Hit Me With Your Best Shot, Irene

This is a crappy photo but you can feel Pat's rockin'ness if you look close enough.

My weekend was supposed to be wine and friend-filled in Boston. It was to be glorious.

Instead I was stuck in Cincinnati thanks to that bitch-troll Irene.

But when life gives you hurricanes, you just add rum, right? Or in this case, Pat Benatar!

I remembered at exactly 7:49 p.m. that one of my '80s idols was hitting the Taste of Blue Ash stage at 9 p.m., and I quickly texted everyone I know, "OMG Pat Benatar at Taste of Blue Ash, We Belong!"

I stared at my phone anticipating the vibrating explosion of excited texts from everyone canceling plans to roll with me and see this amazing female rocker.

Instead, crickets.

My friends are losers. (You all know who you are.)

So I went to see Pat, alone... because that's what Her Bad-Assery would have wanted.

I raced to Blue Ash praying, "Look, Jesus... please let Hurricane Irene skip the coasts, cause no deaths, inflict minimal property damage, and ummm, oh, by the way, for the love of God, don't let me miss a minute of Ms. Benatar!"

Ask and you shall receive, people.

All Fired Up was playing when I rolled in. Though not a mega-hit like her others, it's one of my personal favorites and if you don't have it on your iTunes then I feel sorry for you because it is a hard-rocking stadium smoker sang by one of rock's most iconic singers and it totally will rock your Arcade-Fire-listening ass off. (So here it is; right click and you too shall receive.)

I squeezed past the throngs of people who had been staking their claim for hours swilling Miller Lites, saw a narrow little opening atop a retaining wall and slid in with the help of some dude who helped pull me up the step.

And Pat. Well, damn. She lit-it-up.

Her voice, still fierce. Moves, she's got 'em. Her hits, she sang them all.

She was way bigger a force than Irene.

We will be invincible!

Sunday's Forecast: Sunny With Lots of Snark

The Boss Man is having a pool party for the lab, and since I sit near the lab and sneak slices of their pizza before lab meeting, I was reluctantly enthusiastically invited. (Carolyn said she had to force the Boss Man's hand into typing my name on the invite, and he winced while doing so.)

I graciously accepted because I know it's not a pool party unless I'm there to retell my near-drowning story. (Get excited everyone!)

So, what is the protocol on wearing my barely-acceptable-as-dental-floss string bikini to this thing? (Ok, I don't really own a bikini like that.) I mean, I have huge assets I like to show off. You know what I'm sayin' - huge ASSeTs. (Actually, I'm built like a tween girl.) And I don't know if the people who sit near me are prepared to see me coming up outta the water all voluptuous and mermaid-y with water streaming down me. (I will look like a wet rat.) They're just gonna feel bad about their bodies after seeing how tan and fit I am. (I don't need the criticism of how pale and outta shape I look nearly naked.)

And wait 'til they see my swimming and cannonball prowess. (I'm only good at swimming underwater and in pools, clearly I'm no good in the ocean. Plus I'm afraid of smacking my legs, so I won't do cannonballs.) You should see the incredible splashes I can make! (Cause I'm actually kinda drowning... again.)

I'll probably hang out in the pool the entire time and teach other people's kids how to swim. (If I hang out in the pool very long I will certainly end up with a uti, which will force me to call in late the next day while I go pee in a cup at my doctor's office. What is the proper way to communicate to your Boss Man that his pool party gave you an infection and now it burns when you pee? Is "hoo-ha" an appropriate term you can use in this instance? That's scientific, right?)

Mna, I love swimming! (Which is to say, I like sitting by pools reading magazines.) So I am pretty excited about this par-tay! (I hope I don't fall down and break anything. But if I do, it won't be the Boss Man's record collection because I already swiped all the good vinyl from his house.)

And speaking of the Boss Man and my near drowning (hey, did you guys hear the story about how I nearly drowned in a ripcurrent?), the Boss Man was in China when it happened was only able to just this week insult me about it. Talk about waiting with bated breath!

It went down like this (and I'm not making up one single word of this, I swear to God he actually said this to me):

Boss Man: I would think someone like you, who's had true life changing experiences - death of a sibling, cancer - would be aware of their mortality, and not get into the ocean when the sign says DANGER Ripcurrents, No Swimming.

ME: The sign posted at the beach didn't say that. The sign at the beach basically said, 'Welcome to Rehoboth Beach, there might be ripcurrents.' The sign you saw me jokingly posed by was at the lifeguard house in case of severe danger; it was not posted that day at the beach. There were hundreds of people in the water. And I am fully aware of my mortality, thank you very much.

Boss Man: Oh, I thought the sign was posted right at the entrance, 'don't swim here,' and you just walked past and laughed and hopped in the ocean anyway.

ME: What kind of an idiot do you take me for? You think if it really said 'Don't Swim Here, Ripcurrents,' I'd have Baywatched my lily white ass out there anyway?

Boss Man: Actually, yes! I thought that's what you did!

ME: This conversation is over. *turns to walk away

Boss Man: Sit down right there, missy, this is your fault. Your writing lacks clarity. This is a learning experience for you, and I am your mentor. Let's talk about how we can make your writing more clear.

ME: I wish I had drowned, then I wouldn't have to have this conversation.

Boss Man: Well, I am really glad you didn't. Life would have been far less entertaining... and I wouldn't have anyone to steal lunch from.

Then he left me standing in the lab while he waltzed off to probably go steal half-eaten food from my trash can.

Thanks A Lot, Jerks

Turns out, everyone has nearly drowned in a rip current.

Ok, not really. But I've heard several similar stories from friends and colleagues, but none them were saved by super buff lifeguards like I was. So theirs doesn't count.

As I was writing my mostly serious but sometimes joking blogpost about all this last week, Ray was writing a thank you email to the Rehoboth Beach Patrol.

Which is surprising really because all he talks about now is how much he hates lifeguards, and I'm like, 'But wait, they totally saved me, and you by extension since your ass was probably gonna drown too trying to pull me in.' And he's like, 'Yeah, but why did it have to be super-buff lifeguards who my girl wants mouth-to-mouth from, why did it have to be ol' buff blue eyes who came for you... Why not a lifeguard with a cleft lip, or one of those hot buff chick lifeguards?!'

Ray is really selfish.

Except he really isn't. He's been a firefighter/EMT for like, 20 years, so he takes rescuing people kinda seriously, and therefore, not surprisingly, he spent a good deal of time beating himself up for us needing a lifeguard.

And to that I was all, "Ray, you're a firefighter, not a flotation device. Had I been ON FIRE you'd have been really handy, but I wasn't. ...And you don't float well, by the way."

And speaking of helpful things to say, here are a few gems people have said to me when hearing about my adventures at sea.

• Those are rough waters there! Why can't you vacation at the Gulf?! Or the Caribbean where the water is smooth as glass, hmmm?!

• If you vomit up sea water I'm gonna freak out.

• Not sure whether you owe Ray for risking his life for you or if he owes you for the entertainment. Probably a push.

• Gina, were you drinking?
(the answer is no, not a drop.)

• Why would Ray feel responsible, it's not like he's a Navy Seal.

