Close Encounters of the Crazy Kind

Seeing as how Macho Man Randy Savage was the only one to ascend on Saturday, I'm slightly nervous for the rest of humanity. Everyone seems to be just living their life like the rapture didn't happen. People are just going on with their normal lives! So I decided to just stash the stuff that I looted Saturday since the crime would be looked upon slightly more harshly that we still have law and order (duh dum). Oh well, poor Harold Camping. Maybe October 21st will work out for him.

So with the knowledge that we still have a few more months to enjoy this lovely planet, I decided to take my one and only out for a nice long stroll today. Unfortunately, even though my one and only is a slightly intimidating husky, we still manage to attract the crazies. I think that aspect of MC Nickels just seems to follow me home... literally. A few weeks ago while I was walking my dog, a car pulled next to me. I'm used to getting asked directions so I pulled my "Please don't talk to me" headphones down and looked into the car. The (of course) over forty and not rich man asked "Do you remember me?" I feared that I actually met this man at a bar or something before and hesitantly replied "No." "From MC Nickels? Are you off today?" I did not recognize him as a worker and I know almost everyone in the store. I was actually off the whole week, but I told him I was going in later that day and had to head home to get ready, hoping it would get rid of him. No such luck. He followed me the whole way down the street until I got to a park because no way in hell was I going to go home. He turned down one of the side streets used for parking and I bolted my fat ass out of there as fast as my 2 tree trunks of legs could carry me .

But even that couldn't prepare me for the encounter I had today. I am currently on the search for a Fox Mulder to go with me while I walk my dog now. Or perhaps a Ripley. Or even an Elliot from ET could do the trick. I was walking my dog past the daycare a few blocks from my house. A man across the street from us yelled "Pretty dog!" I removed my "Please don't talk to me headphones" and said "Thanks." Then he asked why there was barbed wire on the fence around the daycare. I replied that I hadn't noticed it before and had no idea why they would keep the children in a prison camp type atmosphere. Now I realize it's not to keep the kids in, but the crazies out. Then he introduced himself as "Peter. I'm an alien. From another world." Well, this was the last straw. I was not going to stand there and talk to a visitor from another world in fear that Katy Perry's song "Extraterrestrial" would get stuck in my head. So I tried to hold my composure and said that I needed to keep walking in case it started raining. Well, this did not deter Mr. ALF from following me and telling me "It's not going to rain. My powers allow me to predict and control the weather." I had my "Please don't talk to me" headphones back on and did not have and Reeses Pieces on hand, but he still followed us. My dog was getting rather freaked out (as was I) and turned around and just starting barking at him. Then he started yelling at her that he could not speak her language. I told him that she was scared and he needed to go away or I would call someone. Then ET asked if he could take a picture. I knew it probably wasn't a good idea, but I said yes if he only took a picture of the dog and then crossed to the other side of the street and headed back in the other direction. So that is what finally got rid of him.

The skies have cleared up and it still has yet to rain. So maybe Mr. Roswell actually was an alien who can control the weather. I did see something like that on TV once. And I did see the police outside of my house with LED flashlights searching for something (clearly they were flashlights composited over guns so children wouldn't be traumatized). I do want to believe that the truth is still out there.

It's the end of the world as we know it... and I feel fantastic!

Let's see, this year started with several earthquakes, birds falling from the sky, a snake escaping the zoo and tweeting about it, I'm sure an airplane or two has crashed and I doubt Lenny Bruce fears any of this since he's dead. Well, move over, Nostradamus, REM had it right all along. It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine. I'd even go as far to say that I feel great. It's taking all my might not to giggle with glee and tell customers, "Have a nice day... it may be your last."

I can't help it. I've been in a bad mood and the weather has basically been apocalyptic. Plus, marathoning The Walking Dead, X-Files, 24, and Jericho is bound to mess with a person's head. So it might have been a bit fantastical when a bright light shone in my window and I assumed I was being abducted. An honest mistake. (It actually was the coppers with their LED flashlights probably breaking up the brothel and/or crack house across the street) But now it's the little things that have me hoping for the rapture. For example, just because I ask if you need any help doesn't mean you're helpless- you just look confused. You are still capable of looking in the clothing rack instead of telling me what size you need, then engaging me in an awkward stare down until I look for you.

