Five Dead Guys

I was in my friend’s hair salon recently - and let me just go off on a tangent here, because I consider myself lucky that she even lets me come there, because every single time, I manage to offend some other customer, either with my colorful language (motherfucker is a color, right?), my outspoken political views, the fact that I show up with booze, or  - my personal favorite – my liberal use of the word vagina for the express purposes of watching people try to pretend like it doesn’t bother them. Honestly – my friend is a saint for still loving me. 

Aaaaaanyway, I was in the salon, and we got to talking about celebrity men and how we’re old because we think that the celebrities of yore (I’m not totally sure what “yore” means, but I like saying it) were so much more attractive than the celebrity men of today. So, of course this led to me mentioning my Five Dead Guys I’d Do List. And this was the point where everyone shut up and looked at me like I was some kind of freak. But the joke was on them because I wasn’t talking about five dead guys I’d do AFTER THEY WERE DEAD! Jeesh – I’m not a sicko. Much.

I had to explain that to them, because clearly, they just assume I’m some kind of sick necrophiliac, which I’m totally not. I mean, really. Live men smell bad enough most of the time, much less dead ones. And these guys have been dead for a long time! There’d be nothing left but bones. And sure – a bone might be what we’re talking about here, but I’m a woman and everyone knows women like to cuddle afterward and YOU CAN’T CUDDLE BONES, PEOPLE! Use your heads! 

And besides – there is a quote by someone I can’t remember and I am too lazy to look up about how a man never looks behind a door unless he has hidden there himself. And if you’re thinking what the hell does a door have to do with having sex with dead people, you need to put down the vodka and listen – I will translate: It means that when you mention a perfectly innocent and wholesome thing like a Five Dead Guys I’d Do List and your sick friends’ minds go directly to necrophilia – your friends are sick and clearly think about necrophilia more than is healthy. And by “more than is healthy” I mean “AT ALL.” Sickos.

So after I explained that necrophilia is wrong and they are all sick for thinking about it, they still thought that my Five Dead Guys I’d Do List was weird, which surprised me because I thought everyone had a Five Dead Guys I’d Do List. Turns out, they don’t. which is dumb, because a Five Dead Guys I’d Do List makes perfect sense as far as Guys I’d Do Lists go – your significant other can’t get jealous, because they’re dead and you can’t actually do them. Unless you’re a sick necrophiliac like my friend and her clients. But the rest of us normal, non-sicko people are OK and if our husbands and boyfriends get jealous, we can simply respond with, “They’re dead! What, do you think I’m some kind of sicko? Sicko!”

I probably shouldn’t tell you who is on my Five Dead Guys I’d Do List, because those of you who aren’t busy with your sicko necrophilia thinking will get all “HEATHEN! BLASPHEMY!” on me when I tell you one of the dead guys on my list. But you all know me and already know I'm a heathen. And really, if all the necrophilia talk hasn't scared you off, then nothing will. So, without further ado (and in no particular order):

Five Dead Guys I’d Do:

Cary Grant:

 

The quintessential handsome man. I don’t usually go for the cleft chin look, but he wins me over with the smoldering look. He’s suave and debonair.  I don’t even know what debonair is, but he is definitely it.

Paul Newman:

I had a hard time picking a photos, because Holy Smokes, was that man ever sexy. He was sexy at 20 and still sexy at 80. Roooowwrr!

Gregory Peck:

 

Just look at those lips.

Jesus: 

 

I know! This is the Heathen! Blasphemy! Part. But if he looks like the traditional renderings, then he’s right up my ally with the sexy hippie look. I’m sorry!

Marlon Brando. This one:

Not this one:

 

Honorable mention:

Clark Gable:

I can’t officially put him on the list, because at first I see his photo and think “How YOU doin?” but if I look at it for more than a few seconds, I see how much he looks like my grandfather, and ewwwwww.

Jim Morrison:

He exudes sexiness, but I also think he’d smell.

James Dean:

 

Sexy, but maybe a little bit too wee and pretty for me.


So, tell me - who is on your  Five Dead Guys I’d Do List? You know you have one.

I Made It! Market Giveaway WINNER!

OK, so I drew a winner and gave her a week to get in contact, but she hasn't, so it;s time to draw a new one!

once again, I asked random.org to to pick a winner for the adorable glass turtle nightlight and this time it gave me this:

Comment #2 was Allison!

Allison, I'll be contacting you to get your info!

Thanks for entering, everyone!

And then my head exploded

I have a facebook friend who – wait, let me back up. I have a person who is a facebook “friend” – the quotes are necessary because this person isn’t my friend. I’m not really sure how I even connected with this guy, but I do know it was a long time ago, before I caught on to the fact that I don’t have to accept every friend request that comes my way. Anyway, this “friend” couldn’t be more different from me. I knew from his own status updates that he had very different views on just about every topic that is meaningful to me, but I never let it bother me because people are different – we don’t all have to be cookie-cutter mold of each other. I can appreciate – or maybe sometimes simply tolerate other people’s views as long as they aren’t hurting anyone. I appreciate that people tolerate mine – I know I am radically left compared to a lot of people I know. He can have his opinions, I can have mine, we can talk about the weather instead, and done.

