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Crazy Girl Taco

14 Feb

I think the world knows I’m trying to lose weight and is in full support.

I’m not sure if this is a good thing for me or if I should be offended that the world thinks I’m so overweight that it needs to aid my success.

All I know is that yesterday I took a trip to my favorite ice cream parlor in the city – gelato, to be exact – only to find it out of business.   Out of business! I went across town just for a tiny little cup of homemade double chocolate award-winning gelato and I came back empty.

The look of absolute despair was so evident on my face that a passerby stopped to tell me she understood and had the same reaction.  Turns out the landlord was a jerk or something and even though they had great business, they decided to close their doors.  Rumor is they may open elsewhere, but there was no evidence on the shop window.   Just a sign that said:

“Coming Soon:  Chica Loca Taco!”

Chica Loca Taco?  It’s been a while since Spanish 4, but I’m pretty certain that means crazy girl taco and without a logo or any appropriate signage, I have no way to know if this is going to be a food joint or a … scantily clad ladies joint.

I’m sorry to go there, but it’s true.

And to complicate matters even more, the page they put up on Facebook to keep locals informed of its grand opening features this picture:

 

Chica Loca taco

This is no recompense for taking my delicious, award-winning gelato.  You can’t take something wholesome like a local business with homemade ice cream and replace it with a taco joint  (which kind, we don’t know) that features a fully-costumed female skeleton as its pictorial respresentation.

My stomach is empty, my heart saddened, and my brain confused.

If this is what the world must do to lead me to success in weight loss, so be it.    But if I go to Jimmy John’s tomorrow and it’s replaced with a confusing phrase in a foreign tongue and some nonsensical picture like Christopher Columbus wrestling an alligator, I will rage. ♣

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My Nest of Rebellion

13 Feb

Yesterday I rebelled against adulthood.

Perched on the couch with a delivery pizza and a 2-liter bottle of soda, I slowly whittled away at the last season of Arrested Development.  …and the entire 2-liter bottle of soda.

It’s not my fault that they changed the 2-liter bottles to look just like the 1-liter bottles.   My eyes deceive me.

In an attempt to squelch the voice of reason and responsibility within me, I rose from my cocoon of worthlessness every 2 hours to accomplish something – like clean a dish.   It was a cheap trick, but it worked.  By the time Dave arrived to the apartment, I had managed to clean the entire house and tend to a few of my to-dos.  And watch the entire last season of Arrested Development from beginning to end.

My day-long celebration of laziness was not the peak of my rebellion, however.  That’s actually just something I do on a regular basis when released from the dungeon of the corporate jungle.  My true rebellion was in its planning stages as soon as Dave got home from rehearsal at about 11:45pm  At that moment, he sat down on the couch and one of us made the suggestion to start a movie.  Which wouldnt have been a terrible decision in itself, but then after the movie, we stayed up and talked.

And then somehow, without warning, it was 3:30 in the morning.

3:30 in the morning! I can’t just go around staying up until 3:30 inthe morning! I’m a respectable adult and have work Monday and I can’t just go around messing with my sleep schedule because it will make me miserable and ineffective for the rest of the week and I will have to deal with fighting my boycott of Starbucks every single afternoon while my head nods off to dreamland.

But I don’t like being an adult.  And I don’t like restrictions.  And I don’t like work.

The dangerous thing is that Dave doesn’t either.  So if I’m not feeling responsible and he’s not feeling responsible, then it will be 3:30 in the morning and he’ll say something like “Do you want to stay up and watch the sunrise?”

And I will say yes and ask him if he wants to watch another movie.

And in this way, my small window of a weekend turned into a rather large escape from reality.   I am huddling there still in its warmth.

And here I might just stay. ♣

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I’m Just Not Getting It

12 Feb

I think there is a problem with the way I see things.

There are a multitude of examples of things that I just didn’t get the first time around.    It hit me last week in the midst of what I called “adult grilled cheese and tomato soup.”  Which basically just meant that it was the kid version, but with fresh-baked bread the size of my face and organic tomato soup from a fancy carton, not a can.

It’s my way of justifying a ridiculous dinner.

I was saying something exclamatory about the size of the bread in the cheese sandwich when Dave mentioned how he grew up on tomato soup with spaghettios.

And my brain did this thing it does when something is not what I had always believed.  It’s a bit of a jolt, followed by a swift heap of rejection.