• Ooh, beach wedding! You can get married in the surf. But I'll stand on the shore and watch because I don't get in past my ankles. The ocean is scary; and I don't like strange things brushing up against my legs.

• Jared makes fun of me for not getting in the ocean past my waist. I'm gonna tell him to suck it, I have good reason for this now. Plus, I like to be able to see my lower half.

And the best quote of all - Why didn't she just swim parallel to the shore?

Thanks a lot, Poseidon.

The Midwestern Girl and The Sea

This was supposed to be a post about blinding the beach-goers of Delaware with my lily white ass because the waves of the Atlantic pulled my bikini bottoms off a half dozen times.

But as we know, life changes quickly, and instead it's a post about how my lily white ass, and the rest of me, had to be dragged to shore by a lifeguard after I liked to drown this weekend.

My love of hyperbole is well documented.

It was the best/craziest/weirdest thing that happened to me EVER, and I'll be talking about extra fruit at Yagoot. But believe me when I say this is one of the best/scariest stories ever, and I have a few.

Friday afternoon Ray and I were splashing around in the surf at Reboboth Beach. Everything seemed cool, but before I knew it I couldn't touch anymore. One minute I'm bobbing up and down, splashing in the waves, the next minute I can't touch and I'm treading water.

And treading, and treading, and treading... and starting to get tired.

I attempted to work my way back to the shore.

Kick, kick, kick. Swim, swim, swim. Nothing.
Push, push, push. Kick, kick, kick. Swim some more.
Hmm...

I've been out much farther in the ocean before with no problem, but suddenly I was out there and for all my I kicking, swimming and struggling, I wasn't going anywhere. In fact, I seemed to be getting only further away and I couldn't stand up to rest and catch my breath. By then I was already extremely fatigued from fighting.

I didn't know then I was in a rip current.

I thought if I could get back to Ray and he could stand then I could rest for a little while. But when he told me he couldn't stand either, I knew I was in trouble. My distress and fatigue at that point was obvious though I was trying to mask it, and Ray came over to me. When he did I grabbed onto him in the hopes that I could lean on him and rest, but he couldn't stand either, and we both went under.

I had the distinct feeling when we came up that if grabbed onto him again we'd both drown. I remember that from swim lessons as a kid - a drowning person will drown you with them.

Ray wasn't panicking but he was fearful. What he didn't know was that I had been struggling to get myself back closer to the shore for some time and was already exhausted.

I continued to struggle to get back to where I could stand but I was getting exponentially more fatigued by the second. Even staying afloat was work, and every time I went under a wave it was a little harder to push myself back up.

At that point I knew I had to get to shore quickly and I didn't have the strength to do it on my own.

I knew I was going to drown unless someone came for me.
   
I looked Ray in the eye and said, "I'm not going to make it."

His face went slack with distress and he grabbed my arm to try and pull me, but when he did I went under again. I could barely keep my head above water on my own, and it was impossible to keep my head above water while struggling with him. I actually thought we were both going to drown by him trying to save me.

"Stay away from me," I told him. "Don't come near me."

It probably sounded harsh, but I was attempting to save us both. I had enough energy left to tread water for a little while if nothing was impeding me, and I figured if I went under again I at least had enough energy left to push myself back up to the surface a few more times.

And then, without saying a word to Ray, and it must have been somewhat startling, I yelled to the shore for help. Screaming, as loud as I could, HELP! 

Even though I fleetingly thought 'This is going to make quite a scene at this very crowded beach,' I was acutely aware my time and energy was quickly fading.

When I started yelling for help, so did Ray. I could see the lifeguard stand but I wasn't sure if they could hear us. But I figured someone on the shore would be able to hear us and would pass it along to the lifeguards.

Within seconds I saw the fuzzy outline of a lifeguard leave the stand and told myself, "Just relax, keeping treading, they're coming..." I knew I could tread water at least until he got there.

I don't know what happened in the interim, it seemed like mere seconds passed, but suddenly the lifeguard was there, right in front of me, like he just appeared out of the ocean.

He pushed his orange flotation thing to me and grabbed me from behind. I heard him tell Ray to grab on too. We were both exhausted and scared. Then another lifeguard appeared and gave Ray his own floaty, and Ray told him that he was sorry, that he just couldn't figure out a way to get me to shore and he said, "I thought, 'I'm going to watch my girlfriend drown, or drown myself trying to help her.'"

I felt secure at that point, like everything was scary but ok, and scoffed and told Ray, 'This is their job. They are probably having fun right now.'

Behind me I heard my lifeguard say, 'Beats sitting in a chair.'

While I was more secure and somewhat joking, I also think I was trying to pretend that this was no big deal - 'This is their job' - because that is my MO. But meanwhile, Ray was well-aware this was a big freakin' deal, and he was sorry we were all in this situation.

When we got closer to the shore the lifeguards told us a big wave was coming and then suddenly, I felt the concussion of my lifeguard's forehead against the back of my head. The force knocked me face first into the water, and the wave overtook us. The blow to my head hurt so badly I wondered briefly if I would come back up or if I had a concussion and would drown that way.

About then the guard pulled me up out of the water and basically dragged my ass the rest of the way to shore, standing behind me. When we got there he asked if I could stand and walk, and I did, but my legs were like Jell-O and I was super unstable. What I wanted to do was fall into the sand. But the beach was shoulder-to-shoulder when we got there, and now everyone was shoulder-to-shoulder on the shoreline watching me be dragged in.

I waved to everyone standing and staring and said something like, 'Hey everyone, very exciting, I nearly drowned.'

I was trying to make light of it but internally I was just about to freak the hell out.

A little girl who was holding her dad's hand said to me, 'The waves are really big. Was it rough? It was rough wasn't it?' She was so cute and sweet and I was afraid she'd be scared, so I told her it was really rough but that I was ok and she had to be very careful.

Suddenly Ray was there again. It was like I didn't see him for a long time once the lifeguards got there, even though it was probably less than a minute. He stood there holding me up on the beach and was talking to me, but I couldn't really hear him. All I kept saying was, "I'm ok. I'm ok."

I don't know if I was trying to convince him, or me.

We went back to our chairs and spent the next hour alternately feeling traumatized and making jokes.

The lifeguards at Rehoboth are not like the Midwestern, pool-grade lifeguards we see, they're super buff hotties who are trained and skilled at saving people from the ocean (check out their required skills test, and then their photos - hotties galore), so if you're going to nearly drown I'd highly recommend doing so at Rehoboth Beach.

I joked to Ray from the safety of my beach chair that, 'Hey, wait, didn't I need mouth-to-mouth from the really hot one?!' To which Ray replied, 'I'm glad you didn't, I'd have never seen you again.'

One minute I'd be demanding that the lifeguards come back so I could get their phone numbers, you know, to call and make out with them and thank them, the next my eyes would well with tears at how terrifying it all was.

I mean, I've been through a lot, I had cancer, but never have I felt so singularly aware that my life was in immediate peril... that's because I've never felt like I was going to drown before.

I kept apologizing to Ray for how scary it was and for putting us at risk, and Ray kept saying, 'I'm just glad you're ok. Jesus, Gina. Damn it. Never a dull moment with you.' Then he'd shake his head. And then again, 'Jesus, Gina... Damn it, I'd like to marry you... before you drown.'