Except suddenly I am seeing that some of his opinions aren’t simply different from mine – they are the exact opposite of everything I strive to be and teach my children. They are pure, unmitigated ignorance and hate.

I posted a link to a story about a speaker at a tea party gathering who responded to LGBT protesters by screaming “‘We Will Not Be Silenced By F***ots!’” and commented on how it’s hard to teach kindness and acceptance to children when adults say those kind of things. And then he pulled out an old favorite of the ignorant bigot and associated homosexuality with child molestation. And then my blood pressure shot up, blew the top of my head off, and got brains all over my office, the end.

OK, not really – instead, my blood pressure shot up, I got an instant headache, and I came here to vent.

Take a look at the comments in question (click to view a larger version):


























I particularly like how the best thing he can come up with to insult me with is “bleeding heart liberal democrat.” I am a bleeding heart liberal democrat. I’m about as far left as you can get and I’ve never tried to hide that fact. And not only am I proud, I certainly don’t take offense when you call me that, regardless of whether you meant it as an insult. But not everyone who believes in kindness and acceptance of others is a bleeding heart liberal democrat and it’s an insult to them to assume as much.

And in 2012, I am damned sick and tired to this non-existent link between homosexuality and pedophilia. It’s bullshit and the only people who don’t know it seem to be this bigot and the members of the Westboro Baptist Church. But I think the part that pisses me off the most (and I see this a LOT when someone leaves a bigoted or otherwise ridiculous comment on someone’s opposing viewpoint) is the claim that I “introduced the subject.” I don’t know about you, but I am a little unclear on how I introduced the subject. I did introduce the subject of kindness and acceptance, but he brought the crazy.

And it IS crazy, to take a statement about kindness and turn it into this. You don’t have to know me from Adam, but I think it’s a pretty safe bet to assume that if I am talking about things like kindness and acceptance (especially in the context of a story about gay bashing) of people who are gay. Or a different race. Or a different religion. Or a million other things that do not include child molesters.

Because if it is true that I actually did leave it open by not specifically saying “acceptance of those who are not child molesters” then I clearly have a new hobby. And that hobby is responding to everything that people like him say with a question about child molesters. Kind of like this:



Bigot: Good morning.
Me: Even the CHILD MOLESTERS?

or

Bigot: Merry Christmas!
Me: Even the CHILD MOLESTERS?

or

Bigot: Welcome to Walmart!
Me: Even the CHILD MOLESTERS?


See – fun!

Come on. If you want to debate a topic – fine. If you want to believe your hateful bullshit – fine (just keep it away from me), but don’t try pointing your tiny little finger back at me and telling me I asked for it. I imagine if you truly believe that, then “she asked for it” is a valid defense on a rape trial, too, isn’t it?

It’s pretty much a given that when people talk in broad strokes about kindness and acceptance and even basic tolerance, that there are some groups that they aren’t specifically including – child molesters being at the top of the list. I tend to assume (perhaps naively) that most people are not pro-molester, but that’s just me. Maybe it’s just the bleeding heart liberal democrat talking, but if it is, I wouldn’t want to be any other way.

Giveaway: I Made It! Market and Very Merry Glass

Have you heard about I Made It! Market? If not, don't feel bad - I hadn't either until somewhat recently myself. But I am so glad I did. Because it's a pretty cool concept. On their website, I Made It! Market describes itself as "a fantastical, nomadic, pop up handmade shopping place," which is pretty accurate. but for those of you who want to know a little more about what that means, I Made It! Market is a nomadic indie crafts marketplace provides opportunities for artists to bring their wares to market and we partner with community, arts and non-profit organizations to raise funds and awareness to assist them in improving our communities. Basically, a pretty awesome concept - crafters and artists get an opportunity to sell their products, shoppers get a chance to buy locally made, interesting, and beautiful things, local communities and organizations benefit, and everyone gets a chance to enjoy a fun day out and meet some great people. What's not to love?

While the whole family can enjoy I Made It! Market any time, on Saturday, April 21th, they are having an event that is aimed at families with children, called I Made It! Market Jr. More than 30 artists will offer handmade wares geared especially to kids and parents. Plus, there will be fun music, handmade gifts made just for your favorite kiddo, face painting, a photo booth, and family fun activities.

