"Negative, Ghost Rider. The pattern is full."
{Yes. That is a Top Gun reference.}
That's me in that photo. Pretty bad ass, huh?
Yesterday I flew in an F16. I'm still recovering from the following:
1. Pulling 7 Gs.
2. Going 750 mph. (That's a little over Mach 1.)
3. Bolting straight up to 18,000 feet while going a little over Mach 1.
4. Doing a barrel roll.
5. Flying inverted (that's upside down, folks) several times.
6. Puking.
7. See #6.
So, until the vertigo stops and I get back to normal, the photo above will have to tide you over.
with love from Pittsburgh,
Laura (aka "Moneypenny")
I've been leading a double life for the past year.
I am Secret Agent L.
I revealed my identity last night at a huge party and fundraiser at the Firehouse Lounge in the Strip District.
It was incredible, amazing, humbling, full of love and kindness, and one of the best nights I've ever had. And the people?
Incredible.
This city is filled with some of the most extraordinary, loving, wonderful humans ever to walk the planet. Hyperbole? Not in the least. And now that I'm no longer anonymous, I finally get to spend time with them. And that makes me happier than I can say.
More to come, folks. I'm just getting started.
with love from Pittsburgh,
Laura
p.s. For those of you who figured out who I was before I posted this? Thanks for keeping it a secret. xoxo!
Do you know what's been on my mind lately? Air freshener commercials. Yes, that's right. Air freshener commercials. It seems as though our society has a problem.
We smell awful.
Yes! We do! Because I have neverinmylife seen so many commercials that focus on how bad our world smells and how absolutely-oh-my-goodness-call-the-press we simply must do something about it! I mean, I don't know about you, but I always have an entire fish--googly eyes and all--staring up at me from my kitchen trash can. And onions? Every day, darlings! Also, my pets are stinky. Even though I don't have any. Still, they smell awful. What with the poop I'm sure they're bringing in on their paws and whatnot. So, yes! Whatever shall I do to combat the smell?
There are many ways to get rid of The Stink. Candles. Wax ones. Soy ones. All scented. And there are Thingies we plug in. Thingies we plug in that also blow air. And candles that aren't actually candles but sort of look like candles but really couldn't possibly be candles, because, well, that means there's fire and we simply Can't Have That. We also have things we spray in the air. And things that spray into the air that we don't actually spray. They spray on their own. Every twenty minutes. Because we smell extra bad on a very specific rotating schedule. And we have powders we put on our carpets and then vacuum up. Because even our vacuum cleaners are stinky. And we have sprays. spritzsprayspritzspray, all over our drapes/loveseat/beds/dirtyclothesonthefloor. When Mother-in-Law comes to visit. When the postman delivers a package to the door. When the phone rings. Just in case.
Good heavens, we are so stinky.
And don't forget our laundry detergent! They've added Febreeze and other scents to our laundry detergents on top of the fragrance that's already in them because, apparently, they don't smell good enough, either, because they're too busy removing dirt and grime and sweat and other grody-to-the-max-ness, BUT NOT THE SMELL.
And think about how many celebrities have fragrance lines. I mean, it's not like they need the money. Surely not. But they are living in the same stinky world as us, so clearly they must be thinking I cannot take another moment of this stink! I must rectify this situation of said stink! I know! I shall invent Yet Another Smell in the name of all things non-stinky! Thank goodness for celebrities, or the stinkiness might just get out of control.
I bet the next thing they'll come up with is a button we press on our bodies that neutralizes us instantly. Do It Yourself Deodorant. That's what they'll call it.
And, finally, we won't stink. But then all of those actors in those air freshener commercials will be out of jobs. And that makes me sad.
But not really. Because some of them really stink.
with love from Pittsburgh,
Laura
Dear February:
I'm breaking up with you. Do you know why?
Because you suck.
I'm so tired of your antics. Snow? Really? Like, a bazillion feet of it? Is that really necessary? You've been a total jerk about it for too long.
Your lack of sunshine? C'mon. I wake up every morning, all ready to face you and crap, and that's what you give me? Grey skies? 100% cloud cover?
Well, no more.
Oh, and the whole cold shoulder thing? Or, should I say, the whole cold-all-the-time thing? Yeah. It's getting old. Is it really too much to ask you to try to work above 35 degrees? You're so selfish. Seriously.
And the slush and messiness of all it? Please. You know I'm a clean freak. You know I like tidiness, yet you just continue to be gross.
So, I'm dumping you. Tomorrow, I'm going to ask March out on a date.
with love from Pittsburgh,
Laura
{photo from here}
So, here’s the thing: I like to think that I’m in control of the universe. Silly, right? Yes. Very. I’m a control freak. Totally. I’m also impatient sometimes. Not like hey-jerk-why-aren’t-you-turning-you-totally-could-have-gone-by-now, but more like but-I-want-everything-to-happen-on-my-timetable-especially-in-terms-of-my-own-personal-growth-blah-blah-blah.
