Sliding into home (part 2)

Part 2 insinuates a continuation from the first part, but that is not what this is.

I grew up in the late 70s – early 80s, child of sports fans.  Many a summer evening was spent in Three Rivers Stadium watching the Pirates beat up on whomever was in town.  As such, we knew of the greats (at least Pittsburgh greats) Willie Stargell, Dave Parker, and later the outfield to die for of Bonilla, Bonds, and Van Slyke. 

My brother, try though he might, could never quite keep Stargell and Parker straight and would end up yelling "Willie Parker!" as he slid into any base.  (Who knew he was calling out to a current Steeler?)  In case you weren't alive then, little kids shorts then looked something like this:

Maybe a little more loose in the leg, but you can get the idea.  At any rate, the three musketeers were doing their daily musketeer things like running around, yelling, jumping off of the highest thing possible, etc.  We were headed to the bottom of the hill when my brother took it upon himself to scream out "Willie Parker!" and perform his best slide into home.  Herein lies the problem.  You see, this quiet and gentle boy just didn't happen to put on any underwear on this particular day and as he slid down the hill with one leg outstretched in the classic slide position, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a small brown penis, oh dear oh dear.

Yup, it popped right out.  I don't remember exactly, but I'm gonna guess he was about 6 at the time, 7 at the oldest.  Young enough for him not to be embarrassed (at least until he reads this post) and young enough for us not to make a big deal of it.  But, out and out hysterical every time I think about it now.  We continued on with our day as if nothing ever happened because, to us, nothing did happen.  Do you know why?  Because the family jewels are sacred!

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Sliding into home

Back in the day, the three musketeers were inseparable.  My cousin Melanie, my brother and I.  All separated by one year, all birthdays in December.  The unified front against our cousins in Monessen.  While Mel lived about 40 minutes away (in a slightly more upscale neighborhood), we always managed to spend a ridiculous amount of time together.  Summers were especially awesome.  We lived in a very rural area where the days were very long and filled with fun times.  Our yard was huge as our grandparents lived right next door.  (Great for escaping the house, terrible for sneaking out or sneaking people in.)  They had a dog that was as big as a house, and being the Sagittarius that I am, I had a bond with that dog like no other.  They tell me that I used to ride around on her back like she was a horse.

I recall one early Saturday afternoon in particular.  I knew that Mel was coming to the house and I couldn't wait.  I had friends around the house, but then, family was way more important. (Unfortunately, the musketeers, or at least one of them, went their separate ways and forgot how important family was and is.)  I waited oh so impatiently to see my aunt's car come down our street.

Finally!  They're here! 

I ran out of our house like the proverbial bat out of hell.  Full speed ahead down through our yard and into my grandparents yard.  I was cute, I was graceful, I was small, and I was muscular.  I was excited.  I was covered in dog shit on my entire right side because in my haste, I didn't notice that the dog had dropped a bomb in my path.  I was running full speed and planted a foot directly in poop and then tried to turn a corner.  I was a running back on wet turf, tackled by number 2, Doo Doo Brown.

And this, this is the beautiful thing about family.  There was no embarrassment.  There was no mean laughing.  We all laughed together as badly as I smelled.  I took a shower, changed clothes, and play resumed like it never even happened.  I guess that's how you know someone is family.  They still love you no matter how much shit you're in.  🙂

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Rest In Peace, Mr. Bettis

This morning, as I read the newspaper, I came across the sad news of John Bettis' passing.  I had never had the honor of meeting Mr. John Bettis, but I am sure that every aspect of his kindness, respect and generosity flowed through his son, Jerome who I have had the honor of meeting.

I have no doubt that the Bettis' are a tightly knit family and this loss is so great, but they are strong.  They are together.  They will survive.  They will honor the memory of their father and husband.  They will keep the memory of this great man alive.

Jerome, I know that you will not read this, but I hope that you know there are millions of us around the world that grieve with you and your family today.  Hundreds of thousands of us who have been here, through the loss of a loved one, and offer you our strength and our compassion. 

To the Bettis family, rejoice in the time that you had with this wonderful man, reminisce about the lives that he touched, and find peace when you can.  It IS harder to lose someone suddenly, but a passing without a long period of pain and suffering, in the end, is easier on your heart, mind, and soul.

I cry for you all because your family has touched my family.  My father was a tremendous fan of Jerome, the Steelers, and football before he passed, and he gave to me that love of football.  Jerome, you were never any less than wonderful on the occasions when I met you and you made football more personal for me and for everyone with which I would share a 'Jerome story'.  I grieve with you and for you and hope that in this trying time, you can all rally around each other and be the championship team that Mr. John Bettis was the head coach of.  God bless you all.

 

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QotD: Heartbreaker

What's your favorite heartbreak song?
Submitted by esta86.

Whether my heart is broken or not, To Make You Feel My Love has always been a tearjerker.

When the rain is blowing in your face
And the whole world is on your case
I could offer you a warm embrace
To make you feel my love

When the evening shadows and the stars appear
And there is no one there to dry your tears
I could hold you for a million years
To make you feel my love

I know you haven't made your mind up yet
But I would never do you wrong
I've known it from the moment that we met
No doubt in my mind where you belong

I'd go hungry, I'd go black and blue
I'd go crawling down the avenue
There's nothing that I wouldn't do
To make you feel my love

The storms are raging on the rollin' sea
And on the highway of regret
The winds of change are blowing wild and free
You ain't seen nothing like me yet

I could make you happy, make your dreams come true
Nothing that I wouldn't do
Go to the ends of the earth for you
To make you feel my love

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A career dilemna

What do you do when you are unhappy with your job?  Look for something else?  Try to make it fun by taking the screws out of people's chairs?  Replace all the regular coffee with decaf?  I suppose the first one is what to do.  The question then becomes: Is it time to switch fields?  The answer: Maybe.

Here's the problem.  I don't enjoy what I do, I'm not good at what I like, and (for various liefstyle reasons) I can't do what I love.  Let's work backwards.  I love bartending.  It's a ton of fun, you meet great people, and the money is spectacular.  Unfortunately, I reside in the Miami area which means it doesn't really matter if you have 10 years of experience, if your boobs aren't twice the size of your head, you don't get hired.  Might I go under the knife someday and have boobs about half the size of my head? Possibly. (Not to get a job and not to fit in here in Miami and not because my boyfriend wants me to – because he doesn't – but because I, the ultimate tomboy, have maybe grown out of my tomboy ways and would like to shoot for feminine.  So shoot me. 

Bartending's strike two is the hours.  I used to be quite the night owl, but anymore I can't stay up past 11 as sad as that is.  I'm sure I could readjust, but I don't think my family would.  And speaking of the family…

Strike three – most bars aren't going to offer health insurance, 401k, vacation, or any of the other perks (besides free booze) that go along with corporate America.  I might be able to work around strikes one and three, but strike two carries the most weight.

I'm a super computer nerd.  I like to build websites.  I have a wicked sense of humor.  Unfortunately, I have the artistic skills of a 3 hour old puppy.  This is bad for a web designer.  I'm hoping that I can learn this skill, but I fear that it is something that one is born with and I got a sarcasm skill instead.  If I sleep with art books under my pillow, will I wake up the next Nagel, Kugler, or Picasso? (Yes, I like the abstract stuff.)

I work in an office.  Some people are nice, some are not.  I know that this I cannot change.  My job is kinda mindless and I like to believe that I'm smarter than this.  My constant task is to figure out what to do.  I guess MasterCard is right.

Gas and tolls to get to work: $100 a month

Health insurance for you and your child : $300 a month

Having a job you actually love:  PRICELESS

 

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