One of those artists is allowing me to host a giveaway here. The very talented Mary makes delightful stained glass nightlights. I have always wanted to learn to do stained glass, but lets be honest here - I am 1) impatient, 2) easily distracted, and 3) clumsy as all get-out. None of these attributes work well with such an art - I would be surrounded by broken glass, probably bleeding, and definitely crying. So I leave it to the truly talented. Take a look at some of her designs (Head over to her Etsy shop, Very Merry Glass, and see all her designs):






















One lucky reader will be getting this adorable turtle nightlight:












Adorable! (seriously - I should keep it for myself)



All you have to do is leave me a comment - any comment. Tell me if you're crafty and if so, what you like to make. Of not, what you would like to be crafty at. Or tell me anything at all and you're entered. Tweet it & let me know you did and you'll get an extra entry. You don't have to be local and you don't have to attend the event (though it sounds like a lot of fun).

I will pick a winner on Friday, April 20th, so enter now.



Here's more information about the event:

I Made It! Market and Bakery Square present Family Fun in the Square: I Made It! Market presents a pop up marketplace featuring handmade items for babies and bigger kids. I Made It! Jr. will take place as a part of Bakery Square’s Family Fun in the Square on Saturday, April 21st from 12 - 4pm offering unique items hand crafted by 30 local artisans. Come and dance to fun music, get your picture taken with friends in a photo booth, have your face painted and more! For more information, or to learn about our artists, visit www.imadeitmarket.com.

Facebook Event: http://www.facebook.com/events/173648286081628/

Update: I will adding links to other I Made It! Jr giveaways here:

Dawn is giving away a personalized set of a onesie, a blanket, and four burp cloths from Grace in Abundance. To enter, go here.

Dina is giving away roll-up crayon case from Gillie Beans Boutique. To enter, go here.

Mrs. Burgher is giving away an adorable set of felt play food. To enter, go here.

Burghbaby is giving away a photography session, one 8x10 and one 5x7 from Anne Lopez Photography. To enter, go here.

Ridiculous Things That Piss Me Off

Sunday night, I tweeted that every Sunday about 7:30, I start getting pissed off because my weekend is over. Then, on the way home from work, I found myself getting pissed about some other insignificant thing and I realized that I get pissed about quite a few ridiculous things. Not irritated or disgusted or sad – but mad – pissed off.

Sunday nights: As I said, I get pissed on Sunday evenings because my weekend is over. I don’t mean that I’m bummed or sad – I mean pissed. I actually get mad at Sunday night. For existing. I imagine I am a delight to live with.

Dole Whip being the wrong flavor: OK, I am a big, HUGE Dole Whip addict. Dole Whip is non-dairy soft-serve in fruit flavors. I love it because it is delicious and also non-dairy. And it’s sold in Walt Disney World, so I associate it with my happy place. But I only like the pineapple. Well, that’s not true, exactly – I like all the flavors (mango, strawberry, raspberry, etc) well enough, but I don’t really care about them one way or another – I only have eyes for the pineapple. And when I stop at one of the only two places around that carry it and they are serving any flavor other than pineapple, I get pissed. I get indignant that anyone would even consider having a flavor other than pineapple.

Internet Explorer: It makes me crazy when I see someone using IE. Actual, pissed off crazy.

Toilet Paper being the wrong way: Yes there is a right way and it is OVER, nut under. And if I find it under (even outside my own home), it pisses me off and I can’t believe that anyone could be so heinous as to have their toilet paper installed incorrectly.

Lent: I know - why would lent make me mad? The answer to that would be: Have you forgotten I am crazy? Because that’s the only explanation. But lent pisses me off. I grew up in a church where we didn’t give things up for lent or forgo meat on Fridays, so it’s understandable that it’s not my “thing.” But it pisses me off anyway. Not the people who do it – they’re great. But the mere concept of it pisses me off. Probably because I have so many other things to go to hell for (being pissed off at lent, perhaps?), and I don’t believe that giving something up or not eating meat means a damned thing.

Grammar over-correction: OK – we all hate when people use your instead of you’re or there instead of their, etc. but the one that pisses me off the very most is when people misuse me and I. Not in the way you would suspect, though. I don’t love it when someone uses me when they should use I (“John and me went to the store” vs “John and I went to the store”), but what REALLY pisses me off is when someone makes the opposite mistake (“She brought a gift for John and I” vs the correct “She brought a gift for John and me”). While the first one irritates me, I understand that it is based in either a simple mistake (which I sometimes make myself) or lack of knowledge. But what pisses me off about the second is that it stems from people trying to look smart. They think that it is ALWAYS correct to use I rather than we. And I know (or my crazy mind makes me think) that when they hear me speak CORRECTLY and say “for John and me” that they are thinking that I am wrong and dumb and they are right and smart and better than me. And that sends me into fits of rage and frustration. And what aggravates me the most is that I learned this in 3rd grade and it’s the easiest thing to remember: Remove the other person from the sentence and it will be clear which to use. You would say “Me is going to the store” or “She brought a gift for I.” See – easy!