“Spaghettios is not made with tomato soup!!” I exclaimed, unable to stop my mouth from spewing 25 years of ignorance.   Dave, in his signature calm challenged, “What’s it made with, Jackie?”

“Marinar…..a    …no.  No, it’s not made with marinara sauce.  WHY DID MY BRAIN RETAIN THE CONCEPT OF MARINARA SAUCE WHEN IT IS CLEARLY NOT MARINARA SAUCE?”

It was the meatballs that threw me off, you see.  Meatballs + red sauce = meatballs in marinara sauce.

This is a too-common occurrence: I think something is a certain way and store it as such until proven otherwise.  Examples:

As you already know from a previous post, the day I found out that Washington D.C. isn’t in Washington State.

Or the day I was watching a Kay Jewelers commercial on T.V. and said “Oh – it’s like a kiss begins with Kay Jewelers jewelry, and the word kiss literally begins with a “k”.  That’s clever!”  My brother sat across the room, miffed that I had just now put together the pieces from an ad campaign that was several years past its conception.

Or the day that I finally gave up and asked my mom (a lifelong postal service employee) what the United States Postal Service logo was supposed to be.  “It’s an eagle, Jackie.  What do you think it is?”

For your information, I thought it was a man in a fashionable hat.

(he's in left profile)

I have had a multitude of startling experiences just like these with song lyrics I thought I knew my whole life, logos my brain never interpreted correctly, and general world facts that didn’t sink in.  It makes me incredibly uneasy to think of what my next realization might be.  Right now, as I type this, I harbor a gross misunderstanding about something the rest of society easily grasped the first time around.  I like to think that it means I’m creative.  I’d like to get all metaphorical on you and talk about the deeper meaning behind the way I see the world.  But the truth is,
 

sometimes I just don’t get it. ♣

 

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ZOMG WINNERZ!!!!!@!!

11 Feb
Winner

Disclaimer: This is not me. Not even a little bit.

Aren’t Fridays the best?

Fridays are the mac daddy of all the days of the week.  People are distracted by Saturday because he’s a little sexier than Friday, but everyone knows that all people are thinking about on Saturday is how when it’s over, so is half their weekend.  No, Fridays are much better than Saturdays because though they aren’t as initially attractive, you become intimate with them for their hope and promise.

You want to be with Friday because he’s got potential and he helps you walk away from and forget the things that make you not like yourself.

He’s a good man.

Also, Fridays are super awesome because today is one, and I’m announcing the t-shirt raffle winners today! RIGHT NOW!  Well, not right now because I have to tell you about it and things.  Try really hard not to scroll down.  I know you want to – so do I.  I want it so bad too. But remember that nothing worth anything in life should be rushed through.  Now breathe, and scroll only slightly.  Gently.  Yeah.  There you go.

All right – as you recall, here was the deal:

“The Free T-Shirt Rules of Engagement

It’s pretty simple, really.  All you have to do is click on “What’s Lollipop Tuesday?” at the top right side of this page.  Once you’re there, leave me an idea in the comments section for Lollipop Tuesday.   It doesn’t matter if you leave one or twenty, or if it’s a winner or a stinker – all that matters is that you leave a comment with an idea.  You have until midnight on Thursday, the 10th to leave a comment for consideration in the contest.

Disclaimer: Comments after Thursday at midnight are always welcome and highly encouraged, but will not  result in a t-shirt raffle.

On Friday, February 11th, I’ll put all the usernames into a hat and draw some winners (that right – there will be more than one.  Try not to pee with excitement).  I’ll contact the winners for their info and ship them a shirt.  Wham, Bam, Thank You Ma’am.”

In order to make everything fair and random, I assigned numbers to each comment entry on the Lollipop Tuesday page from bottom to top for all comments, minus repeats and counting only those posted within the date range of the contest.     So, “Lori” was #1 and “Jeff the Jew” (his choice, not mine) was #9.  I then went to Random.org and asked for it to give me 3 random numbers between and including 1-9.   And it did.  Because it’s a computer and thus forever slave to man’s will.

 

 

 
 
 

 

Work, slave.

And boom.  3 random numbers.  Which happen to coordinate with 3 names.

ooooh pretty.

And so there you have it!  1, 6, and 7 are the owners of a brand spankin’ new t-shirt.

Drum roll please?