While I repeated over and over, 'Holy shit. I'm glad I didn't drown. But what a great story!'

There was a lot of swearing afterwards.

After about an hour we went to thank the lifeguards and that's when they said we got caught in a rip current, which I didn't really know what that was. But after looking it up it made me feel better. Before that I thought I'd inadvertently caused it myself by going out too far, even though I've certainly been out further in the ocean before without problems, so I couldn't understand what happened or how I'd failed so spectacularly.

The guard said they have to pull people out all the time because they fight and get exhausted and panic, adding, 'You probably won't be the last one today.'

Before Friday I thought of rip currents as being these violent washes of water that pull you out suddenly. It wasn't like that. Instead it just steadily carried me away from Ray and further from the shore without me even realizing it. By the time I needed to fight to get back, I was ill-informed to help myself.

Getting out of a rip current is counter-intuitive - you have to first go parallel to the shore before you can get back in. It doesn't matter how good of a swimmer you are if you don't know this. And in my case, even knowing this would have been unhelpful because I couldn't identify that I was even in a rip current. My Hollywood idea of them was that they are these fast moving tides of water. Not the case. 

Every once in a while I have that, 'Oh my god, I am so glad I didn't drown' moment, but mostly I recount the story all Baywatch-esque, with the lifeguards running through the surf all tan and buff in slow motion while Chariots of Fire plays.

And I figure I got maybe another week of milking parlaying this trauma into iced lattés and flowers from Ray.

'It was so scary when I nearly drowned, woooo... I sure could go for a little treat, like an iced-vanilla soy latté.' *blink, blink, blink

And every time Ray says anything nice I ascribe it to my near-drowning, so he remembers how scary it was an is even nicer. 'Aww, I love you too. I'm so glad we didn't drown. Oh, are these flowers for me, because I almost died?'

I joke, but truly, it was scary stuff. I shudder when I think about it too much.

Hours after this happened I saw the "Danger, Rip Currents" sign and also the "Welcome to Rehoboth Beach" sign that included another rip current warning and took some photos beside it. (Too soon?)



But because you're now better informed, you should absolutely watch this video about rip currents from the University of New South Wales in Australia. It's informative and shows several kinds of rip currents, which basically look like nothing if you don't know about them, and also looks like the safest, calmest place in the water. But as this guy says, it takes only a minute to drown, and they can come in and out quickly.


"That's a common thing about these flash rips, is that they can suddenly occur where a large number of waves are breaking, and it pushes the rip out, and then it disappears."

And also read up and see pictures from the University of Delaware Sea Grant College Program. "...The inherent variability of rip currents makes them especially dangerous to unwary or uninformed beachgoers."

That'd be me, folks, unwary and uninformed.

So anyway, you're welcome, you guys, I didn't drown. Send your checks/deep gratitude/anger to Rehoboth Beach Patrol.

Weiner of the Mid-West

I went to Chicago a few weeks ago...



And my hotel was right beside Gino's Pizza, where there was always a line of tourists waiting outside in the crippling heat.



I hate crippling heat and Chicago style pizza. If you hate Chicago style pizza too (ie, it sits in your stomach like a wet mitten and never digests), then go to Osteria Via Stato instead (which is just a few blocks away) and get the caprese salad and sausage pizza. Both are amazing.

I thought I made pretty good caprese salad. Turns out, no. My caprese salad sucks compared to the oven roasted tomato sweetness of this caprese.




While I was there I visited the Sears Tower the Willis Tower, as in, 'Whatch-you talkin' 'bout, Willis.'



If you're going to rename a tower (or anything really) I'm in favor of naming it after a sitcom character. I mean, I always knew Mr. Drummond had a lot of money, but wow... a whole tower! And it sure beats calling it the Papa Johns Pizza Tower, or whatever.

I also saw someone triathlon training a body floating in the lake.



And a tiger.



But my favorite part of the trip was seeing my old college pal Sandy...



Who had me meet her at a biker bar...

Where she had a plate of deep fried bacon waiting for me...



This is one of the many reasons we've been friends for 15 years, she just gets me, you know.

This Is WAR

Today, between 1000 and 1100 hours Eastern Time, a malicious, unprovoked attack was launched against my banana. With my own grippy pencil.*

What kind of jerkface exacts this kind of hate crime on someone's snack? Who hates healthy snacks, anyway?

A total jerkface, that's who.

Diagrams, motivation & intent flow charts, fingerprint kits, crime scene tape, little banana sized chalk outlines - no expense will be spared in my investigation.

This act of aggression will not stand, man.

*Rachel said whoever the elementary school jackass is who has the grippy pencil is the perpetrator, forcing me to reveal that I am the elementary school jackass with the grippy pencil. (what?)

The Weak Will Be Force-Fed Anti-Depressants (The Rest of You Will Be Made to Drive Yourself to the ER)

Speaking of my parents not calling when they are sick or something is happening... Ray and Susie made a quick stop through the 'Nati last night and as we were dipping our saratoga chips into barbecue sauce, my mom scolded my dad for not calling her when he went to the emergency room last month.

Really, I thought. This is rich.

"Gina, he went to the doctor at 8 am, and I sat and waited all day to find out what happened," she threw him a stern glance. "By the afternoon I thought he must have gone to his sister's. I had no idea he was in the emergency room. He didn't even call to tell me. You should have called," she finished, giving my dad another disgusted look.

She finally called his doctor's office at 4, and they told her he went to the emergency room.

"I had no idea," my mom said.

Meanwhile, my dad's excuse to this was that he doesn't have a cell phone. "How was I supposed to call," he kept innocently asking, as if landlines and cell phones are rare things that no one has. Then to deflect responsibility from himself he'd add, "And I had to drive myself to the emergency room!"

I scolded my dad for not calling her when he went to the ER. Very inconsiderate, I said.

And then it was my turn... I asked my mom to please explain to me how she can be upset with him for not calling her, but how it was a-ok that she not call me for two days when he was in the hospital.

"Yeah, Susie, justify that!" my dad goaded, eager to get the heat off of him.

Sometimes I feel like the child of Lucy and Desi, with all these simple, ordinary tasks turned into situational comedy. Apparently none of us can pick up a phone. But bet your life that if Ray or Susie needed something from Amazon they'd call me 40 times to make sure I ordered it.

My mom, who is often as filterless as my dad (shockingly), also told me this hilarious little gem.

My parents' neighbor came over blinking back tears when she heard my dad had driven himself to the emergency room, and presumably because he was sick in the hospital.

So my mom told her, "Honey, I think you need some anti-depressants."

I stopped eating my sweet potato and covered my mouth with my hand. Ray (my boyfriend, not my dad) and I looked at each other. Oh my god, mom... did you really say that to that woman?!

"I did. I probably shouldn't have," she said, recounting the story while hilariously pretending to blink back tears. "But something is wrong. Normal people don't cry just because someone has to drive themselves to the emergency room."

Horribly, I laughed until tears fell out of my own eyes. My mom is actually very sweet spirited, but man she can be too honest for her own good.

Then my dad announced, for the twentieth time, "And I had to drive my own self to the emergency room! And I almost died on the way, twice!"

Pack your bags, everyone. We're going on a guilt trip with the Daugherty's.