Did you try: It pisses me off when I express a problem I am having and someone replies with “Did you try (insert some very basic fix here)?” I know that people are trying to help, but when I talk about years of problems with my mother and you respond with “Did you try talking to her about it?” I will punch you in the face. Because if I am so stupid that after 43 years, it never occurred to me to try that, then I am too stupid to be alive. Take that rage and multiply it by approximately 10 hojillion and that will give you an idea of how pissed off I get when I am having computer problems and someone says, “Did you try restarting it?”

I'm crazy and I know it.

Amused

Every time I feel like I am back on the regular blogging wagon, something distracts me and I'm all "what blog?" It's not that I don't have anything to say - everyone who knows me can vouch for the fact that I always have something to say. I just get to where I have 3 or 4 blog posts in my head and then they get all jumbled and then suddenly, what I thought was funny or interesting sounds stupid and then I don't write anything at all. Not that I'm crazy or anything.

Let's see - what is up with me these days?

Oooh - I know! The girl and I joined some friends for a day at an indoor amusement park. Not an amusement park, exactly, but traveling fair of sorts, that set up shop in Cleveland's convention center. The day started with us meeting up at Michelle's house and that's when the noise started. We walked in the door and spent the next 13 hours listening to this AT FULL VOLUME: CHATTER CHATTER BLAH BLAH SQUEEEE! YAY! WOO! AAAAAAAAAA!!! CHATTER SQUEAL SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM BLAH BLAH CHATTER CHATTER CHATTER.

So, no peaceful napping in the car.

Before we went, I expected it to be mostly kiddie rides, but I was pleasantly surprised to see lots of thrill rides, too. Of course, the girl isn't big on thrill rides, so I had my work cut out for me. Bribery was involved. I know - bribery is wrong, but I don't care. It got her on a roller coaster, and she LIKED IT. Liked it so much, in fact, that she and Alexis dragged us back on it approximately 2,346 times. And every time, Michelle and I were convinced that this was the time that the safety measures would fail and we go plunging to our deaths. In Cleveland. But luckily it didn't and we came away unscathed. Well, except for our eardrumns. In addition to the aforementioned chatter, the noise in the convention center was sort of a dull roar - not painful, just a continuous drone that blocks out most voices, so all day, you and everyone around you are screaming at each other. Pretty much like being home when my husband has control of the remote.

All in all it was a fun day. The game people weren't too annoying, so we only dropped about 17 thousand at the booths, vs the 25 we would have at the county fair (and the employees had WAY more teeth). The funhouses were an extra charge of a dollar, which was total bullshit, given that they weren't funhouses, but more NotParticularlyFunTinySpacesBehindAFacade. Actually, I take that back. There was one that was all black light, 3D which was fun. Especially the part where I INSISTED that the room was moving and Michelle didn't believe me. Because she knows nothing about movement. Or science. Or the universe. IT WAS MOVING.

And then there was the one that we let the girls go in by themselves, which was a mirror maze. We watched them from the outside as they walked directly into walls and windows (seriously - we heard the loud BONKs from outside. And we laughed like the terrible, cruel mothers that we are. And then we failed miserably as we missed out on the best photo op of the day, when both girls came out all smiling and giggly, with matching BONKmarks on their heads. I don't know why we didn't take photos. I think we were thinking about french fries or something.

All in all it was a good day. I think we only had tears once - after we convinced the girls that the free-fall ride was fun (it was) (they disagreed). And the girls were well behaved (at least as far as we could hear in that place). There were very few lines, so we walked on most everything. No one puked (though we came close after a couple spinny rides). And then on the way home, we almost ran out of gas on a dark, scary road. Good times.

They love each other:

















These guys were apparently ecstatic to have beaten two tiny girls in a slide race:

























There was a petting zoo and it had a mini horse. And that mini horse had a MINI MINI HORSE!


















We payed a dollar for this shit:


























Swings!









































Crazy circus guy:

























All around fun:

Bully

I grew up a happy kid. I had a loving family and lots of friends. I loved school. And then junior high came along and knocked the wind out of me. I became a victim. A completely taken-off-guard victim of a group of boys who seemed to live for the express purpose of bullying me. I was lucky – I wasn’t thrust into the role of school pariah – there were others who held that role. I still had my friends, which is more than a lot of kids can claim. But it didn’t make the torment any easier to bear.

I walked the halls of school with my head down, avoiding looking at anyone, praying that the bullies wouldn’t notice me. But they did. They always did. They called me a bitch. They said I was tight (which in those days meant you were a virgin, which is hilarious because each and every one of us – including them – was, by definition, “tight”). In the next breath, they called me a slut. They threw things at me. They egged my house. They left threatening notes. They turned my last name into a horrible insult that they screamed at me all day, every day. They spit on me. My friends supported me in private, but no one defended me publically – no one wanted to out themselves in the spotlight. The teachers, who witnessed at least some of it, never said more than a quick “knock it off.” I never told my parents, because I was embarrassed – as it if were my own shortcomings that were to blame for these boys’ behavior. Instead, I went home every day and hid in my room and sobbed. I thought about how I wanted to run away. I thought about how I’d be better off dead.

