That's Church

State Senator Jean Orie is under investigation by a grand jury for activities of a criminal nature, mainly using her Senate office for fundraising purposes regarding her sister Judge Joan Orie Melvin’s election to office.

I would go into more detail, but I managed to pry my eyes off of the kitten that died on her head, but only long enough to fixate on her thumb nail.

And that’s where I’m at right now.

Just staring at that thumb nail.

[shudder]

I’m totally licking my screen right now.

I’d like to think that the Steelers are practicing, studying, eating, sleeping, drinking, and pooping football (ew.), but that would be erroneous of me, because they’ve also been busy filming Christmas videos for the enjoyment of Steeler Nation.

The first video you need to watch is of Dick Lebeau in which he begins by sitting in a giant Steelers-themed Santa chair holding a copy of The Night Before Christmas.

Doesn’t that sentence look like I just took a bunch of words from my grab bag and threw them behind a period?  Dick Lebeau.  Santa. Chair.  Book. Period.

First, I love how he says, “Merry Christmas” and then you can clearly see his brain fart, which stuns him silent for a few moments before he continues with, “I’m Coach Lebeau.”

Then, he goes blah blah blah for about three minutes.  I don’t know.  I was all bloop bloop bloop I HAVE THINGS TO DO, DICK!  THESE CHRISTMAS COOKIES WON’T BURN THEMSELVES AND I’VE GOT SALAD AND ROLLS TO BUY AT THE STORE!

But then he gets into the actual recitation of the poem and WHAT? Dick Lebeau does it with feeeeeeling.

And from memory.

And my love for embattled coach Lebeau grew with each passing moment.

The man pours his big heart into the poem, goes Shakespeare with the dramatic gestures, and practically hacks a lung up when he imitates a belly- jiggling ho-ho-ho.

I will never look at Coach Lebeau the same again.  I think he might be Santa.  What’s your favorite color?!

The other video you should watch is of various Steelers singing Christmas carols in the style of third-grade Christmas pageant.

But Hines Ward eschewed the third-grade style and sang in the style of drunk guy at the office Christmas party who spends a great deal of time rubbing his own nipples.

Then of course Mr. Nom Nom gets paired with Mr. Skeeve and I’m all, CRISS-CROSS!

But then, A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE!

Thank you, random person who didn’t want the fug tainting the perfection.

Max Starks appeared, too.  Here he is thinking about what he’s going to do to my father for those mean things Dad said about him.

Watch out, Daddy.  That giant man will totally sit on your head and kill you with one butt cheek.

Which gives a whole new meaning to the term brain fart.

(h/t AG and Traci)

1. I thought I was the only one who still had Christmas shopping to do, until I went to Target at 8:30 this morning to find the place packed with frantic shoppers, one of who managed to accidentally smack me with an ironing board.

Next year, I’m going to have all of my Christmas shopping done by July, stop laughing.

2.  A celebrity has died and that of course means the national media turns to Pittsburgh’s own Cyril Wecht for insight.

He appeared on the Early Show, spoke with Access Hollywood, and even was called “the Lebron James of pathologists” by one of my most fave sites, What Would Tyler Durden Do.  Go read the phrase immediately after the Lebron James one.

Trust me.

LOL and “EW!”

3.  Check the first letter in Cat Specter’s latest Cat’s Call at the PG.

My favorite parts:

It seems that women today are overly competitive, materialistic, trashy, deceitful, hypocritical, willing to cut somebody’s throat or stab anybody’s back to gain the slightest advantage, and they have unrealistic standards. Meanwhile they are less or no better than the standards they set. I am confident, educated, good looking, physically fit, clean cut, ethical and gainfully employed, so I don’t really see that the problem lies in me. Your call? — GREAT CATCH

Clearly this guy bought the Mirror Mirror on the Wall mirror because I can 100% guarantee HE is the problem and I can 50% guarantee he has a few restraining orders out on him.

4.    Here’s an ESPN article filled with interesting facts about the Steelers uniform quirks.  The most interesting to me was this one:

Troy Polamalu’s long hair usually obscures the rear-neckline area of his jersey. So it might surprise you to learn that he has a little cross embroidered right above his nameplate. That’s a major violation of NFL uni regulations, but the league’s position is that it’s OK because it’s usually covered by his hair. (Translation: “We reeeaaaallly don’t want to get involved in a controversy about religious expression.”)

