I think of something really great but I can't remember how I got there. This post is a little like that.

We'll see where this goes.

#1-
I was reminded of this story by my friend Jon from home.
A few years ago, in my hometown of Waynesboro, PA there were a barrage of Yeti sightings. And we're not talking a small Yeti, we're talking a HUGE yeti. There were footprints, hair, blood, dead chickens......it was the real deal. Bigfoot had come to PenMar (That's what we call the border of PA and MD where I come from) and the PenMarvians were scared.
Rumors flew like wildfire as men in flannel shirts, budweiser cans in one hand, metal detectors in the other, deemed themselves experts with college degrees. They vowed to find "Sas" (as they called him) before the "fucking yankee pin-sticker scientists" did. Which is funny, because I'm pretty sure Pennsylvania is in the "North".
Anyway, it got ugly. Fights broke out. Locals tasted the sweet nectar of fame in finding him. They formed search parties and hid in trees at night. The local paper, The Record Herald, kept a daily front page chronicle of Sas updates and sightings.
But, alas, Sas eluded them.

In the end it turned out to be a couple of fifteen year olds with size 16 Reeboks and some opossum hair.
People were real pissed.
In fact, when I gaffawed at the subject of Sas to my friend Jon, he told me that just because I was living up north with all the liberals it didn't mean I could just belittle Sas like he was nothing and I should just stay out of it.
Oh small towns.

#2- I would like to say for the record that vulnerabity and doubt are two of the most heinous feelings out there.
Go fuck yourselves vulnerability and doubt! Losers.

#3-
Growing up is weird.
My grandmother recently passed away.
Of cancer.
And it wasn't pretty. It was painful and horrible and slow.
She was 76, which isn't that old. I mean, it's older, but when you're 76 it seems like you still have some good time left.
The thing of it is, she didn't feel old. She didn't want to die. She said she still felt 40. She wanted to keep living. Like, some people say, "Oh they're old. They've lived a good life. It's time." Well, she didn't want to die. She was really sad about it.
So what? What the hell? I just don't know! She wasn't sad because she didn't accomplish all the things she wanted to accomplish. She was sad because she was going to miss it. She was going to miss us and my Grandfather and the beach and singing while she did the dishes.
That's what it is I guess. Seeing pictures of her from when she's 27. Or pictures of her wearing a cheerleading costume at the age of 50. Or pictures of her with my Dad when he was little. Because they're all snapshots of a life. Her life. And I see myself and my pictures and it makes me understand how fast life goes.
I know. That sounds so depressing! But it's not really.
I have just been thinking, driving back and forth to school, that I want, for her, to be happy and do nice things for other people.

#4-
I don't want to write about here.
Well, I do, but I don't know what to type.
But I will say this:
I like that 6'4" parrot.

Very much.

20 Points in 3 Minutes.

This is awesome! I love stuff like this.

http://kutv.com/topstories/topstories_story_054093634.html

An Easy Way to a Fun Time. My Internal Debate.

Like the receding Everglades, the disposable mentality of humans is slowly seeping out all over the world. Especiallly in the U.S., things don't have the value they once did. And I'm talking about things like relationships, food, love, possessions....etc. We are all under the umbrella that there is always the next best thing or if it's broken throw it away. We're lazy and it's harder to really WANT something. And then work for it and keep it.

My dangerous question is: "Is the disposable nature of our society reversible?" or more importantly "Is it enivitable?"

I don't know.

It's my internal debate.

The Fickle Fancy of the Wizard Beast.

I went to see a Washington Wizards game this past Monday. They played the Utah Jazz and although the Wizards were consistently down 22 points most of the second half, they pulled it together at the end with a margin of 6 and made the game a little interesting. They did lose, but the crowd was at least into it.

Good ol' Antawn Jamison had 30 points. You go guy!

The hilarious highlight of the evening was that I purchased $10 nose bleed tickets because I can't really offered anything else. Do you know how high up the nose bleed section is? It's high! We were looking down through the scoreboard. The one that hangs over the court. And there weren't really any other fans around us. In fact, there wasn't anyone in our entire section. And the players looked like ants.

When I was in college, my roommates dad my Junior and Senior year, was the VP of Security at Madison Square Garden. So I became a little spoiled by the fact that as soon as we walked into the building there was a line-up of free drinks at the bar and security guards would escort us down to our courtside seats. As I was sitting next to Spike Lee and P. Diddy, I never really thought about the cost of those seats. Or how hard it is for the common man to get them.

So I was slightly put out by our "sky seats" at the Wizards game and was exploring all options to score a better vantage point in the MCI Center. But alas, this proved much harder then expected (security guards in DC do NOT appreciate dumb white girl pleading...just an FYI) so I decided to just enjoy it for it was and settle in to watch the big screen instead of trying to focus on the miniature court.

And then the God's of NBA Basketball sent an Angel.

This Angels name was Jessica Savitz and she worked for the Wizards. Why she chose us I will never know. But she did. She did, damnit.

She sat down beside us and asked if wanted better seats, courtesy of the Wizards.

Uh, no Jessica. Sitting up here is actually GREAT.

YES!

So she handed us new tickets
and just as quickly as she appeared, she was gone.

And just like THAT we were sitting courtside.

Karma, man. Karma.

The Dogs of Hazzard.

Above is Emmie. She belongs to my Mom and Dad. They rescued her from Tennessee. Apparantly she was not a good hunter so up she came to Pennsylvania to have her own Easy-Chair and lay by the fireplace. Just like a good dog should.














This is Keels. This picture really shows off her sonic ears. She is C.U.T.E.!















These are my Sister's weird-ass dogs. Bitsy and Ruki. Really, all they do is sit around and snort. I mean, come on! That one laying down looks like a seal!