Luckily, I never gave in to the horrible feelings. Luckily, it stopped eventually – it did get better. But for some kids it doesn’t get better.

Ever since I saw the trailer for The Bully Project (now known as Bully) last year, I knew that it was an important film – one that all kids (and parents) should see and talk about. So as it neared the release date, I was disappointed to find out that the MPAA had given it an R rating, meaning that kids would not be able to see it without a parent or guardian present. And that it would not be able to be screened in schools, where it most should be seen.

The reason for the rating is the language – the film contains footage of kids swearing, the word “fuck” in particular. And while I swear like a sailor, I do understand that not everyone wants their kids to be exposed to that kind of language. But there are exceptions to every rule and I think this is one of them. I know that the MPAA has rules about why a film is rated a particular way, but those rules are based on content alone. And sometimes I think that things other than content need to be considered – things like intended audience and message and possible effects of the film. And while content is obviously the easiest, most black & white way to make a determination, while the other things are essentially gray areas, life is not black & white. Ever.

Life is filled with gray areas. The message and the potential benefits of this film far outweigh the possibility of someone being offended by the language. And the MPAA knows this – an R rating (that was given for the very same language) was overturned for Gunner Palace, because it was a film about the Iraq war & the language was real – and the MPAA agreed that it was important for young people to see what soldiers really go through. How is Bully any different?

It bothers me that a film can have racial slurs and be given a lesser rating than Bully. I’d rather my kids hearing swearing in this context than hear racial slurs any day – they are FAR more offensive. And let’s be honest here – the kids are already hearing this language – in school, on facebook, at the mall – everywhere. I sat at an elementary/middle school night at the skating rink last night and heard it 3 times from the mouths of babes. I didn’t like it, but it’s there. It’s life.

This film is real life. Sure – the language is offensive to some, but that is exactly the point of the film. The language in question is being used by kids to hurt and taunt and humiliate other kids. It should offend viewers. It should offend them into standing up for other kids. It should offend them into doing something about bullying. Bullying has been a problem for many years, but it seems that it is getting worse as time goes on. More and more, we hear about a child committing suicide over being bullied. We all know about Matthew Shepard and how he was murdered because he was gay. Smart, kind, beautiful, amazing children are afraid to go to school and don’t achieve all that they are capable of because of the effects of bullying. So what’s worse – our kids’ tender ears hearing a bad word, or working together to try and change something?

Sticker Shock

Last week, I volunteered to work at the book fair at The Girl’s school. It was fun – helping kids pick out books is awesome (Yay, books) and watching them make their decisions was highly entertaining. I especially loved when little kids picked out longer, chapter books or when a tiny little princess girl surprised me and got books about Star Wars and the Titanic. I love that they provide a free book to every kid, so no one leaves empty-handed.

What I didn’t love was something that was being sold. Up near the checkout, there is always a desk with pencils, erasers, sticker & bookmarks that the kids love, because there isn’t one of them who wants to come home with change – they NEED to spend it all. And in the collection of stickers, there was this:




















Dear Scholastic Books – usually I love you, but this? Really? REALLY? Don’t you think our girls have enough to worry about? I mean, I get that it isn’t talking about anyone’s body, but anyone who has lived on earth in the last…I don’t know…forever, knows this is a mainly used in the context of women and their weight. And while one can argue that nothing about this sticker is making a statement about anyone's weight, at the very least, it makes a mockery about people who are (needlessly or not) worried about their weight or struggle with poor body image. It’s like getting it from both sides: “Don’t be fat!” but “Don't let anyone think you care about being fat.”

I guess you could argue that making fun of fat worries is a positive thing, but I don’t agree. For one thing, body-image is not always a rational thing – there are 24 million people suffering from eating disorders who can attest to that (20% of anorexics will die from their disease). And when someone feels bad about themselves, making fun of them is very much NOT helpful. And then, some people do have to worry about their weight – not because society tells them it’s prettier to be thin, but for health reasons. Making fun of them is very much not helpful.

Scholastic’s corporate mission reads:

The corporate mission of Scholastic is to encourage the intellectual and personal growth of all children, beginning with literacy, the cornerstone of all learning. With more than 90 years of experience supporting the learning lives of children, today Scholastic remains committed to providing quality, engaging educational content in digital and print formats for the next generation of learners, and the families and educators who guide them.

I’m not sure how this sticker fits in with “encourag(ing) intellectual and personal growth”. It might seem like a cute, funny statement to the folks that came up with it, and who knows – maybe I’m over-reacting – but I’d venture to say that the humor is most likely lost on 5 – 10 year olds, anyway. But maybe not the damage that insecurity and body-shaming can do. Having a sticker like this in school makes it OK – makes it normal to joke about weight issues. And I’m just not comfortable with that. Raising my daughter to be a strong, confident person is hard enough without something like this.