Cupcake Wars

I'm sorry about all that mean stuff I said about cupcakes being a blight on America, but come on, who hasn't wanted throw a rock through the window of a 'cupcakery' and into the frothy pink ruins of a cakestand of mini desserts.

Cupcakes, you have gone too far - tv shows! gourmet red velvet! omg-it's-so-CrAzY-cute-imma-explode-sprinkles!

Enough.

Until... I inhaled this little gem from Abby Girl Sweets Cupcakery on Fifth Street today.

It's a Lemon Drop, and it's so light and airy and summery it practically floated out of its protective cupcake housing and right into my mouth.

I guess this means my ban on cupcakes has ended... but I'd still kinda like to throw a rock through a cupcakery window. Because then I could pretend I didn't do it and be all, "Omg, what will you do with all these ruined cupcakes?! Ok well, I guess I'll help eat them."

Cause I'm a good citizen like that.

We Are Invincible

We do not have health problems in my family.

We do not talk about what ails us, at least not what might be serious anyway. Peeing blood? No biggie. Cancer? A minor inconvenience. Rheumatoid arthritis? They have drugs for that, right?

Something is always nothing with my kin. Did the house burn down? No? Then everything is fine. Did anyone die? No? Then it will be fine. We are Mid-Western stock, where every crisis is weathered with stoicism, humor and good dose of burying our heads in the sand. We are super great at the latter.

When my mom was diagnosed with RA a few years ago it was month before I was told. "I didn't want to worry you," she said.

When my dad was having a stent put into his heart five years ago he was already under anesthesia before my mom decided it was important enough to tell me about it. Again, they didn't want to "worry me."

It was that one when I came unglued. I flew into a rage so swift and so immediate that my parents are still terrified of me. 

"You're not going to storm through the house crying and slamming doors again, are you, Gina?" my mom asks me.

"I might. It depends on what you're hiding from me," I tell her.

So not surprisingly, it was a full 24 hours before I was told a month ago that my dad was once again under the knife.

My mom's first voicemail sounded perfectly reasonable and calm. Nothing to see here, I figured. I'll call her back later. But then she called again a few minutes later, this time, more anxious.

"Gina, you need to call me back. It's... kind of important."

Gina...  She never uses my name.

'Kind of' important... Oh god, the shit must be hitting the fan.

By that time my dad had been sick for several days, had been to the doctor and subsequently sent to the ER in Marion, then ferried by ambulance to Ft. Wayne, where there is a bigger hospital with actual surgeons and machines and stuff.

When I called back she said, "Well, you're dad's out of surgery. He's in the recovery room now."

She said this as if it neatly summed up everything and next we'd be chatting about the weather.

Um, WHAT?!

"Why, for God's sake, are you just now telling me this. Recovery room? What happened? What kind of surgery?"

He was sick and throwing up, "turned orange as pumpkin," she said, something was blocking his liver but they couldn't figure out in Marion what it was. So they took him to Ft. Wayne. He'd been in the hospital in Ft. Wayne for 24 hours before she called me.

I was in public when I called her back, standing on the sidewalk outside of a restaurant. I debated to what degree I could lose my shit there. I considered walking back into the restaurant and flipping a table over.

I don't like to be too hard on my mom, and I could tell she'd had a rough few days. But in a word, I was pissed.

"My God, mom. Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"I didn't know anything."

"You knew he was sick."

"We didn't know what was wrong. I didn't want to worry you."

I wanted to come unhinged. I could feel my blood boiling.

The next morning I drove to Ft. Wayne to see my dad, who apparently had a necrotic gall bladder, which was reeking all kinds of havoc on his insides, in addition to turning him "orange as a pumpkin." The surgeon told him it was "the gall bladder from hell," and extracting it turned the rest of his hair white.

I sat on the edge of my dad's hospital bed as my mom told me that what was supposed to be a simple, hour long surgery turned into a several hours-long procedure as they negotiated my dad's scarred insides from previous ulcer surgeries.

Because I am mature and was raised to be a reasonable person, I squinted at my mom, lowered my voice and said slowly, "Great. Well, the next time something happens to me, like, ohhhh, cancer or peeing blood or a head wound or whatever, I'll just call you when everything's blown over. I. Don't. Want. To. Worry. You."

Then I considered pushing my dad's hospital food tray onto the floor. You know, for effect.

Except, this is exactly what I'd do. I'd tell them once everything was a-ok, because seriously, I am totally fine. And I'd probably the start the conversation with, "Haha, funny story, mom... I have a hole in my bladder."

But that's because I'm invincible. I don't know what the hell happened to them, but somewhere along the line they became mortal. And I don't like it. I don't like it one bit.

RESPECT

They "let" me park on the sidewalk.

What they didn't know was that my scooter gang peeps were hidden and ready to launch cupcakes Chinese Stars at them if they didn't.

Because when I want a deli sandwich with Brie and sweet jalapeno jelly, I want it right then.

'S'what I thought. Bitches.

Happy Independence Day, America

In which Marvin Gaye shows us how to unlock a warhorse... Never have I heard the National Anthem sound so smooooth.

USA! USA!

Barre Work

My history with ballet is messy.

Basically, I hate it. And I hate it because I don't have any real training in it. I don't know the language they use, and, therefore I don't know many of the steps or movements.

And yet, every few years, I end up trying it again. Because it's good for me. Because it forces my body to do things I otherwise never ask it to do, and because it improves my balance, lengthens my muscles and helps me spatially.

I leave ballet class knowing my body better and understanding its kinetics and how small adjustments make big improvements in power, strength and stability.

So ages ago I bought a Groupon for three adult ballet and/or hip hop classes at the Cincinnati Ballet.

Usually I take Rhythm and Motion at the Ballet (did anyone else see the class doing a little flash mob at the Hyde Park Blast party last night? It was phenomenal and spirited as always), and I love it there - the big studios with walls of mirrors and dancers of all types. It's walking onto the set the of Fame, and I am definitely going to live forever.

After months and months of sitting on the Groupon, I finally decided Saturday morning I would face the barre for my yearly ritual of reminding myself why I hate ballet. I was prepared to leave scowling and spend the rest of my Groupon on hip-hop classes, where I could break it down all America's Best Dance Crew style and randomly shout "WHAT! WHAT!" during class.

Saturday morning I pulled on my pale pink footless tights, black booty dance shorts, a purple tank top and a white off-the-shoulder dance shirt.

Look, I might nearly twist my ankle off in a pirouette and arabesque with the crepitude of a granny, but damn it, I will look the part. (I also might have looked the part of a tween girl attending a Go Go's concert in 1982… My lips are sealed.)

The instructor was Cincinnati Ballet soloist Dawn Kelly. I would be learning from a master of the craft.

Dawn is lithe and unassuming, but do not be fooled. She commands the room, even sitting down.

Her instructions were quick and direct, teaching us the way she was surely taught - absolute and with conviction.

Understand?
Questions?
No?
Music.

Though we were mostly amateurs (although some of the dancers were really very talented ballerinas who I had no business sharing a ballet barre with), she didn't indulge our inexperience. We had to rise to her level of instruction. If we failed, so what.