Congratulations to:

  • “Lori” (1)
  • “Tara Schiller” (6)
  • “sheila” (7)

You just won this bad boy:

Aaaawwww yeah

So CONGRATULATIONS! I will contact you to request your mailing address and preferred size.

Man, aren’t Fridays just the coolest? ♣

 

Big thanks to everyone for the Lollipop Tuesday comments.  Everything from Eating Kosher for a Day to a Sing-Along Blog.  Ya’ll are seriously entertaining and I’m stoked to start picking through the suggestions.

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Dog Wonder, the Office Assistant

10 Feb

Today I witnessed something truly amazing.

I went to the mail room in an attempt to snag my boss’s mail before someone on my floor could go get it, give it to me, and act like I never check the mail (which is how things typically pan out).  While there, I was greeted my a woman in a wheelchair who seemed to have difficulty using her arms for some physical reason or other.  She had a dog beside her, who was wearing a very fashionable vest stating his position as her assistant.

She was lovely and let me pet him (dogs are always a “him” until it’s proven otherwise) and given my absolute need to have interaction with dogs every once in a while, I was convinced that this petting session was the highlight of my day.

Until.

Until the amazing dog in the amazing dog vest was told to “get the mail.”  He then reached up, stuck his front paws on the ledge of the shelving unit and proceeded to dig the mail out of her slot with one paw.  Once it had reached the edge, he gingerly bit down on it with his mouth, pulled it out, and brought it down to the woman in the wheelchair.

I stood there, jaw hanging open, and said “that’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”

She smiled and continued to the elevator as I stood there wondering if it was insensitive of me to compliment her assistant dog.   I’m not really sure what etiquette dictates when one witnesses something extraordinary performed only out of necessity for a disabled person.   We’ve somehow reached a time where instead of acknowledging people’s differences and celebrating them, we’re quietly urged by society to pretend differences don’t exist.

I think a superhero dog is cause for celebration.

Was I suppose to pretend that I didn’t just see him perform a breathtaking act of accuracy and dexterity?  Because I did, and it was.

Of course, after a mere elevator ride’s time back up to my floor, I had dismissed my social etiquette conundrum to make room in my brain for the master plan I had for a fleet of capable hounds, trained and ready to do my bidding.

What would my bidding be? What are they capable of?  Is this the secret to my taking over the world?

But then I remembered Up, and how those talking dogs annoyed the hell out of me, and how the old guy with a herd of them didn’t win in the end.

Back to the drawing board, I suppose. ♣

Hey! You still have until tonight at midnight to submit an idea for Lollipop Tuesday and win a free t-shirt!  If you missed the details, you can check them out at the bottom half of this post.

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Ode to the Nudist

9 Feb

File:RAAF 1943 swimming nude.jpeg

Every day, I should just thank the good Lord that I have successfully dressed myself.

Not in praise of clothes on my back or the ability of my body to physically accomplish it (which are valid and certainly deserving of thanks), but rather in praise that I have managed to pick out something that I have somehow convinced myself is clean, doesn’t hug my love handles, doesn’t show my back fat, doesn’t reveal my arm waddle, doesn’t have underwear lines, is something I haven’t worn too recently, doesn’t look too slutty, somehow suggests I might have fashion sense if I tried, and looks good with all the other things I have on that meet all those  same requirements.

To complicate matters even more, let us not forget that just because an article of clothing (or even an entire outfit) could be cleared for my departure from the house one day doesn’t mean that it will be cleared forevermore.  Every single day I have to consider these things all at once and quickly and yet somehow every single day, I leave my apartment fully clothed.

This is surely a miracle.

When I consider that I have managed to do this for at least most of my life without leaving the house even just ONE time naked, I’m overwhelmed by my genius.

I’ll repeat it; I’m not ashamed: “I’m overwhelmed by my genius”

Really think about it.  I give myself an ever-increasing limit to what I call “the absolute last minute I can leave the house” method every single morning.  Every morning, I wake up just a wee tiny bit later than I did the day before.  I will continue to toe this line until I am clearly late for work and then I will back up one minute and call it “the absolute last minute I can leave the house.”  I’ve done it with every job, ever.  This one is 8:12.  Last one was 6:35.  The one before, 7:46.

That means every day I only have a miniscule window of time to decide what to wear.  And yet I am continually successful.   That’s the work of a genius.

I mean, when I look at my clothing selection even just now while writing this, I think man….I really need to buy some new clothes.  I don’t have anything to wear!  Not a single thing! WHAT HAVE I BEEN WEARING ALL THIS TIME?!

