Elephantitus of the Brain

Let's all take a minute to talk about my little sister. Miss Betsy, gorgeous and beautiful princess that she is, was out running the other day. She is very svelte. Always has been. She runs way faster than me and, during the one and only rugby practice I have managed to drag her to in the past 8 years, outperformed me and was more aggressive. She is one of those thin, little, shapely people who looks really good in Lycra but knows better than to wear it in public.

Back to her jog. She was moving along down the sidewalk at a steady clip and had to swerve left to avoid a gaggle of sidewalk hoggers. We all know the type. They stand there, four wide, in clusters, oblivious to other activities. I'm sure Betsy growled internally as she had to pump her arms a little harder and step off the curb to get around them.

But she fell! And twisted her ankle! And the sidewalk hoggers didn't try to help, only said "Man, that sucks." My poor sister. The family urged her to go to the doctor. To seek treatment. But she insists she is fine. Her ankle is fine. What do you think?

Is that cankle fine?

House

Since I began college in 1999, I have lived in 10 different places. I have moved so often that I've developed this strange sense of place, where I don't view anything as my community or my town. Just somewhere I'm passing through. I've never invested myself emotionally in a location, never made friends with my neighbors in my adult life.

Last week, Corey and I made an offer on a house. They counter offered and we accepted. We are almost home owners. It's very strange and adult feeling. We're going with the house that has this potty:
That was the main selling feature for us (in addition to the spacious functional kitchen and well maintained structure of the house, ceiling fans, central air, and lovely back yard).

Now starts a very strange process in which we rush around to get everything inspected and pay people lots of money to process paperwork and give the city of Pittsburgh an obscene amount of money for reasons not entirely clear to me just for the transaction. I have clearly entered the wrong business. If I wanted a lucrative job, I should have gone into paperwork filing. I am actually quite good at paperwork filing. It's almost as fun as I imagine using that toilet would be.

In two months, barring disaster, our Steel City Experiment will no longer be an experiment. It will be our life. Our real, married, home owning life in which we have chosen a location to settle. I'm not scared about settling down with Core-man. I've always known he was my future. I feel a jittery sense of excitement at the notion of having a permanent place to hang my cleats. I will no longer be a nomad. It feels good.

Outside!

Yesterday we lost horribly to Detroit. We traveled with only 14 players (the fifteenth dropped out inexplicably the day before) to play our toughest game of the season. I am very disappointed that the Angels. How is it that we have over 25 players in the fall when we are playing for nationals? I would like to not think people aren't committed unless they feel the game "matters." It's just so foreign to me to not think every game matters, to not come to practice regardless of weather and grumpiness levels.

This feeling of upsetedness is all complicated by my leaving the team halfway through the season because I'm going away for my wedding. Certainly everyone who missed yesterday had equally valid excuses; it's just frustrating.

So, while we were there along 8-mile (before we ate the best sausage in the entire world at the best social spread in history) there was rugby to play. And my team needed an outside center. SO they picked me to do it.

For eight years, I have played only in the forwards. Maybe a handful of games outside the tight five. But yesterday, I was a gazelle. In theory. I was so scared! And the flyhalf had to keep telling me where to go. But I looped our fullback! And got a stiffarm in the chest from their player of the match when I tried to tackle her. It was all very exciting, if unsettling and terrifying. I love stepping outside my comfort zone like that. I'll play wherever the team needs me to and do my best to run fast enough. I just hope we can get our act together for the fall when we are in the push for a national championship.

More Potties

This one is right next to the fridge. Like you could be using the john and think "I really want a nice cold beer. Hey! I'll just lean forward and grab one." Homer Simpson would be in love.

Then, after you spill some beer, you could just mop it all up and wash your hands, never having to stand up at all.


This one had some tile flooring around it and partial privacy walls, as if to say "I'm almost a bathroom!" I like the little shelf in the wall to accommodate the toilet tank.


This isn't a potty at all, but is very interesting anyway. Does anyone else have a bench covered in vacuums in their house? If yes, I'd love to see a picture. I wonder which vacuum they use around their basement potty? Perhaps the one with the attachments.

Pittsburgh Potty?

We've been looking at houses. A lot of houses. Like 8 every weekend. This past trip out, I was shocked to discover many of the houses had toilets just sitting in the middle of the basement. Imagine a white trash lawn that has a toilet sitting in the middle. Then, imagine a finished (or unfinished!) basement around that toilet. Laundry machines, workout equipment, and a toilet. In the middle of the room. Like in jail.

There is no stall around the toilets. There sometimes aren't even walls nearby. These are functional toilets, that people might pee upon. I cannot fathom using such a toilet. I have enough trouble in my own cozy apartment, let alone in the middle of a room where, at any time, Corey or an intruder could burst down the steps with some laundry and interrupt a BM. Who would ever use such a toilet?

When I first saw it, I sucked in my breath and held my hand to my mouth and grabbed Corey's arm. "Look!" I pointed, as if there were some roadkill in the basement.

Not in a bathroom, but in the middle of the basement

Both he and the realtor looked at me like I was the crazy person.

"That's just the Pittsburgh Potty," they told me, as if this were totally normal. When did Corey get all in with the lingo? And why the heck did the city invent such a thing? Corey told me some story about mill workers and dirt, but I don't see how you are any cleaner after pooping downstairs. I think it's madness. Trailer park habits disguised by cement walls and dryer sheets.