'I know you don't want to do this,' she said of a particular combination, 'but I cannot help you with that.'

I giggled at the Zen quality of her statement. Technique she could help us with. For desire, we were on our own.

As she told us the count for the barre work she clapped the rhythm and said, 'It's on the-one. And a-one, and a-two… and a-one, this is FUN.'

Her dryness was hilarious.

When we were pirouetting at the barre (more like spinning out of control), she covered her eyes with her hands and cringed.

A room full of wannabes was slaughtering the craft she's spent her career perfecting, probably best to not watch.

We cracked up as she hid her face.

Obviously, the class appreciated and adored her. And there were more than a few regulars. She was thoughtful and disciplined in her teaching, and I left with a little more understanding of what I find to be a lovely if strict art form.

What I appreciated most is that she didn't embarrass me. Many times when I take classes in things I am bad at - ballet, yoga, really anything that requires my nerve damaged feet to balance or hold my body weight on one side - the instructor tends to single me out for correction.

It makes sense but it gets embarrassing, and I'm not there to become a master of these things. I'm there to have fun and try it out and maybe learn something. And it's hard to explain covered in sweat and shame that, Look, lady, unless you can repair the dead nerves in my legs then your correction will NEVER work.

But Dawn didn't single us out. She took our varying skill levels under consideration, corrected where she saw fit, and left us to enjoy the experience.

She was terrific. And I can't wait to go back.

I have decided to get a DVD of basic ballet so that I can practice and totally WOW the class with my almost-mediocrity in the next few weeks.

Dawn is going to be so proud of my progress.

Girl Walks Into A Bar

Recently, I've noticed a lot fools talking about going to "pubs."

Please, for the love of God, stop it.

Sometimes they're nice, sometimes they're dumps. But regardless, they're bars.

You're allowed to call it "a pub" only if that is the proper name, such as The Pub at Rookwood or Cock & Bull English Pub.

But come on, who are they kidding. They're bars too.

If you want to argue this bar vs. pub point please meet me at my favorite dive bar, City View Tavern, where you can buy me drinks until I'm convinced otherwise.

If there is any confusion when you get back from the jukebox, the fuller beer is mine.

China Can Go To Hell

*zzzzzzz
*sigh
*SIGHHHHH

Didn't you guys notice I was being miserable?!

I said *SIGHHHHHHH!!

Gina, you're so awesome… why all this discontent and drear?

Why, thank you. And thank you for asking. I appreciate that.

Blah. I'm bored.

Currently I am drowning my sorrows in a Pizza Rolls, which I will regret eating immediately after eating them, only adding to my misery.

Misery loves Pizza Rolls.

It's just me and the Roomba this week, you guys. And the cats. Ray is in China. For like, a month. A month.

Ok, it's not actually a month. It's more like a week, but still. BORING.

Anybody want to go to the pool with me this weekend? What about walk with me to Graeter's? More importantly, who wants to cook me dinner to prevent me from eating my body weight in frozen foods every night.

*anybody? anybody?
*sigh

Hopefully I will channel this energy into grocery shopping and reading. But this is highly unlikely as I'm more prone to lethargy and watching Real Housewives re-runs.

As far as I can tell right now the highlights of my week will be:

• brushing the cats (and having them shred me)
• eating free food at the Reds/Yankees game tonight (I hope there are nachos)
• watching the Roomba (ok fine, I follow it from room to room)
• drowning my boredom in cheap red wine (what else is new)

The last time Ray went on a trip for a week I bought an iPad. The time before that I bought a fancy chair. And another time I got tipsy at Wine Guy Bistro, called him on his way back from St. Louis and told him if he didn't drive directly to my house I was going to take the battery out of my smoke alarm.

Take that, I warned.

Look for me this week wandering around the aisles of Target. One minute you're buying pet clothes for your Roomba and the next you're all, "Ooh, an Easy Bake Oven!"

Ray's gonna be so stoked when he gets back and discovers I've become the Ace of Cakes, Easy Bake Oven style. Plus, I'm gonna need to make desserts for our new baby. He promised to bring me back a present... which can only mean one thing, a cute Asian baby!

And don't even tell me babies don't love baked goods because that's a lie.

I am a danger to society.

Happy 3 a.m. breast feeding, Amanda!

Please enjoy this out-of-context snapshot of things people have texted/said/emailed to me recently.

• Like ALL of them. HILLBILLIES. Really, who wears those sweat pants anymore? Can you even buy them at a store anymore?

• (Redacted) and (Redacted) were always sitting around getting drunk and self-medicating, probably so they could tolerate one another. After a few drinks I tolerated them better myself too, that's for sure.
 
• I am dressed like Luke Skywalker today.

• Going to go take a pic of my underpants... stay tuned.
Why not? I've already seen a pic of u on the toilet. Let's go there.

• So for now that has meant making my own fun... like making my own pipe cleaner people and have them go on adventures. It's like TV, only waaaaaaayy more intense.

• It's like putting together one of those photomosaic puzzles, which is to say it's like being in hell. ...And what's wrong with Atlanta? Gladys Knight's Chicken & Waffles, bitches!

• I just found out that I might have to go to China. I'll certainly bring you something back - maybe a cute Asian baby.

• Let me get this straight, you think God is out to get you, and is just effing with you, by you losing those files?

• Just hold off disassembling your airbag 'til Sunday so we can hang out.

• Did you sign Jared up for Black Enterprise magazine? 

• Oh my god, you think a dolphin would be able to push the button better than a lion? You're crazy. The maintenance involved in keeping a dolphin would be a way worse than a lion. And you're supposed to be the smart one here.

• I think we're a better couple in the warmer weather.  Perhaps in November we should just hibernate until we're able to walk to Yagoot again in the spring.



• Remind me to tell you the story of my delicate little system being wrecked. Let's just say you can't eat a half box of Raisin Bran without repercussions.

• I know you're going through a divorce and your entire personal life is in the crapper, but let's talk about your personal watercraft...  can I borrow your Jet Ski?

• You don't know who Malvina is?! She's better than that Lady Goo Goo!

• There's something about you that makes me think about murder.

• Let Gina know her blog gets me through the 3 a.m. breast feeding. <-- thanks, Amanda.

Happy hump day everybody.

Let Us Commence

*clears throat

To the class of 2011... Everything I would say to you has already been said better by smarter, funnier people with richer life experiences. Let me guide you.

Steve Jobs 2005 commencement address to Stanford is an incredible speech. Funny, inspiring, heartfelt, and he makes a helluva case that getting fired from his own company was actually… awesome.

Set backs. What setbacks?

You have have to trust that dots will somehow connect in your future… because believing the dots will connect down the road will give you the confidence to follow your heart even when it leads you off the well-worn path.

...

Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.

...

Stay hungry. Stay foolish.

Do you yourself a Big Favor and watch this speech. Or read the full text.

Comedian Amy Poehler to the Harvard class of 2011.

You can't do it alone. As you navigate through the rest of your life be open to collaboration. Other people and other people's ideas are often better than your own. Find a group of people who challenge and inspire you, spend a lot of time with them and it will change your life.

God, Allah, Buddha, Gaga... whomever you pray to. They have helped you get here, and that should make you feel less alone and less scared.

The woman has swagger. And you can't teach that, my friends.