I start to wonder how it is that I’ve managed to put together anything at all from the shabby options that all make me look fat, lopsided, are see-through, a bad color, has a hole, it really is amazing that I haven’t just given up and joined a nudist colony.

Then again, I hate to be nude.

I hate to be nude because I don’t like the feeling of skin that never has direct contact with furniture suddenly establishing that relationship.  It’s odd.  And sometimes you stick to it.

So here’s to you, Nudist.  For breaking free of society’s demand to wear clothes.   For being comfortable with that ripping sound you feel when you get up from sitting on leather.  And above all, for cutting a good 7 stress-filled minutes off your morning routine.

Cheers. ♣

Psst…Thanks for the rockin’ Lollipop Tuesday comments!  You still have until tomorrow at midnight to leave a suggestion on the “What’s Lollipop Tuesday” page for a chance to win a free jackieblog t-shirt!   Need more details? Read yesterday’s post.

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Jelly Belly

8 Feb

Ladies and Gentlemen, Happy Lollipop Tuesday.


Adventure first, rules for free t-shirt second.  Today’s adventure: A Sonogram!

That’s right : I’m going to new and interesting depths in my quest for new experiences.    And hey – if Obama’s gonna give me access to health care, I’m gonna step right through that beautiful, wide open door.

Actually, it’s that I appear to have some sort of rabid beast making nest in the right upper quadrant of my abdomen (note: not a baby) and it’s gotten rather uncomfortable.   Or an Alien, a la Alien.  Or! OR! I really am a superhero and this is just the initial stage of discomfort that precedes the turning-into-awesomeness.

Listen, if the doctor can’t tell me what it is without a fancy shmancy sonogram, then I’m free to take valid guesses as well.  I would argue that my conjectures are just as sound as hers given that neither of us seem to know what the heck is going on.  It’s just that her background is in medicine and mine happens to be in geek culture.

We’re both making the best guesses we can given the small amount of available information.

You may be thinking seriously? A Sonogram? But hey – if I’m going to have to go to the doctor once a week for this little organ-eating monster in my belly, I’m darn well going to use the experience for a Lollipop Tuesday.   I have to admit that before today, I actually wasn’t sure what to expect in a Sonogram.   I got the general idea that it was as simple as jelly+belly=picture, but thought I’d call my mom just to be sure there isn’t any funny business.  Mom usually lets me in on any funny business.

She comforted me and relieved my fears, affirming my jelly+belly assumption.  And then she said

“Well, that’s what it was 25 years ago, anyway.”

That’s what it was 25 years ago!? Oh, right.  I’m her last kid.   But what does that mean? Where has technology gone in 25 years? What if there’s no jelly anymore? What if there’s nudity or probing involved?  What if they’ve found some more efficient butt method? I really don’t want a butt method.

Turns out it’s pretty much the same as it was 25 years ago.  They do, however, refer to the instrument they rub your belly with as “the probe,” and between that and the warm, gelatinous liquid she splooged all over my stomach to get started, I really started to  wonder if there was a surprise happy ending.

Thankfully there wasn’t.

And now….*drum roll*

The Free T-Shirt Rules of Engagement

As you may or may not recall, last Tuesday I designed t-shirts for my Lollipop event and had everyone vote on their favorite.  The promise was that the winning shirt would be the first official t-shirt for the blog and would be given away for free to those who stopped by today and followed the instructions.   Here’s the winner (by a surprisingly close race):

Want one?  Ready, Set, Go.

It’s pretty simple, really.  All you have to do is click on “What’s Lollipop Tuesday?” at the top right side of this page.  Once you’re there, leave me an idea in the comments section for Lollipop Tuesday.   It doesn’t matter if you leave one or twenty, or if it’s a winner or a stinker – all that matters is that you leave a comment with an idea.  You have until midnight on Thursday, the 10th to leave a comment for consideration in the contest.

Disclaimer: Comments after Thursday at midnight are always welcome and highly encouraged, but will not  result in a t-shirt raffle.

On Friday, February 11th, I’ll put all the usernames into a hat and draw some winners (that right – there will be more than one.  Try not to pee with excitement).  I’ll contact the winners for their info and ship them a shirt.  Wham, Bam, Thank You Ma’am.

Happy thinking! ♣

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Ads to inspire FEEEEAR

7 Feb

I’m alarmed by the growing trend in marketing tactics.