Plus, I already work in the hell hole, a giant "Welcome back!" party for Jesus can't be much worse, right? So I will greet the apocalypse with open arms and test out my survival skills that I learned from only the best TV shows and films. Even the CDC thinks it will be a zombie outbreak AND the History Channel just showed a special on how to survive a "pandemic." Pandemic. Right. Wink, wink, nudge nudge. So I will just have to grab my razor scooter, trusty zombie hunting dog, and find my own ragtag band of survivors.

I am still trying to figure out what role I would play in this group. I am surely not leading lady material. And who needs that pesky love triangle that always seems to tag along with the pretty ladies in dire survival situation? No, no, I think I've cemented myself in as the fat, funny sidekick. Unfortunately, thanks to rule one (cardio), I might not live too long. You guys would never leave me behind because I can make light of whatever horrible situation we're in no matter how inappropriate my comments are, right? Right?

There is No Exit Sign

It's always the people you don't want to talk to that linger around the register the longest. And after almost a week of rain, having the weekend off vacationing in heaven (Cleveland) at an amazing Airborne Toxic Event show, where I learned some awesome new dance moves from some cougars, I was not in the mood to deal with customers. You know life is bad when you're longing for Cleveland.

Now, I am sure this woman was a very nice person. She was certainly friendly enough and she like to talk... in the vocal stylings of Fran Drescher with a Pittsburgh accent that brought childhood nightmares of The Nanny. And of course this woman was buying a mountain of clothing and had to comment on every single item and had a stack of coupons she had to read out loud. You know it's bad when you're straining to hear Katy Perry's "California Girls."

Then, in the middle of the transaction as if a very nasal "n'at" acted as a pied piper for the morons, a line of people appeared at the clearly labeled exit sign. A few wandered away before I could interrupt the nasal voiced lady, but the one who remained decided to argue with me that there is no exit sign. Finally, it all made sense. The one Starbucks worker did look a bit like Keanu Reeves... Neo?! Please, please let this actually just be The Matrix. No such luck. I'm still about 97% sure this is reality. Or is it? You know it's bad when you're starting question reality based on the stupidity of others.

Well, I let the customer stay beside "Not the exit sign" and called her over after Fran Drescher's evil cousin left. Well, Trinity walked up with a very nice 2 piece suit and asked if it was appropriate for an interview. You know it's bad when you're jealous of a dummy. (It's ok, I'll have the last laugh when I buy my suit for my next interview... a Robin suit... because I will totally be hired on The Dark Knight Rises.. and if not at least I could pretend to be Robin)

Doctor, Doctor give me the news! I've got a bad case of...sprained ankle

Now, as you may have guessed from previous entries, I'm very athletic and agile. Unfortunately, during my favorite sport, extreme Siberian husky walking, I tripped and sprained my ankle.

She looks sweet and innocent, but she's trying to kill me.

Now, my ankle was already weakened due a previous injury during hardcore going up stairs with laundry. Then, not 2 weeks after that, I managed to hurt it again during zumba... the aerobic dance class that is the latest craze among 40 year old soccer moms. Basically, through a series of unfortunate events, I have come to the conclusion I am not meant to have a right foot...nor, was I meant to be athletic in any way (besides eating competitions), shape (besides round) or form (I eat a lot, I must have good stomach muscles right?). But, in lieu of having Jigsaw trap me in a bathroom chained to the wall with only a dead body and a hacksaw, I decided to just pump myself full of pain pills (aka half a bottle of ibuprofen from Aldis) and wear sneakers to work. Unfortunately, I still have not received my magical pass into the doctor's office so I can't get an official note to break the dress code and actually comfortable at the hell hole. Because the only thing more offensive than talking about Lost in the fitting room, is wearing sneakers... but doctor-approved sneakers are ok. So what's a gal without health insurance to do?

...

.... Dr. WebMd is totally legit AND you can print out the pages after you've finished the symptom checker= Valid doctor's note. At least in my mind. Besides, what are they going to do to me for wearing sneakers? Fire me? But then I wouldn't be able to support the one who started this whole mess...

...Bitch.

(It's ok, she's a female dog, I can call her that.)

Health Insurance? I don't need no stinkin' health insurance...

It's finally happened. The day I've been waiting for since June 1, 2009. Once that magical card comes in the mail, I will officially have health insurance. Looking back, it's been a harrowing two years with a few narrow escapes...