You guys know how much I love Troysus, but I must ask:  Why is Troysus allowed to keep his cross when Benny wasn’t allowed to keep his PFJ?

That doesn’t seem very fair considering the obvious religious symbolism of the cross versus the innocuousness of three letters that only mean something to Benny.

Look at me all defending the Duke and look at that there flying pig.

(h/t John, Daniel, Phoebe, Pittsburgh Tom, and Different Brian)

5.  Buccos of Suckitude pitcher Ross Ohlendorf is spending this off-season as an UNPAID intern with the USDA, working to track cow diseases.

You can’t make this shit up, people.

(h/t JennViolet)

6.  Pittsburgh’s and my own David Conrad, who I am still mad at by the way, recently celebrated 100 episodes of Ghost Whisperer with a cake.

If you’re like me and everything about that show gives you the heebie jeebies, stare at that kid long enough and he will creep you out.

Like MacCauley Caulkin in The Good Son.

(h/t Carile)

7.  Speaking of David, who I am still very very mad at, he will be narrating Copland’s A Lincoln Portrait on April 11 at the Carnegie Music Hall.

I will be there.  Awaiting his begging of my forgiveness.

(h/t Karyn)

The first inkling I had that I suck at home ec, as we called it, where home ec is anything associated with the old notion of being a woman (cooking, sewing, etc.), was in high school when I sewed a pair of pajamas for Home Ec class and the pajamas would not conceivably fit anyone but a little person with three legs and one arm.

I think I got a C on that project.

My second inkling came in college when I was home for Christmas and decided to make or bake something in my mom’s kitchen, and got so befuddled by the recipe that I actually asked my sister Tina Fey, and I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP, “Which part of the egg is the yolk?”

My third inkling came when I tried to de-yolk the egg.

My fourth inkling came when I needed help making grilled cheese.

My fifth inkling came when I tried to make delicate sugar snowflake ornaments that I saw Martha Frickin’ Stewart make on her show in under five minutes, with her hands tied behind her back, and possibly while ice skating. How hard can it be, I thought, as visions of presenting co-workers with boxes of handmade sugar snowflakes danced in my head while my brain pointed and laughed at those images all, “Really?! Do you not remember the egg yolk incident?!”  In the end, the kitchen looked like Tom and Jerry ran amok with a bag of powdered sugar. I was covered with hardened sugar globs and there were tears in my eyes.  The result was about 60 broken snowflakes, 30 I threw across the room in anger, and five complete snowflakes that looked like a blind person went crazy with an icing squeezer.

My sixth inkling was the fact that I call that bag-like triangle thing that squeezes out icing, an icing squeezer.

My seventh inkling came when I was newly married and proudly presented my husband with a meal of spaghetti with sauce from a jar, alongside a scoop of Stove Top stuffing. I couldn’t figure out why he spent the whole meal looking like he was trying very hard not to burst out laughing.  But I was pretty damn proud because STUFFING! That’s like halfway to Thanksgiving dinner.

My eighth inkling came when I was and continue to be regularly asked to bring salad and rolls to all family gatherings.  That’s only half a step up from being in charge of cups and ice.

Fast forward to recent times, and you would find my four-thousandth inkling came when I decided to try to build the Rex Christmas card as seen over at Creation Rex’s site.  You are simply supposed to print out the card, cut along the edges, fold and then assemble.  I watched the video and despite 3,999 other evidences to the contrary, said, “I could totally do that. How hard can it be?”

It was supposed to take 15 minutes. It took me an hour.

The entire time I was building it, my son watched with wonder, saying things like, “Are you sure that’s right?  That doesn’t look right.  Why are you tearing that up? Do you want me to get Daddy?  What is that supposed to be?  Why do you need tape?  His arm fell off.  His head fell off.  His body fell off. Why do I have to go to my room? What does that word mean? I’ll go ask Dad.”

You can go to Rex’s site to see what the little dinosaur is SUPPOSED to look like, but here is mine.

Please note that I did something wrong because all the letter tabs are on the outside. I also had to tape his hat on because I forgot to cut lines for it, and he is not holding his little Terrible Towel because his arms couldn’t withstand the weight of it.

Immediately after this picture was taken, a dust mite sneezed and blew my little Rex to pieces.

Martha Frickin’ Stewart I am not.

Also, while I was writing this post, I was watching hunky Mexican chef Oropeza make some fancy braided bread wreath crown thingies and you know, I could totally make that because how hard could it be?