On my way home from work the other evening, I came upon one of the city’s largest billboards.  It’s in a prime location, situated at a difficult intersection and a guaranteed 4-minute minimum wait.  I typically check out the billboard because a) it’s the only thing to look at, and b) it usually features some terrible jewelry advertisement with an incredibly awkward-looking model and I look forward to making fun of how terrible it is.   However, this time I was afronted by a picture of a hearse with a tiny, white, flower-adorned casket in the back with big, bold letters stating,

“Your baby belongs in a crib, not a casket.”

The culprit?   An organization called Cribs for Kids, which offers free portable cribs to families in Allegheny County who cannot afford one.    It is the same organization to thank for the video shown to new parents in every birthing hospital in Allegheny County and the signed acknowledgement that follows.   In October of last year, a bill was passed that made it a requirement not just for Allegheny County, but for every birthing hospital in Pennsylvania. 

Apparently a lot of parents like to sleep with their cute little babies and then the cute little babies die.  

I understand it’s a preventable tragedy – and I understand that they’re attempting a marketing tactic that will shock folks and make them remember.   After all, everyone remembers a picture of a dead baby.  Just think of the last time you passed a hospital that performs abortions and had protestors outside.  Remember the pictures?  *Shudder* I do.

So I get it, Cribs for Kids – I really do.  There is a pressing need to educate new parents about the danger of not plopping their cute little pudgy wudgy baby within the confines of a crib.  And I think it’s a wonderful cause.   But I think that if you put a little more brain power behind it, you could come up with something clever instead of frightening.  It takes a little more effort, but wit sticks with people too.   The fact of the matter is that you want people to receive your message with an open mind and to accept it.  Unfortunately, with billboards like this, a picture of a dead baby in a casket is what people will associate with you.  Not such a good first impression.

So anyway, I carried on with my life, made a joke to Dave, and continued on home…where I turned on the T.V. and was greeted by an advertisement for Bosley Hair Restoration.   I came in at the tail end, just in time to catch the words:

“Every day you wait, you’re losing more hair.”

 

…Le Sigh. ♣

 

If you want to read more about the billboard and the work of Cribs for Kids, check out this article from the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette.
    

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Why I Suck at Geography

6 Feb

I do.  I’ve been trying to hide it for years, but it’s the bold, dirty truth: I suck at Geography.   Of the United States, to be specific.

The thing is, I moved a lot when I was young.   In 1st grade I went to a local Christian school, where they taught Geography in 2nd grade.   But I moved to a school in the next town over for 2nd grade and there, they were going to teach geography in 3rd grade.   Just when I was ripe with anticipation for 3rd grade, I bopped back to a public school in the town I just came from… where unfortunately they had just taught Geography in 2nd grade. 

I know it must seem silly.  You must think that I have run into U.S. Geography plenty of times in my life and that this constant interaction should suffice for competency in the subject.   Well, I haven’t, and it doesn’t.

I did, however, study South American Geography in 8th grade.  I got the downlow on all those big bad countries and capitals – and meanwhile found out for the first time in a conversation in the same grade that Washington D.C. was not actually in Washington State.

Some time ago, Dave came home from the local art store with gifts in tow.   He came bearing a huge smirk and a placemat that sported a map of the United States.  He knew I was embarrassed about the situation and thought that if I ate off of a picture of it (because I eat so often) that I would eventually be a wizard at it. 

But that placemat, paired with the one listing the U.S. Presidents in chronological order (gotten for himself) made my dining room look like a preschool.  So I tucked it under the bar.

When I was in college, a friend (let’s call him Bart) was disgusted with my lack of competency in both geography and history that he sent me links to online games to help me learn the states and capitals.    Unfortunately, I was in the midst of my World of Warcraft addiction at the time and was much  more interested in the geography of Azeroth.

Now, I’m not a complete moron- I’m aware of states and capitals out of sheer frequency of encounter.  But I have to admit that if you handed me a map of the U.S. and asked me to fill in the names of states, I would probably jumble together the order of the ones between Pennsylvania and California.  Above and below those, I’m not too shabby.

I could have easily sat down and made a point to study them, and I have many times.  But honestly, I just get so bored and tend to wander onto web pages like “Most Frequently Misspelled Words” and “Most Common Grammatical Mistakes” instead. 

