Many moons ago, I wrote several articles that went mini-viral about the next hipster cities.
(Side note: Looking back at those articles, I want to barf.)
One of the cities I included on my next hipster city list was Pittsburgh.
Though I had never been to Pittsburgh, I had been seeing many articles about the Rust Belt city’s renaissance. (Barf X 2 that I wrote about a city I had never been to.)
I never would have imagined that five years later I would actually live in Pittsburgh.
So here I am–a Pittsburgher.
I now have a much clearer window into the city, and I can tell you: It’s not the next hipster city.
And maybe that’s a good thing.
Heinz Lofts in former Heinz factory
Pittsburgh is crumbling.
And it’s progressing (slowly).
There is a slew of empty storefronts.
But Google is here.
The air quality is some of the worse in the country.
But the area has made strides since the days when (more…)
Oh hello! Longtime no see, friend.
It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written here, and I’m currently sitting on the couch, bloated after eating an entire pizza, and thinking, “Maybe I should check in, see how everyone is doing and let them know I’m bloated on pizza.”
How are you?
Me? I’m bloated.
But other than that I’m ok.
I mean, my grandmother died this year.
Any of you who have hung in here with me know I thought the world of that ol’ broad.
A good cry sneaks in every day, particularly when I see a Golden Girls-branded anything (Grandma was my Dorothy) or smell garlic. Shit, pretty much EVERYTHING makes me think of her.
Mothballs (the sweaters in her armoire).
Crumpled tissues (she used to stuff them in her sleeves and drop them everywhere).
Shoulder pads (the woman LOVED them).
My beautiful grandmother.
Grief is a very, very strange thing. Sometimes you can joke about (more…)
My beloved grandmother passed away recently, and my mother and I have been going through old photos. We rediscovered photos my grandfather took while stationed in Africa during WWII. Here are some of my favorites.
*As far as I can tell, these were all taken by my grandfather. I’ve tried to verify the accuracy of the photos as best I can. These photos were snapped with my iPhone, hence the added fuzziness.
This is my grandfather Carl. He was an airplane mechanic in the Army Air Forces during the North African Campaign of WWII. During the war, he had a pet monkey named Jocko, he was stabbed and he contracted malaria. Those were the only things he shared with my mother. He died in 1974, before I was born.
This is him with one of his favorite planes, 1943. (Possibly a B-25?) *I* wonder why it was his favorite…?
Here he is in the beginning of the war with some of his Army mates.
Here’s another. Grandpa is in the lower left corner. 1945.
Army mate working on an A-20. (I think (more…)
First, let me get this out of the way: I’m not a financial advisor. I’m just a gal who started investing in cryptocurrency and has learned a thing or two.
In early 2017, when cryptocurrency began taking off, I decided to take the plunge. I got in when the values were already somewhat high but before they got redonkulously high.
Because of my investment early on, I’ve made a nice profit in six months that I’m really proud of.
Why am I proud?
Because I am not a money person.
It was only a couple years ago that I was able to start saving for my retirement. However, I don’t know squat about stocks and I have no large assets besides two X-files Barbie dolls and more pillows than any human could possibly need.
When I decided to start investing in cryptocurrency I told myself three things:
1.) Don’t invest more than you can afford to lose
2.) Understand that the bubble could burst tomorrow
3.) Don’t get all weird and sell your two X-files Barbie dolls and blankets to (more…)
Once in awhile, when darkness falls, I will sling my trusty hedge trimmers over my shoulder and march up and down my street looking for neighbors whose brush encroaches on the sidewalk. I will snip, snip, snip as fast as I can and scurry off to the next offender.
Before you think I’m that one weird-ass neighbor every has, let me explain.
A handful of my neighbors do not regard their lawn as something that deserves care or maintenance. Fine and dandy. It’s their property to do what they see fit. However, when their overgrowth overtakes the sidewalk, it’s a slap in the face of all neighbors. When elderly people and children are forced to walk in the street, it’s downright villainous. VILLAINOUS, I SAY!
But day after day, no neighbor comes forward to speak to the offenders and the growth continues to expand.
Except for me.
I’m coming forward, mother f’ers.
I realized that in order to take care of business, there were a couple avenues I could pursue:
1.) I knock (more…)