And finally, writer Annie Lamott.

Your problem is how you are going to spend this one odd and precious life you have been issued. Whether you're going to spend it trying to look good and creating the illusion that you have power over people and circumstances, or whether you are going to taste it, enjoy it and find out the truth about who you are.

Read the speech, it's spectacular.

As for me... For you students considering publishing, writing, art, performance, I would advise you to work with the human genome instead. Waaaay easier.

Just kidding. See Jobs, Lamott speeches again. Otherwise, trust in Gaga.

Who's In?!

It's gonna be a WHITE HOTT Friday night, you guys.

Breakin' The Law! (And Planting Flowers)

"We felt like total badasses."

It's Baaaaaack

Two trips to the pool(s)
Two trips to Taste
Two grill-outs
Nada
MotR
A funnel cake
Bridesmaids (hysterical)
Girls night out
Old friends, new friends
And several date nights with this dude I've been seeing, who also happens to be my boyfriend

Hello again, Summer. It's great to have you back!

Don't Look Back

To celebrate Bob's 70th birthday today I created this list of my fave Bob songs for you guys.

I tried to make it ten but couldn't so I decided to make it 15, then I couldn't do that either and since I make the rules around here it's 16+.

They're in no particular order other than the order I thought of them in, so basically that means all 16+ plus is my favorite Bob song of all time.

Right click on mp3 to download them. And you damn well should. I chose each version based on years of listening. My gift to you. Don't thank me, thank Bob.

I have to go to bed now because I have to be at work at 6:30 in the morning tomorrow... 'They'll stone ya when you're tryin' to be so good.'

1. She Belongs To Me
'She's got everything she needs, she's an artist, she don't look back.'
mp3

2. Tonight I'll Be Staying Here With You
'If there’s a poor boy on the street, then let him have my seat, ’cause tonight I’ll be staying here with you.'
mp3

3. When The Deal Goes Down
'More frailer than the flowers, these precious hours, that keep us, so tightly… bound.'
mp3

4. Visions of Johanna
'Louise, she's all right, she's just near.'
mp3

5. You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go
'But there’s no way I can compare, all those scenes to this affair, you're gonna make me lonesome when you go.'
mp3

6. Standing In The Doorway
'Don’t know if I saw you, if I would kiss you or kill you/It probably wouldn’t matter to you anyhow.'
mp3

7. Abandoned Love
'I love to see you dress before the mirror, won’t you let me in your room one time ’fore I finally disappear?'
mp3

8. It's All Over Now, Baby Blue
'Take what you have gathered from coincidence.'
mp3

9. Stuck Inside of Mobile With the Memphis Blues Again
'An’ she says, “Your debutante just knows what you need/But I know what you want'
mp3

10. Most of the Time
'I don’t compromise and I don’t pretend/I don’t even care if I ever see her again... Most of the time'
mp3

11. Don't Think Twice, It's All Right
'I ain’t sayin’ you treated me unkind/You could have done better but I don’t mind/You just kinda wasted my precious time/But don’t think twice, it’s all right.'
mp3

12. Your a Big Girl Now
'I can change… I swear.'
mp3

13. Tomorrow is a Long Place (Or Time, depending on which Bob source you're referring)
'I can’t hear the echo of my footsteps/Or remember the sounds of my own name.'
mp3

14. Most Likely You'll Go Your Way (And I'll Go Mine) - Dap Kings/Mark Ronson remix
'You said you told me that you want to hold me, but you know you're not that strong.'
mp3

15. Girl from North Country
'Please see for me see has a coat so warm/She once was a true love of mine.'
mp3

16. Not Dark Yet
'Every nerve in my body is so vacant and numb/I can’t even remember what it was I came here to get away from.'
mp3

+ Bonus track - Talkin' Bear Mountain Picnic Massacre Blues (The funniest song you will hear in your ENTIRE life.)
'Maybe we just better call off the picnic.'
mp3

Happy Birthday, Bob

Oh, We Fancy

Excuse me people, but you can't just roll into an upscale, expensive joint like Nicola's because you feel like it. Because you feel like dropping a bunch of money on dinner.

No, no, no. You need a reason. An excuse.

Since we didn't have any excuses - it's not your birthday? what about mine, could it be my birthday? what about a fake anniversary? - we made one up: I had a fantastic new dress and boots I needed to take for a spin, and Ray (my boyfriend not my dad) wanted an excuse to see me in a fantastic new dress and boots.

Excuses, check.

Nicola's was ours for a night.

First Course - Booze

The Boss Man is a complete wine snob (snif).

"Rotgut" is what he calls the wine I call delicious. So I sent him the URL to Nicola's wine list with the demand, "something awesome and reasonable." From his office I heard, "I can't believe they're charging 80 bucks for that swill!'

Who says wine snobs aren't charming?

But within minutes he'd consulted his fancy-schmancy wine ratings nerd site and recommended the Pinot Noir, Oliver Lane, 2007 for a mere $60. SOLD.

We drank it like we knew about notes and finishes and vintages, which we don't. But in a word, it was deeee-licious. (Dear Wine Spectator, that review is copyrighted, hands off.)

Second Course - Bread



I'd heard great things about the bread basket at Nicola's but daaaamn. Did Jesus knead this stuff?

I know what you're thinking, 'It's a bread-basket, whatever.' No, dude. It's not just a bread basket. It's a work of culinary art. All kinds of delightful varieties - some buttery, others brushed with olive oil, some adorned with tomato slices and cucumber, others flat or twisted into pretzel shapes. I wanted to hold it in my lap and dare someone to take a piece from me.

We agreed we could just sit and eat bread all night, forget about dinner. But we had to soak up all that wine, so...

Third Course - Treasure salad

We both had the Boucheron goat cheese salad, which was apple-vinaigrette dressing covering mixed greens and hiding a slice of warm goat cheese. Basically it was like discovering a treasure at the bottom of your salad. A warm, flavorful little treasure.

Fourth Course - Dinner



I went with a classic, the bolognese with tagliatelle. It's been on the menu at Nicola's either as a special or a permanent fixture since the restaurant opened 13 years ago, the waiter told me.

Sure, there are all sorts of lavish dishes on the menu and far fancier pastas, but I wanted something traditionally Italian. I wanted to be impressed by something you can get almost anywhere, but the one thing you can rarely get exquisitely done.

And here it is. Creamy, hearty, thick and perfect. I'm sure the people next to us were sick of my raves but I couldn't help it. Everything was so fantastic.

Ray had the short ribs with pureed parsnips. But let's be clear, he was completely green with envy over my choice. I get this giant bowl of pasta and he gets a giant plate with some short ribs and a circle of parsnip puree in one corner. His was good, but mine was better.

The best thing about dating me - in addition to my phenomenal dance moves - is that I always leave food on my plate. So he gets to eat 1.5 meals wherever we go - his and the rest of mine. When I'd eaten all I could take I slid my plate across the tablecloth so he could finish the rest.

He is a lucky guy.

Fifth Course - More Booze



Now, this is really going to surprise you guys but we decided to have a nightcap, which is a euphemism for "this is probably a bad idea."

Embracing this, we headed to Below Zero, which has become our 'go-to' on any given night, mostly because it's practically in Ray's backyard.

