Pittsburgh, like all cities, has a seedy side, a section of town where, I have discovered, one can unexpectedly watch a stranger’s M-M porn selection playing on a big screen television next to wide open windows as the pink light of dawn floods the morning sky. How do I know this? Well, it turns out that Amtrak and Greyhound both depart across the street from the big picture window of Liberty Bail Bonds. And that’s all I have to say about that … well, other than: “learn something new every day.”
In completely unrelated news, Pride month is underway with a full line-up of activities, including a festival in my neighborhood. An acquaintance cheerfully informed me that I can get a free drink when I get my free STD test at the festival. Thanks for the info, I guess? Since I don’t drink, they suggested a Shirley Temple, which made me wonder if STB appreciated having a drink named after her very young self. A quick Google suggests that she hated it, which seems particularly on brand for her. Adult life after a childhood owned by others must have been something of a trial for her.
Apropos of nothing in particular, I was both mis-gendered and mis-labeled (as butch) on the same day that I was offered a free STD test and got an eyeful of porn before I’d even had an iced tea. Do these experiences make me or Pittsburgh chaotic neutral? Perhaps both.
In service to all of you, I discovered, through application, that the weight of a box of tiles is equal to the number of stairs to be climbed x the outdoor temperature x the number of boxes to be carried x the distance traveled with each box x the height to which each box has to be lifted. This formula was tested extensively (by me and my eldest). In addition, we believe there may be a direct correlation between the amount of sweat produced and the number of activities scheduled immediately after the last box of tiles has been carried, i.e., the more one sweats the more need there is to be presentable directly after (or perhaps during) sweat production.
In news you don’t want to read, I went bra shopping with my daughter. She is helping me, in the first of many children parenting the parent moments in my future. Generally, I hate shopping but being with her while I tried on bras and subsequently contemplated my future as a Ren Fest cosplayer was legendary. If you’ve ever attended a Ren Fest, you can visualize the possibilities. I mean, seriously, why do two bras of the same size provide such astonishingly different fits? One was too big and another was so small only one of the girls was actually in the bra. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard during an experience that could have been frustrating and humiliating. Daughters, my friends. They deserve accolades.
Recently, my sister’s dog and I were at the coffee shop. We’re not allowed inside (except to get our drinks) but she’s perfectly happy outside, getting pets and greeting all the dogs. She absolutely loves dogs. We’ve made friends with a Bernese mountain dog and two bull terriers so far. Sadly, we did not get to visit with Fred, the miniature long-haired dachshund.
Unfortunately for Regal’s patience, the people at the table next to mine were eating bagel sandwiches that smelled absolutely fantastic. Regal tried crying, sitting on their feet, putting her nose on the table, and crying again. I stopped all of her efforts, to her disgust. The women sitting at the table were very sweet about it. They spoke Dutch to each other but addressed me in perfect English, when Regal clothes-lined one of them (yes, she absolutely did). I think it was all part of Regal’s plot to steal the food, practical from her perspective but embarrassing from mine.
We left shortly after that to visit the chickens. Regal has a fantasy about chickens that seems to involve eating them. They don’t care about her at all. In fact, they’re very used to dogs; it’s the life of city chickens. They live beside the sidewalk, chicken wire protecting them from invasive snoots, of which Regal’s is definitely one. Sadly, we were not able to stay long, staring at chickens. There was a very small dog with a very loud bark. It was scary, more scary than chickens are amazing.
After our walk, I returned alone to the coffee shop to continue working (which I am currently not doing because words are hard). My first act upon sitting was to spill some tea – the liquid kind, sadly. It made surprisingly little noise – a squishing sound rather than a crash. Two men rushed to help, one actually cleaning up part of the mess while I begged for a mop. Twenty years ago, I would have evaporated on the spot but no longer. These days, I swear and move on, which was, apparently, the right response because the customer sitting next to me laughed when I cursed (quietly).
The Appalachian Trail trip starts tomorrow – way too early in the morning. I’m completely ready (hahahahaha). Last night, I finished tick-proofing my gear and today I’m rethinking all my life choices. JK. I also bought new hiking boots. I know. I know. But my options were sore feet from bad boots or sore feet from new boots.
We’ll be hiking the Shenandoah and my plan is to take about 3 gazillion pictures. My other plan is to not die or significantly injure myself but we’re playing that one by ear, as they say.
For any thieves thinking I just confessed to an empty house, don’t be fooled. The house will be more full of people than usual thanks to parties being thrown in my absence. Lol. Also, I have a large and protective bull terrier. She loves me but she will absolutely hate you if you try to break into the house. You do not want to know what she does when she hates something. Facts.
All the dogs know something is UP. Every time I move, the puppy train connects to my heels. They absolutely will not let me move without following me. Tomorrow is going to be ruff (sorry, not sorry) for them.
One more sleep and one more shower before the big adventure. Ten miles a day and a nightly snooze in a hammock. Life goals.
See you on the flip side.
Much love.