And even if there is nothing at all wrong with this sticker – even if you don’t find it inappropriate or insulting, why not have positive messages available to kids? Sell stickers that proclaim how smart or strong or kind my daughter is – not how fat she (or her notebook) might look.
You can do better, Scholastic. See – it’s not that hard:

Live Like Lou

Yet, today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of this earth... I might have been given a bad break, but I've got an awful lot to live for.
-Lou Gehrig Farewell Speech, July 4, 1939

Despite the fact that it was made twenty-six years before I was born, I can remember watching Pride of the Yankees when I was a kid and crying my eyes out at the end, when Lou Gehrig made his farewell speech to baseball. I didn’t understand exactly what was going on, or what Lou Gehrig’s disease was – I just knew it was sad. I learned later that what we Americans often think of as Lou Gehrig’s disease is officially amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, or ALS. And while the movie focuses more on the successes of a sports hero and the sadness around his getting sick, it could not begin to show the true devastation that ALS causes to the people affected by it.

ALS is a neurological disorder characterized by progressive degeneration of motor neuron cells in the spinal cord and brain, which ultimately results in paralysis and death. Patients in the later stages of ALS are totally paralyzed yet, through it all, their minds remain unaffected. There is no meaningful treatment for ALS and there is no cure.

Over 5,600 people in the U.S. are diagnosed with ALS each year (15 new cases every day). 60% of the people with ALS in the Database are men and 93% are Caucasian. Most people who develop ALS are between the ages of 40 and 70, with an average age of 55 at the time of diagnosis, but the disease can occur at a younger age.

I can’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to go through something like that. The terrifying feeling of losing everything and knowing it. The heart-wrenching sadness of watching a loved one trapped inside a body that is giving up on them. Upon diagnosis patients live 2 – 5 years on average, with approximately 10 percent living 10 years or more. 2-5 years is nothing. Even 10 years is nothing compared to a lifetime. Especially when those years are spent with ALS.

Neil Alexander is a Pittsburgher who does know what it is like to live with ALS. He was diagnosed at the age of 46. And this active, fun-loving husband and father from Pittsburgh knows what is ahead for him and other with ALS. But he decided he wouldn’t just sit back and focus on the negative. Instead, he and his wife created a foundation called LiveLikeLou.org to honor the example Lou Gehrig set for all people living with ALS – determination, hard work and grace in the face of adversity. Their goal is to have a meaningful impact on the disease locally and nationally for years to come.

Funds raised by LiveLikeLou.org will raise awareness of ALS, provide care and comfort to ALS families in Western Pennsylvania, and support scientific research targeted at finding a cure. In fact, LiveLikeLou.org made its first grant in January, 2012, purchasing two pieces of critical equipment (that are not covered by insurance) for the ALS Association Western Pennsylvania Chapter’s “Loan Closet”.

Go check out LiveLikeLou.org and learn more about ALS, Lou and Neil. Think about donating, if you can spare it. If you do, your money will go to help people – and their families – deal with this terrible disease a little better. Click here to donate. But don’t take my word for it – let Neil himself tell you about it:

Neil Alexander at The Pittsburgh Foundation Board Meeting from The Pittsburgh Foundation on Vimeo.

I'm Considering a New Career

I have an addiction to reading advice columns. I don't know why, since between the dumbass questions people send in and the often dumbass answers they get in return, I usually end up irritated. After reading today's Dear Prudence columns I tweeted this:









And I swear I'm right. Here is a sample of some of the letters, and my responses to them:


Q. Stripper for a Daughter: I had been struggling to make a living at my job for a few years now and decided to apply as a bartender at a local strip club. After a few days of working there, the manager said he was low on girls for the night and asked if I would like to dance for the night. I was a little hesitant at first but decided it was just one night. I ended up loving it and made around $800 in a few hours! We talked, and I became a dancer overnight. This was about a year ago. The other night while doing a set, one of my parents’ friends comes up to the stage and asks for a VIP dance. The entire time he was telling me how he wants a cut of my earnings to stay quiet and not tell my parents what I am doing! I either have to come clean to my parents (who are VERY religious and would disown me), quit my job and get further in debt, or start paying this guy half of my nightly earnings.

A: Let’s set aside the fact that A) what this guy is doing is possibly illegal, and B) You are an adult and can work wherever you want and focus on this: If you take a job that will make your parents DISOWN YOU if they find out, and do so close enough that a family friend can walk in and see you, then you, my dear, are a dumbass!