Well, the Ross-a-tron set me straight. Indirectly, of course. He’s far too lovely to actually give me the smack-down that I so rightly deserve and desperately need. Instead, the sweet man sent me an email of this:
Patient Trust
By Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
Above all, trust in the slow work of God.
We are all, quite naturally,
impatient in everything to reach the end
without delay.
We should like to skip
the intermediate stages.
We are impatient of being
on the way to something unknown,
something new,
and yet it is the law of all progress
that is made by passing through
some stages of instability-
and that it may take a very long time.
And so I think it is with you.
Your ideas mature gradually –
let them grow,
let them shape themselves,
without undue haste.
Don't try to force them on,
as though you could be today what time
(that is, to say, grace and circumstances
acting on your own good will)
will make you tomorrow.
Only God could say what this new spirit
gradually forming within you will be.
Give our Lord the benefit of believing
that His hand is leading you
and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself
in suspense and incomplete.
Um, yeah. I was triple-snapped. But it was worth it, because these words are pretty gorgeous, don’t you think?
with love from Pittsburgh,
Laura
I'm in therapy. I know, I know. You? you're asking. Yup. Me. In fact, I've been in therapy for, oh, areallylongtime. See, when you grow up in a house where your mother is a schizophrenic, you're pretty screwed up by the time you're in your late teens and early twenties. I'm now in my early thirties. There's a whole bunch of screwed up there. When I got to college, I told myself that I'd go to see a therapist since it was free (one of the perks of being part of an academic community) because I was feeling totally depressed and hopeless and all of the things that so many of us humans feel, but for me it felt a milliontimesworse because I had a certifiable crazy woman as my mother. Compound interest, if you will.
And so...therapy.
Most of my therapy sessions revolved around the utter sadness, frustration, and anger I felt towards my mother and her illness. However, after 20 years of Certifiable Crazy, including (but not limited to) year-long stints in state hospitals, week-long stays in psych wards, delusions, the inability to leave the house, and a suicide attempt, my mother is better now than she's ever been. Miraculously. Yes, a trifecta of healing: God, the right meds, and a near-death experience.
My anger has turned to compassion, and my sadness to joy, because for the first time in my life, I have a mother. So what do I talk about now in my therapy sessions? Finding my voice. Yes. The little voice inside of me that's been pushed so deep down for so long has finally started squeaking a bit more loudly. I want a voice. My voice. I want to learn how to find it completely and to use it. Without fear. Do you know how hard that is? It's reallly, really hard. It's hard to have a voice, to be taken seriously, especially when you're a woman-a model-an actress-a glorified secretary.
I am such a people-pleaser. Oh, yes, a self-proclaimed doormat, but instead of the word "WELCOME" written across my head, I have the words, "YES, PLEASE TAKE ADVANTAGE OF ME BECAUSE YOU KNOW YOU CAN BECAUSE I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO BACKBONE AND AM SUCH A 'FRAIDY CAT TO SPEAK UP...OH, AND ALSO I REALLY WANT YOU TO LIKE ME."
Well, no more. The Reign of Terror has officially begun. Oh, yes. Watch out people. This voice? She's on her way to coming in loud and clear.
I am going to give my opinion.
I am going to tell you what I think.
I am going to express my beliefs.
I am going to say "no" and not feel bad about it.
I am going to disagree if I do, in fact, disagree.
I am going to speak up for what I need.
I am going to speak up for what is right.
Oh, yes. This voice is on. its. way. up.
with love from Pittsburgh,
Laura
So, when I see people driving like a) idiots, ii) jerks, or 3) 5 year-olds, I tend to lose the ability to bite my tongue, and, instead, curse their very existence. {Okay, well, I don't really curse their very existence, because that would be rude, but I sure do say some words that even Andrew Dice Clay might blush at. Okay, I don't actually say them, but I sure do think them. Really loudly.}
I just think that one should drive gracefully and with courtesy. Is that too much to ask?
Oh, wait. That's right. One should also drive SAFELY. Which, apparently, the woman who parked behind me at church on Sunday neglected to take into consideration.
Yesterday, I got my fine arse out of bed around 8:30 a.m. and decided I was going to go to Mass at 10 a.m. It was sunny out, I felt rather rested {so very odd for me}, and I figured it'd be great to go to Mass, get my For the Love of Jaysus time in for the week, and then run some errands and be home by 1 p.m. at the latest.Okay. So, I've been wanting to blog about this for a while now, but haven't been quite sure how to go about it, as I am a Bit of a Wimp and don't want to offend anyone. But, I'm on vacation, and so my Wimp-o-Meter is down and I'm just Not Really Caring at present.
So, here goes.
Drivers of fancy cars. I'm irritated by them. Tremendously. Let me tell you why.
I drive a lot. Pittsburgh is a beautiful, wonderful city in many ways, but it does lack significantly in its public transportation department. Sure, we have buses. But we don't really have a subway. Which most Pittsburghers will never understand. We have a pathetic attempt at a subway, which the city calls The "T." Yes, it just has a letter for a name. That's how pathetic it is. The "T" is a tiny little subway system that runs throughout the downtown area and out towards southern parts of the city. And that's it. What about those of us who don't frequent downtown or who don't live in the southern parts of the city? We needn't go anywhere? We aren't important? We don't have needs? Oh, rubbish, Pittsburgh. Rubbish with a capital "R" don't you know.
