That's Church

Random.org chose comment #27, belonging to reader Cale who commented:

When I was 6, we lived in a haunted house.  Late one night, I woke up and walked out into our upstairs hallway to go to the bathroom to get a drink.  I found my Mom and Dad standing stairing up at the door way that lead to the attic.

Standing very still and listening, we all clearly heard a typewriter click-clacking away in the attic.  The typewriter would clack until it reached the end of the row and then it would reset with a zip-ding!

My Father, deciding to investigate, started to open the door to go up to the attic when the door was forced shut from the inside.  Each time he pushed on it, the door pushed back with equal or greater force.  With one final push my Dad threw his weight behind it and the door slammed in and opened onto an empty stairwell.  The typewriter fell silent and the house was still.

We all slept with the lights on for the rest of the night.

I would sleep with the lights on for the rest of my life. Screw that. I would NEVER SLEEP AGAIN.

Cale has been contacted via email to claim the prize!

I can’t sleep in a room where there are baby-dolls on account of I find baby-doll eyes and faces very soul-suckingly terrifying.

That’s the face of a toy that will lick your cheek while you sleep.

I once slept in my niece’s room while visiting my sister in Virginia and she had a six-foot shelf high up on the wall, upon which rested two dozen dead-eyed baby-dolls. The lights were out. I laid there. In the glow of the moonlight, the dolls looked down at me. Their eyes bore into me. That doll that was smiling before seems to be angry now. That doll just blinked. That doll is crying. That doll is possessed and will wait until I fall asleep and then whisper directly into my ear, “Won’t you come out and play with me?”

It’s a miracle my niece didn’t come into her room the next morning to find carnage — every single doll beheaded and each with a tiny Bratz heel impaled in one eyeball.

All that said, those dolls have got nothing on this terrifying thing:

Yeah, give THAT to your young child or niece or nephew. Let THEM try to figure out if Steely has had his legs chopped off in a tragic steel beam accident or if he’s just been naughty and is now waiting for his spanking.

Let them figure out if those are Steely’s angry eyebrows or his happy eyebrows. Let them figure out why he doesn’t have lower teeth. Let them figure out if Steely is laughing with joy or roaring before the kill. Let them figure out if this is the kind of toy that just silently blinks at you or the kind that eats your vital organs while you sleep. Let them figure out WHO ON GOD’S EARTH THOUGHT THIS NEEDED TO BE MADE.

I would sleep in a room with a hundred blinking baby-dolls that look like this:

… before I’ll ever be left alone with the monstrosity that is the Steely McBeam Pillow Pet.

As God is my witness, that is church.

(h/t Tracy)

When Community Human Services asked if I would serve as one of their co-chairs for this year’s Holiday Gift Card Drive, I said yes very quickly.

Donating gift cards so that Pittsburgh’s neediest families could have the dignity of purchasing things for themselves is such an easy way to help, or as I have taken to calling it lately, hold up the sky for those it’s falling down upon.

I’ve said this before, but when I’m in the grocery store and I see a family that is obviously struggling to make ends meet, it’s a gut punch.

Huge gut punch. I don’t like to think that children are familiar with the food bank. I don’t like to think that children can’t always have a banana if they want one. I don’t like to think that children can’t get a new toy on occasion.

If I had millions of dollars, I would be ridiculous.

Completely out of control. I’d sit in the grocery store and follow families to see if they’re making decisions they shouldn’t have to make or counting pennies to buy food while they have holes in their shoes. And then I’d buy them their food and give them money for bills and my husband would lock me in the basement and take away my access to our funds before I drained us dry.

I guess there’s such a thing as TOO MUCH compassion?

Either way, I’m an advocate for sick children and I’m an advocate for needy families. I take my cues from Roberto Clemente.

CHS is kicking off their Holiday Gift Card Drive at the September 10 Pirates versus Marlins game and you can attend!

For only $20 you get a ticket to the game in section 128, which is the Roberto Clemente section which gives you a free replica Roberto Clemente jersey! See!

You also get to see the fireworks that night and have a chance to win an overnight stay for two at the Omni William Penn!

There are less than 25 tickets left right now, so if you want to go to that game AND get the replica jersey and see the fireworks and most importantly HELP NEEDY FAMILIES, hurry up and buy your ticket.

My husband and I will be there. I’ll be the curly haired chick who keeps hugging her new Roberto shirt.

… is it considered news that the Steelers DIDN’T feel something.

But this begs the question, DID THE PIRATES FEEL IT?!

Why isn’t the local media chasing down THAT story?

P.S. Watch this video.

My favorite part is the lady on the right’s face and then how she grabs onto the guy next to her.

My next favorite part is the two ladies that jump off the stage and run hand-in-hand for the exit all, “We got to bounce!”

The third favorite part is the dude on the left who then follows the two ladies while looking fully prepared to pull a George Costanza if need be.

My fourth favorite part is the people who stick around watching all the people run out. And how they laugh.

Okay, five minutes ago I was in my kitchen making coffee when my fridge started swaying and I looked around my kitchen and EVERYTHING WAS SWAYING. It lasted about ten seconds or so.

Come to find out an earthquake really did just happen in Virginia, but we felt it here in Pittsburgh.

Two things.

1. Pittsburgh, you are the place that doesn’t have hurricanes ever or tornadoes very often. Earthquakes practically never.  STOP IT.

2. Shit.

3. Where is my Mommy?

4. SHIT.

P.S. This is why I love twitter.