Q. Gay Parents: My son is in second grade and a classmate of his has "two daddies." My son wants to go over to his friend's house to play, but we are nervous about this. I know my opinion is probably unpopular, but it is still my opinion: I do not know if this is a good environment for my son at his age. We do not talk about topics like homosexuality in our home. We do not want to field questions yet about these kinds of topics; we want him to be able to just be a kid instead of dealing with complex sexual issues. His friend plays at our house and he is a very nice boy, but eventually his "daddies" will want to know if my son can go to their house. How do we tactfully tell this couple that we would prefer if their son plays at our house? My sister thinks that I will just have to "get over it" and send my son over there. But isn't it my right to monitor environments and control influences for my children? I fear that children in modern society are exposed to far too much far too soon—what happened to letting kids just be kids?

A: Really? You are a dumbass.



Q. Grandchild's Baby Name: My son and daughter-in-law are expecting a girl in the next 10 weeks. They announced their baby name, and I find it rather distasteful. My daughter-in-law has been an avid Gone With the Wind fan and is using Scarlet as the middle name. The first name is a traditional girls’ name. I told my son, privately, that I think it is wrong to use a name like Scarlet as a middle name because her character in the book was not something a little girl should know about or aspire to be. My son told me that a middle name is hardly even used, usually just an initial is fine, and their daughter will be known by her traditional first name. Should I talk to my daughter-in-law about this?

A: Are you for real? Because if you are, then you are a dumbass!



Q. Losing My Self Respect: I got married and moved to the USA. I love my husband. I used to be independent, and used to always believe in equality. I believed that husbands and wives have equal rights. But my husband becomes abusive occasionally. I told his family and my family about it, and they keep telling me that I should find ways to avoid situations which cause him to get that way. The problem is I have to be careful giving my opinion now, because anything could lead to an argument and then could get physical. I don’t want to leave him, because most of the time he is a good person. But I'm torn between my principles, self-respect and dignity, and letting myself down to avoid him getting mad at me. What is the right way to tackle this?

A: If you don’t stop listening to your dumbass family and leave this idiot, then you are a dumbass.



Q. Semi-Famous Blogger Crosses a Line?: My daughter is in second grade and is good friends with a girl whose mother writes a blog that has extensive readership. I read her blog and she is very careful to never mention any of her daughter's friends by name or post their photo. However, she posts her daughter's photo and writes blog posts about her frequently. In the past few weeks, my daughter and some of their other friends have started wanting their parents to write about them, too. I think these girls are at the age where female competition rears its ugly head and they are jealous that their friend is broadcasted on the Internet for lots of people to see when they are not. Is this something I should bring up with this girl’s mother? If I were her, I would want to know that my actions were causing some friction between young girls.

A: WTF? Let me get this straight – this blogger respects the privacy of others and doesn’t do anything offensive or unkind? So basically, what you’re saying is that her success makes you feel inferior? Say it with me now: DUMBASS



Q. Daughter's Adoptive Baby: I have been reading you for ages. My daughter is a very successful businesswoman, a senior vice president at a company you would recognize. She is also 37 and single, sacrificing a personal life for a professional one. Lately she has been exploring the option of adopting a foreign baby and being a single mother. I tried to explain to her that celebrities make this look far more glamorous than it actually is. I told her that she chose a career over a family quite some time ago and trying to have both now is going to be extremely difficult. She got upset and told me that what she is doing is perfectly normal. My husband and I are divorced, and I know how hard being a single mom can be. How can I explain this to her differently?

A: Hi – I just spoke with 1957 and they’d like their antiquated, dumbass attitude back. Dumbass.



Q. Housekeeper: This is a problem I am sure a lot of people would love to have. My boyfriend and I are in our late 20s and we both have good salaries. We talked about moving in together and we are fairly compatible. But here is the thing: He has a housekeeper. (That sound you hear is all my girlfriends rolling their eyes.) I do not think we need a housekeeper. Two people keeping a two bedroom apartment clean should be manageable. He thinks that if he hates to clean and can afford to pay somebody else he should. While I can't see anything outright wrong with that, part of me feels like he is indulgent and immature. I don't like to do a lot of things, but I do them anyway. He told me that if we let the housekeeper go then I will be totally responsible for all the cleaning. I think that is also unreasonable. Why can't he just pick up after himself? What if we can't afford a housekeeper in the future? Will he have any idea how to be self-reliant? Is it so wrong that I think we should be responsible for keeping such a small space clean?

A: The guy is willing to pay for a housekeeper and that’s a problem? I can find 35,624 women in the next ten minutes who would happily take this problem. You big dumbass.


See? I should totally be an advice columnist! Send me a question - I'll solve all your problems. Or just call you a dumbass. One of those.

Life with a Drama Queen

Since she hit about 18 months, the girl has been a drama queen. Everything is either the best thing ever or the worst thing ever, her favorite or “EWWW – I hate it!” Everyone she knows is her best friend or she doesn’t know them at all (you might have thought I was going to say her worst enemy, but no - she loves everyone, except maybe bigots and mean people, all of whom she will try to reform). So needless to say, when she claims to be sick or injured, I tend to take it with a grain of salt.