I remember it like it was yesterday. May 31st came and went and June 1st dropped like a bombshell. Sometime as a child I must have opened up an umbrella inside while standing underneath a ladder that a black cat ran in front of... then broke a mirror. It's the only explanation I have for the kind of luck I have. My first day without health insurance, I worked in the lingerie department, which as I have previously stated, is the lowest level of hell... which I barely escaped from. Somehow I always get the crazy people when I work there- elderly women gone wild and flashing me, asking me what size I think they are, women who don't like taking "no" for an answer when they ask for a bra fit... but this one special lady takes the cake. And she just happened to wander in the first day I lost my health benefits. I'm a little bit foggy on the details- I'm guessing it's my brain's way of protecting itself. I do remember I was with this woman for quite sometime, she walked into the department talking on her cell phone... while it was on speaker and while I was actually trying to help her find a bra, she called me a slut because I have a black bra. Anyway, the entire time I was trying to help this crazy loon, she was hacking up a lung. I tried to ignore it, but then at the end of the transaction, she mumbled something about the swine flu.

Luckily, I escaped that contagious disease so I decided that I could use my six allotted call off days for Ferris Bueller type escapades. Unfortunately, I didn't get a parade- but I did get to see the Pens parade when they won the Stanley Cup... which was televised, but I needed to be there in person. I even got there on time, donned in Pens gear, camera in tow and I made it to the second row. Almost kinda sorta right out front. Did I mention it was televised?....

..Oops. (Yes, this is one of my real pictures from the parade)

On a slightly more serious note- raise your glass of lemonade or toast some cotton candy in honor of Mr. Kenny Geidel (aka "Lemonade Guy" or "Cotton Candy Man"), a true Pittsburgh legend who passed away today. Going to any sporting event in Pittsburgh will not be the same...and Pirates games are even more pointless.

The Mother's Day Prank that Wasn't

On this hallowed eve of the celebration of mothers, I can't help but feel a small space in my heart for the amazing Mother's Day I could have given my mom. For while other more disgruntled spawn go out shopping trying to find their old lady a new top or flowers or some small knick knack to gather dust, I try to find something more along the lines of "Serves you right for picking me as a daughter." Maybe it's still a bit of the post-April fools hangover, but I think Mama Leonard needs a bit of a reminder that for God knows what reason, she raised me to turn out this way- a cynical, self-depricating, yet narcissistic fool. I had the perfect plan too...

I cannot fathom why this woman would tell me or my dad anything because it turns into an endless stream of mocking. As I have mentioned before, she is working on getting Sid the Kid to file a restraining order against her (now she has also a shine to his partner in crime, Evgeni Malkin. Lord knows when this will end). Originally I had a plan of giving her the clearance heart shaped box of Godiva chocolate I snagged as a part of the Valentine's day clearance. But I thought it's kinda weird to give someone a heart shaped anything after Valentine's Day...unless it somehow involved Nirvana. So I was going to scratch the idea. Then, as if it were somehow planted there, the perfect plan came to me in a dream. I could forge Mr. Crosby's signature on the box and say that through some twist of fate I found him when my father and I were at the Pen's game and I just happened to have the chocolate with me. I knew my dad would go along with it and my mom still believes "gullible" is written on almost every ceiling in America. Then, just like the real Inception, we had to take the plan deeper...

BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!

So I was hoping and praying that the Pens at least continued to the next round of the playoffs so I could pull of this little stunt. I was going to invite my mom to Pittsburgh to go out to dinner and try to find a Sidney Crosby look alike to just happen to be in the same restaurant. Really, all I would have to do is get a black Pens cap, throw it in some salt water and leave it in the sun for a few days and make some guy of about the same stature wear it. She would never know the difference. Or I suppose I could have asked the real Sid. He was out of work for awhile, I'm sure he would have enjoyed the extra 20 bucks and dinner in the fanciest lower middle class restaurant in town. Unfortunately, and I blame MC Nickels for not supporting my boys in their playoff run, the Pens did not make it past the first round so this little prank would not have worked so well. And why do I blame MC Nickels? Because some genius ordered too many Steeler AFC Champions shirts and they ended up selling for $1.97 so no Pens shirts unless they actually won the Cup. Somehow it always goes back to the hell hole for ruining my life... and that one special day dedicated to the woman who gave me the gift of life. Way to go, poopyheads.