It's a gay bar frequented by older, established gays. You won't find any shirtless, oily younguns looking to mash on other shirtless, oily younguns here (sad) though I do happen to love shirtless oily younguns dancing to techno.

I drank a margarita as we sat the bar and watched videos. Remember music videos? BZ plays them on a constant loop. It's spectacular, and by spectacular I mean I revel in crushing Ray at naming artists - Madonna, Kylie Minogue, Janet Jackson. Like he has a snowballs chance in hell at a gay bar in besting me in naming artists.

Please. It's not even fair really.

The problem with Below Zero is I love it too much - because I can sit and watch videos of Madonna and Lady Gaga all night, and that makes me want to live there. (Did we bring my sleeping bag? What do you mean I don't have a sleeping bag?!)

I'm always up for another drink at that joint. Sit. Your ass. Down. Madonna is on. We are NOT leaving during Like A Prayer.

The other great thing about dating me are my completely reasonable responses to Madonna videos playing on a TV at 1 a.m.

So anyway, Nicola's date night - fantastic.

I Had A Dream, I Had An Awesome Dream (That Lionel Richie Was My Boyfriend)

"Can I ask you a question?"

It seemed... serious. The colleague asking is from India, and usually we talk about the differences between American and Indian culture - sports, music, marriage, etc. It's always enlightening.

"Sure," I told him.

"Who is that man in that picture?"

"That man is Lionel Richie, my friend. And he's a lyrical genius."

Then I began singing the words to Hello. And I kinda got into, and started breakin' it down in my cube.

"Oh. I thought it was your boyfriend."

"Phsssht, I wish. If only my boyfriend had a bad-ass Jehri curl like that."

He used to have a mullet though. My boyfriend, not Lionel Richie. Buuuuut... then again, Lionel is looking very business in the front party in the back here.

This poster is awesome on so many levels.

Well, It Could Have Been Worse!

Julie's not in this photo because she decided to get drunk instead of eat crepes. Or something like that.

The swear words I said to the rain on Sunday morning as my pony-tail and Mizunos filled with water would have made a longshoreman blush.

And the expletives I used to get my out-of-shape ass up Gilbert Avenue and then Eden Park hill… no one should be cursed at like that, least of all by their own foul mouth.

"Damn-it, Daugherty, you SUCK. How do you live with yourself, you miserable, lazy, horribly out of shape piece of (beep)! You should be (beeping) ashamed! (BEEEEEP!!!) This! This is all you've got to show for (beeping) yourself?! You're gonna let this hill kick your ass again?! Of course you are, because you (beeping) SUCK! You don't even deserve that gummi bear you're gonna eat... oooh! Gummi bears!"

Then I felt better.

It rained on me again this Pig. And it was a same out-of-shape slog for 6.8 miles as it was last year. And I could hardly walk for two days afterward I was so sore.

And yet, I would describe it all as fun. Can't wait for next year even!

But next year, things are gonna change - Imma be in shape! Imma run the whole time! Imma be lightning fast! Imma... wait, didn't I say this all last year?

Eh, whatevs.

To 2012!

Oh Hey, Great

It's Monday morning and there is a giant snake skin draped over my desk.

For the love of God it's Monday morning and there is a giant freakin' snake skin draped over my desk!

The end.

Spring And All*

Ault Park daffodils on April 10, right before it started raining and never stopped.

It is hard to concentrate. It's like I've returned to high school and the shining sun and humid air has me completely restless and drunk on the smell of lilacs and the sight of daffodils. Which is then only pulled out from under me when it starts pouring rain again. And again. And Again.

April is, indeed, the cruelest month.

APRIL is the cruelest month, breeding 
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing 
Memory and desire, stirring 
Dull roots with spring rain.

T.S. Eliot, 1922
The Wasteland

Consider this my spring poetry thesis (from dead white guys), because as I thought of that stanza, which I memorized a hundred years ago not because I had to, but because I couldn't not remember it, I thought of about a half-dozen more poems about spring and April that cut to the quick of this jarring season.

Leave it to poets to take the freshness of spring, when everything is supposed to be hopeful and new, to remind us of this yearly rollercoaster of longing and wishful thinking.

Eliot's "lilacs" brought my mind to Walt Whitman's When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd, Whitman's public mourning over the assassination over President Lincoln, and the "sprig of lilac" he intends to lay at his coffin.

When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d,
And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night,
I mourn’d, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.

Walt Whitman, 1865

Every returning spring, Walt? Ouch.

Since studying Wordsworth in English litch-rah-cha I can't see a daffodil and not think of the lines:

I wandere'd lonely as a cloud…

And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils

Wordsworth, 1804
Daffodils

But whatever joy and promise Wordsworth gave me in his Daffodils, Ted Hughes took it away when I read his Daffodils in Birthday Letters, his deathbed response to his wife, Sylvia Plath's, suicide.

Our lives were still a raid on our own good luck.
We knew we'd live forever. We had not learned
What a fleeting glance of the everlasting
Daffodils are. Never identified
The nuptial flight of the rarest epherma-
Our own days!
We thought they were a windfall.
Never guessed they were a last blessing.

Ted Hughes, 1998

Read the whole poem. Go ahead. And I challenge you to find me a more heartbreaking, nostalgic, bittersweet and remorseful poem about spring and death and relationships. Or daffodils, for that matter.

Now that we are all duly hopeful for better, sunnier days while filled with regret over gray skies and rain, who wants wine?!

Come over, we'll discuss. New topic: How to disable your car's airbag, because if we're gonna be up all night boozing over heart-wrenching spring poems we'll wanna die in the crash.

But let me end on a sunny note of spring here.

Though April remains the cruelest month, ee cummings' joyful, made-up words 'mud-luscious' and 'puddle-wonderful' from In Just make mud and rain seem fun, no? I could no more explicate this poem than I could cure heart disease (what, in the hell, are you talking about, ee?) but In Just has a vibe to it like it's a wet and wonderful spring whatever planet he's living on.   

* Of course the title of this post is after a William Carlos Williams poem of the same title, with the title parenthesis, By the Road to the Contagious Hospital. So, you know, there's that ray of sunshine too.

Praise Jesus!

It's Good Friday and I have the day off not because it's a holiday for me, but because I told the Boss Man I needed this important religious observance off to cleanse my soul.

I argued that if anyone needs to get closer to God it's me, so, pony-up with the approval, Boss Man.

He ripped up my request.

In fact, I have a stack of PTO requests he's ripped up. He doesn't believe in God or work-life balance, while I happen to be a firm believer in work-life balance.

I will go to the mat for PTO. I will judge anyone who isn't a zealot for time off. I observe days off with reverence, like it's my religion.

Me: Tomorrow is an important religious holiday and I'd like the day off to observe and reflect.

Boss Man: You can't even say that with a straight face!

Me: I can. Really. But... I just heard a really funny joke and umm... back to my serious convictions about wanting the day off tomorrow...

Boss Man: *rips up my PTO request

Me: What would Jesus think about your complete disregard for the environment... and my desire to get in touch with my spiritual side?

Boss Man: *beating his head against the filing cabinet

Me: I'm going to walk up all those steps at that church in Mt. Adams. You know, get ready for the Pig and repent all at once.