One of my big parenting fears is becoming one of “those parents.” You know the ones – they call the doctor over every little thing and when the doctor tells them everything is fine, they rush off to the ER or find another doctor (I personally know a set of parents like this and they are a constant, crazy reminder to calm the fuck down, mama). When it comes to illness, I can usually tell when it’s real or…well…not fake, but…I don’t know…dramatitized (That doesn’t seem to be a word, but some people coughwordswithfriendscough don’t think dementors is a word, either, so fuck it). When she is sick, she gets lethargic (something she has way to much energy to fake), and pale and sleepy. But injuries are a little harder to judge.

So when she was complaining of knee pain, I figured it was more theatrics. It was evening and there was no way I was taking her to the ER for long waits, and germs, and billing problems and nonsense. As the night went on, I started to become slightly more convinced that she was really hurting, though. I slept with her that night and she whimpered in pain in her sleep. And in the morning, before she fully awake, she did the same thing. So I took her into the doctor’s office to be seen. The doctor said that she had definitely done something to it, but she didn’t know what and that we needed to wait for the swelling to go down to really tell. SO in the meantime – crutches.

Now, I remember being a kid and thinking crutches were cool (until I had to hobble around on them for months, that is), and the girl was no exception – she was dying to go to school on crutches – oh the drama she’d squeeze out of that one – being on crutches in second grade is the absolute height of celebrity. But the doctor’s office didn’t have any in her peanut size. Neither did any of the local medical supply places (my kid is tiny). So the last option was Apria, who would deliver them to our house right away. I carried her to check out and was informed that Apria had suddenly amended “right away” to “first thing tomorrow.” OK – no big deal – I could handle carrying her for a little longer. But it was a big deal to her – she wanted to go to school and bask in her crutch-filled glory. She was NOT happy. But I told her that as soon as the crutches came I would take her to school.

Friday morning, the first thing out of her mouth was “Are my crutches here?” She was not amused by my answer of “no.” A few hours went by while she bemoaned the pain in her knee (by which she meant “the pain of not being able to be the Second Grade Queen of Crutches”). And then I got a call. A horrible, terrible, no good, very bad call. Apria was calling to get my credit card number (because I have a deductible and god forbid they bill me), and to let me know that the crutches were on their way – they’d be there…dun dunh DUNNNNNNHHHH…Saturday!

Oh, the horror!

Needless to say, I had an unhappy Drama Queen on my hands. I was pissed at Apria, because WTF? She was pissed at the entire world, because see: drama queen. I explained to her that she couldn’t go to school since I obviously couldn’t carry her around all day. Eventually, she got over it and a funny thing happened. She started being able to out weight on her knee. Don’t get me wrong – it was clearly still a little “off” and she was walking funny, but suddenly – since she wasn’t going to be able to be Second Grade Queen of Crutches – sitting around and waiting for me to carry her from place to place was slightly less appealing. By evening, she was walking pretty normally. By Saturday morning, she was running and jumping and dancing and leaping.

Clearly, she was completely recovered.

Until early Saturday afternoon when the crutches came and she suddenly was in pain and thought she should use the crutches to go to the birthday party she was invited to that afternoon. Forget it, kid. I’m onto you.












































See - not dramatic at all, right?

Not that there's anything wrong with that

I have been in a real funk lately – just feeling depressed & to use the scientific term: yucky. But my oldest friend Hedge came up last night for a drunkover and what medicine that was – she’s the yuckiness antidote. We don’t see each other nearly enough, but when we do, we just get each other. We have a way of making each other feel better without the need to have deep meaningful conversations & cry-fests. We support each other in an unspoken sort of way. Like she says “Poop” and what she really means is “I’m here for you” and then I say “Boobs” and I mean “I love you, too.” And then we laugh our asses off. Last night was no exception.

Me: I think I told the boy’s friend’s mom I was gay

H: What?

Me (louder): I think I told the boy’s friend’s mom I was gay

H: I heard you, jackass, but what the hell are you talking about?

Me: Well, we were talking about being gay, and I said something that I think came out the wrong way so I think she thinks I was saying I am gay.

H: Did you correct yourself?

Me: Well, no, because I don’t care. Also, because I didn’t want to come off like it was an issue in any way.

H: Yeah, you don’t want to be all Seinfeld, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that”

Me: Exactly.

H: Well, how is it that you were talking about being gay anyway?

Me: We were talking about that weird homophobic facebook person.

H: Oh…her

Me: Yeah

H: You know what would be awesome? If her kid turned out to be gay.

Me: Not just gay, STAGE GAY.

H: JAZZ HANDS!

Me: By the way, right after I implied I was gay, I mentioned you were staying over tonight, so…

H: YES!

Me: Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

I love you, Hedge!