PS. Christopher Nolan, see how I gave Inception like crazy mad props in this entry? I bet I got about 3 or 4 people add it their Netflix queue. I think that earns me a position on The Dark Knight Rises when it comes to the Burgh. Oh. And please disregard I used the term "poopyheads."

We Can't Stop Here. This Is Yinzer Country.

I made my escape from the seventh circle of hell... for a week. I assumed that since for some reason the burning fluorescent lighting and the malevolent demons... err, customers running amuck serve as my inspiration that I wouldn't be writing for awhile. I was right. Even my crazy, kooky family was relatively normal for Easter. The main exception was the Easter vigil mass,

which serves as sort of a young priest museum- you can look, but not touch. Such a shame, sometimes. I'm usually like the restless 5 year old in church, but I was pretty exhausted thanks to suffering in h-e-double hockey sticks for eight hours. And speaking of hockey sticks, that was also the day that my Pens decided to horribly disappoint me with scoring 2 goals against Tampa's 8, so that didn't motivate me to stay awake. Luckily, my mother took over as the inappropriate one in the family for the night. Apparently there is an Irish priest visiting and every time he went up to the altar my mom exclaimed "Ooh! It's the little leprechaun." It didn't help much that the poor man was rather vertically challenged... and wearing a green vestment. Now, if it would have been me, I would have referred to the Eucharist as "Lucky Charms," but my little protege is learning.

Anyway, Saturday I realized that the crazy, kooky city I live in is a muse in itself. So I decided to take a walk to every fat kid's favorite part, the Strip District. My day started off with taking the incline down "da mount." The incline is a favorite tourist destination... and an actual mode of transportation for the locals. This just seems to astound the out of towners because every time I ride the damn thing, I get asked a million questions that always ends with "You're so lucky you get to take this all the time." Yup, paying over $3 to ride a car down a hill is FANTASTIC! But I usually just nod politely and put my headphones back in and try to muffle the sounds of "What if the cable snaps? What if the brakes don't work?" (never fails, at least one person says one of these things). Luckily, our car made it safely to the bottom and I continued on my way.

As soon as I stepped off the bridge, I heard sirens in the distance. And a lot of sirens. Now, I'm pretty sure that I picked the wrong major because every time I hear the police car/ firetruck/ ambulance's wail and flashing lights, I decide it's a brilliant idea to run after them. These sirens lead me straight to the convention center, which was housing the NRA convention for the weekend. Not as good as Anthro Con...

(Pittsburgh should be so proud)

But I'll accept it. Not only was the NRA there, but some protestors (of course) arrived in a parade! And who doesn't love a parade, especially in the Burgh?! Unfortunately, my requests for candy or at least a high school marching band were not met. Then a large caravan of many buses and trucks proclaiming that the date of the end of the world is May 21st appeared. They drove right up to the convention center and ANOTHER parade of people piled out of the bus. I suppose if you need to let someone know about the impending apocalypse, it should be the folks with the guns. I kept my distance, but secretly I just wanted to run skipping through the crowds singing "It's a small world, after all..." Unfortunately, I have a sprained ankle that still hasn't healed so I was walking with a hint of a limp. In case anyone asked what happened, I was prepared to say that I was shot and it hasn't healed properly.

At this point, my transfer was about to run out so I grabbed the Polish Terrible Towel I bought and headed back to the incline, which had a line of tourists out the door. As soon as I got a seat, I began digging for my transfer. The woman across from me saw a flash of the Terrible Towel and asked me if I carried it around all the time. I replied with "Yes, everyone in Pittsburgh does."

So I finally made it home, thinking the events of the day were rather amusing, but not a great reflection of the quirkiness of the city. Then, on Sunday, a major news event happened- Osama Bin Laden has finally been killed. Most people just watch the news channels or the major news programs or just tune in for the presidential statement. But I wait around for the good stuff- the local news. And I was not disappointed. For some reason, WPXI thought it was a fantastic idea to go out and interview the good citizens of Pittsburgh... at midnight. On a Sunday. In the city that goes to bed by 10. The nice interviewee, donning the latest Pittsburgh fashion in flannel and a trucker hat, stated "Well, there's gonna be rep'rcussions, n'at." Yoi! There's the yinzers I love.