So I’m sorry, America, that I still tend to struggle with where exactly everything is inside you.   But sometimes when I think about it, the earth is all our land and borders are silly, manmade invisible lines as if drawn down the middle of two siblings’ sides of the bedroom.   So maybe I can just say that I’m not that into learning where the borders are because I choose to disregard the validity of their claims.  Is that hippie of me?  Or is that just an excuse for sucking? 

Perhaps a little of both. ♣

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This Is Steeler Nation (Yinz)

5 Feb
  

 
 
One of the many incredible things about the city of Pittsburgh is that it is always  excited about the Steelers.  Regardless of whether or not we make it to the Super Bowl, we have shops all around town solely dedicated to the love of the big, hairy team and they are always busy.   I must admit that the thrill of tomorrow’s game got me in such a hype that I ventured into one of the most famous of the Steelers gear outlets in The Strip District for a few Terrible Towels.  Because a Pittsburgher – or any true Steelers fan for that matter – cannot be seen in a social setting where cheering for Pittsburgh is taking place without the use of the Terrible Towel.  It’s borderline treason.  There are guards on every bridge into the city (which is a lot for a city that holds the world record for most bridges), ready to take those whom have committed this near-crime to the Allegheny County Jail for questioning of their loyalty.
 
I am not a native Pittsburgher.  I moved here from Central PA for school and have lovingly hung out ever since.  It has a little to do with it being the Most Livable City in the nation, and a lot more to do with how lovable it is.   It’ s just big enough to do big things and small enough to make you feel like you live in a town.   It’s chock full of museums, art, theater, and community members who really, truly care about people – and has the enormous, free, often-used Schenley Park nestled inside.  It’s a very residential-based city – bustling with a variety of ma and pa shops.   Perhaps my favorite quality is that each neighborhood within the city’s reach has its own entirely unique culture: Shadyside for its luxurious flair, Southside for its earthy, party-hard approach, Oakland for its superfluity of hopeful, energetic college students, Squirrel Hill, for having so many practicing Orthodox Jews that the Dunkin’ Donuts is kosher… It really is a wonderful place to live, full of adventure and life.    Once you stay for any extended period of time, it’s difficult to not just settle down and make a life out of it.  It’s just so darn lovable.
 
So you have to understand that Pittsburgh fans are fans like no other.  They’re rowdy, in your face, and obnoxious about their steely loyalty.   I have a close friend – let’s call her Peach – who said she hated the Steelers simply because of their fans.  And you know what? I entirely understand where she’s coming from.  Because I was there for the latest Super Bowl win – I actually stood outside for 5 minutes straight listening to the collective screaming from inside every house in a 10 mile radius.
 
And then I swiftly made my way to Oakland to watch a couch be set on fire.
 
So I get it – we’re excitable.  But we’re just so stoked to have something to get behind together – the colors Black and Gold.
 
So I’d like to share with you a few glimpses of Pittsburgh’s pride.   The first is above – the marquee on my local movie theater.  I don’t believe it needs an explanation.
 
I could have easily taken snapshots of anyone on the executive floor at work today to share as the second glimpse- each one donned a very fashionable Steelers getup.  Because as much as it’s important to look professional, you best not show up the workday before the Super Bowl without your black and gold.
 
And then there’s the school system.  When I moved here for school, I was shocked at how my teachers would offer extra credit to students who wore a Steelers jersey the class before a game.  Unable to afford an official jersey, I was mostly ticked that I couldn’t get an extra half point.   But this year, the Pittsburgh Public School System has taken it even further – by making a preemptive call that Monday morning constitutes a two hour delay.
 
In addition, I’ve included a picture below of St. Clair Hospital’s newest additions to the world wrapped in Terrible Towels in celebration of the Steelers going to the Super Bowl.  It’s a tradition that started in 2008 and is proudly maintained.
 
 

Little Steeler Babies

 
So there you have it – my take on the lovable, hateable, always loyal Steeler fandom.   We don’t mean to be obnoxious; it’s just that we’re too into the Steelers to notice that we are.  I hope you can understand.  ♣ ♣
 
 
 

Take a moment and check out Lynn Cullen’s take on the Green Bay / Pittsburgh match up.   He hails from Wisconsin but is firmly nestled in the ‘burgh and this article from the Pittsburgh City Paper painted Green Bay in a light that made me almost root for them.   Because they’re pretty darn lovable too.  

 

This is real.

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