So, as a result, my car and I have a pretty serious relationship with the city. Sure, I could take the bus, but it just takes FOREVER to get anywhere if you go by bus. And anyone who knows me knows that I am a mover and a shaker. And I can't handle standing in the rain or the snow, waiting for the bus. Call me a diva. Call me spoiled. Call me honest.
Thus, all of the driving I do results in all manner of interesting experiences on the roads. And I like to think that I am a good driver. I am courteous: I give the thank-you wave to drivers who let me merge in front of them. I am patient: I don't blare on my horn if the car in front of me decides not to cross the intersection even if he/she could have made it without being hit by oncoming cars. I don't have a need to swerve in an out of lanes so as to keep at a constant speed and not be slowed down by other drivers (despite my mover-and-shaker-ness). I realize that driving is a responsibility. It is a blessing that I am ever-thankful for. I like to think that I am a relaxed and appreciative driver.
Except when I encounter drivers of fancy cars. Then I get a little, um, angry.
Let me explain.
I drive a 2004 Chevy Aveo. It's my Meep Meep, as I call it. I do not have money. And even if I did, I certainly wouldn't spend it on a car. Accidents happen, people.
So, when I'm driving, obeying the law, being courteous, etc., and I encounter the 40-something business man driving like he's God's Gift to Creation in his Fancy Schmancy Lexus, I want to throw up. Yes, call me judgemental. Go ahead. I am aware of this fault of mine. But I must remain honest. I can't stand drivers of fancy cars.
The dude in the Lexus doesn't use his turn signal. Ever. He rides my bumper. All the time. Even when I'm going 10 or 15 miles per hour over the speed limit. He pulls out in front of me, oblivious to the three inches that separate our steel contraptions. He blares his horn if I don't pull out into the intersection at that exact moment when he thinks I should. He pulls up to my right when I'm trying to make a turn into oncoming traffic, thus making it impossible to see what's coming from the right because he's too impatient to wait his freakin' turn.
He's a jerk. Plain and simple. And do you know why? Because he has money. And a fancy car. And he thinks that the rules don't and shouldn't apply to him. He's special, in case you were wondering. He's clearly more important than any of us drivers of practical cars. He has much more important places to be, his time is far more precious, and his shiny-ness (both of his car and of his skin/hair/outfit/watch) gives him the right-of-way.
Oh, and the plastic Barbie-esque woman in the Mercedes? Who parks her car illegally because the rules don't apply to her, either? Despite signs that say "No Parking," Barbie and her Mercedes become illiterate at that moment. She has places to go and people to see, my dear readers. She can't POSSIBLY park in a regular parking spot and, heavens forbid, WALK to the entrance of the store like the rest of us. That would take far too long. And what if a neighboring car door accidentally brushed up against her shiny silver piece of German engineering? I bet she'd stomp her Jimmy Choo sandal and have a tantrum.
I guess this rage comes from my utter disgust at the way in which our society worships conspicuous consumption. Materialism, materialism, materialism. Gag me. It's all about these "things" we have, these material items that show how much money we have, how much success we've achieved, how Important and Fabulous we are. And a car--a fancy car--seems to convey all of this in one fell swoop.
It makes me really sad, quite frankly. What if those drivers of fancy cars downsized to more practical cars and took the difference in the car payments and donated it to a different charity every month? Someone who is hungry might be able to eat if that driver of the fancy car stopped thinking about his or her own image and started thinking about the welfare of his or her fellow humans.
And what if we started thinking about success in terms of how much we've helped others as opposed to how far we've climbed the corporate ladder?
Or what if we realized that we are Important and Fabulous because we offered a helping hand, cooked a meal for someone hungry, helped a stranger, or donated our money/time/talents to a cause that needed it more than our garage needed a BMW?
Sure, I bet there ARE drivers of fancy cars out there who donate to charities, feed the hungry, help strangers, and offer helping hands. I believe that. There are good people everywhere, behind the wheels of every kind of car imaginable. But why is it that I always encounter the drivers of fancy cars who DON'T seem to be those types of people? Where are the NICE drivers of Porsches? Where are the courteous, patient, law-abiding drivers of the Cadillac Escalades? Where are the Audi owners who use turn signals and don't drive like they own the universe? Show yourselves!
I'm not perfect, people. I'm not trying to convey that. I have many faults. I do judge sometimes. I do get irritated. And I do get frustrated. I just wish that I could meet a driver of a fancy car who was kind, generous, a courteous driver, and humble. But I have yet to do so.
Yesterday's Gratitude:
1. first official day of my vacation
2. my computer and the internet
3. Goodwill
4. my car (practical and un-fancy as it is)
5. air conditioning
with love from Pittsburgh,
Laura
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