Tiffany (who teaches Sunday school): Do you even know what happened on Good Friday?

Me: Yes. Jesus rose from the dead, that's why it's called GOOD.

Tiffany: No. It's when he DIED.

Boss Man: Ohh, sorry we don't all have YOU as our Sunday school teacher.

Me: YEAH!

* wait, Boss Man and I can't be on the same page here... back to the fight

Me: You're not helping, Tiffany. Er... I mean, this is why I need the day off, to educate myself. I'm a sponge thirsting for divine knowledge.

* Knowing he'd rather be stabbed than touched, I resort to guerrilla tactics and touch the Boss Man's hand, forcing a pen into it; he cowers in fear and disgust

Me: Sign the PTO slip or the hand gets touched again.

Boss Man (finally signing): You are the devil.

Ok, he didn't really call me the devil, but probably only because he doesn't believe in the devil.

I'm off to get this long-weekend party started begin my spiritual cleanse.

My Heart Just Sank (It's Probably The Oily Pizza Slices)

Sbarro is going bankrupt, you guys. A moment of silence for that little slice of mall food court heaven that hardened my arteries one slice at a time.

This is really really sad for me because when I used to work at the mall I would always eat Sbarro.

Ok, that's a lie. I never worked at the mall. But I did eat at Sbarro like clockwork, to the point where the Sbarro worker-guy who always heated up my greasy pizza slice thought I did and would give me the mall discount. For Sbarro. 

Let me explain.

Travel back in time with me, will you, to the year 1998, when your intrepid hero here, (that'd be me, jackasses), moved to Ohio from Virginia.

I lived in Hamilton for my second newspaper job and minus a boyfriend I had in Cincinnati (who worked nights), I didn't know anyone. So on Saturdays, since I was bored and didn't have any friends and was like, 23 years old, I'd go to Tri-County Mall and walk around and buy crap.

This was before Tri-County mall became a ghost-mall. It was in its two-story heyday, filled with commerce, Starbucks, American Eagle and a giant food court.

So basically, it was everything my 23-year-old heart desired.

Every Saturday afternoon I'd speed through the back roads of Butler County excited for a Frappuccino, a slice of Sbarro and some more clothes from American Eagle I didn't need.

The Starbucks was on the first floor near the tobacco shop and the pet store and I'd always get the same girl taking my order, "a light, tall, coffee Frappuccino." ("Light" because I was healthy.)

One day I noticed the price was a little lower. As she rung me up she pointed and said, "You work back there, right?" Which meant she a) thought I worked at the mall I was so consistent in my visits to Starbucks and b) thought I worked at either the pet store or the tobacco shop.

"Umm, yeah," I stammered.

I lied not because I wanted the mall employee discount so much, but more because of what it meant to admit that I spent so much time at the mall that the mall workers thought I worked there too.

Sad, people. Just sad. (Ok not really, I actually like the mall, still.)

A few weeks after getting called out at Starbucks I was getting my usual slice of Sbarro to wash down with my Frappuccino when the Sbarro worker guy says to me, "I thought you'd quit. I haven't seen you in a few weeks."

I stared at him.

Quit what, I wondered. Pizza? Food courts?

Ohhhhhhhh.

Oh.

He thinks I work at the mall.

"Umm, no. I didn't quit."

I got the mall employee discount at Sbarro too.

Now that I see Sbarro is going bankrupt I can't help but feel a tinge of sadness in my hardening arteries for them. I mean, they were really, really good to me as a fake mall employee.  

I'm sorry Sbarro if you're going bankrupt because I got 25 cents off my pizza order those few months in 1998. Or if because I finally made some friends and stopped eating your "Italian" food every weekend.

Oh god, this is all my fault. *sob

UNCLE

Dear This Week:

We are broke-up.

It's not me, it's you. You suck and I've had enough. I don't ever want to hear from you again.

Kisses,
Gina

P.S. You're getting fat.

P.P.S. Don't let me see your fat ass at happy hour tonight.

Pap Spears at Walgreens, Y'all

Skip to 1:37 - hilarity to ensue.

"Between the Swiffer refills and the cat food. Ladies, just look for the stirrups."

We Are 'Balls To the Wall'

1) Because we're all ovaries and 2) We're slow as hell.

Look for us at the Pig:

• I'll be the one dying on the hill into Eden Park
• Julie will be anxious about the serious runners near her who are bouncing around and stressing at the first relay stop
• Rachel is the one mostly likely to have 'Balls' lettered on her singlet
• and Michele will be enjoying a glazed donut while she waits for us at the fourth leg.

This is serious, you guys.

Friday Night With Gina Dreamboat

Some women storm out of bars on their boyfriends because he's a big jerk, or he's ogling other women, or maybe because he's dumping her.

Not this girl.

I left Ray sitting at bar this weekend because - wait for it! - he told me he didn't vote for the smoking ban.

I said, 'I can't date you anymore.' And I meant it.

For about 7 minutes.

Then about halfway home I thought, 'Uh oh, I just got all crazy pissy about a smoking ban... that passed five years ago. And I left Ray sitting at the bar. Oh. Crap. He's gonna be maaaaaad.'

Think, Daugherty, think! Tell him you're sorry. No wait, tell him you're having your period! YEAH. Oh, right. Umm... tell him it all started in the fourth grade... and you never learned to read!

Fortunately, Ray is more rational than I am when I've been, how shall I say this... overserved.

He wasn't even that mad that I dumped him, left in a fury and abandoned him at a bar by himself.

But seriously, who doesn't vote for the smoking ban?

Eh, he was young and stupid. As opposed to me, who is occasionally drunk and stupid.

Best. Girlfriend. Ever.

April Fools Day, 2011

It's 5:30 on Friday. My tax return is lighting a fire in my bank account and I'm halfway to Kenwood Mall.

My phone rings; it's the Boss Man. He never calls.

Shit. He's gonna want something and I'm gonna have to drive back to work. Ugh.

I answer anyway, because I'm good a employee like that.

He says, excitedly, "Did you hear about the new restaurant on the moon?"

I respond with silence.

He continues, undeterred: "It got bad reviews; the critics said it had no atmosphere."

Oh god, I think. It's even worse than having to drive back to work... on a Friday.

"Hahaha! Good, right?! There's a little April Fool's from a scientist for ya!"

It was the longest 31 seconds of my life.

Fortunately I was able to salve my mental anguish with a soft pretzel and some new clothes.

Name Our Relay Team

Training is easy.

In addition to working out like, six times already (and probably breaking my foot) I am also eating burritos, frozen pizzas and lots of Mexican food. You know, to get "in shape" for the Flying Pig Relay.

I plan to suck it kick-ass again this year, so look out world.

No, training is easy. The difficult part is coming up with an awesome team name, amirite?

Won't you be lambs and help Rachel, Julie, Michele and me with naming our relay team.

The suggestions so far are:

• Lady lumps
• Bad Case of the Runs
• Worst Pace Scenario
• Sole Train
• Balls to the Wall

(My personal fave is Balls To the Wall. I can't even say it without cracking up.)

We're having our first team meeting on Saturday, where we will continue our "training" over breakfast potatoes and further discuss this important race time topic.