Buongiorno from da burgh!

Went to my old stomping grounds of Pittsburgh with Pete for his dad’s 80th birthday pavilion party. I love Pittsburgh. Home to some of the best novelties:

• Home to the rustbelt version of “ya’ll” known to locals as “da yinzer” as in “yinz guyz gunnah go dahntahn to ketch da Stillers game on Sunday?”
• Home to Da Buccos (tough love being a loyal Pirates fan, but we do exist).
• A place where people respect the superiority of Heinz ketchup above all others;
• And Primanti sammiches: a hole in the wall culinary masterpiece that is so delectable it cannot be described: a blue collar version of the French trying to explain crepes to someone that had only ever eaten Eggo pancakes.

Not sure if I ever told you, but (brace yourself), I actually no joke lived in Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood. My freshman dorm was located down the hill about two buildings away from Fred Roger’s apartment building. There were routine Mr. Roger’s sightings at our university pool where he would swim; which might have been childhood cool except for the fact that he was rumored to always wear a not loose track suit under which he sported – with the demurrer confidence only Mr. Rogers could pull off – a muted royal blue sporty snug swimsuit. I am not saying it was full out banana hammock, but – let’s face it – when it comes to THE actual Mr. Roger’s, anything less conservative than a red cardigan may as well be a thong.

Speaking of good behavior, have your WBCs decided to step up to the plate and play nice long enough to let the MD folks give you the chemo juice to get that hell behind ya? Not that I want you to feel icky (I’ve heard it obliterates some; others claim to have had worse hangovers – which leaves me to wonder if the former have ever truly felt the inner skull monkey knock of dehydration meets hangover?), but the sooner you are done the sooner we can book flights for our next girls trip!

The latest from upscale Mayberry:

Addy won. Having (supposedly purposefully) bombed the gifted program geek central entrance exam, it has been pronounced with great social media pomp and circumstance that she has “decided” not to do the project class. But that was ONLY after Heather made sure EVERYONE knew she had been accepted. We all want the best for our kids, she’s a helluva nice person, and it’s damn near impossible not to buy into the onslaught of faux facebook perfection. A slew of us got the same shameless email, none of which makes her a less fun happy hour partner. Our first toast at the next one will be to you. She often bails after about 25 minutes which kind of stinks but it’s also kind of a good moderator. Take what I can get these days.

My company is trying to go international. Super cool. They bought a company with ops in the UK and middle east (oh! to get to stay in that super cool hotel in Dubai that looks like a giant white sail!) and Austria (move over, Maria, a new nanny cougar’s hitting the slopes). I would LOVE to go to a mediation in London in September on a case we inherited. But my boss, who is an avid links course fan, is going over there for a well timed with the Ryder Cup board meeting. So, I fully expect to get trumped on that one. All of the overseas counsel have been great in acclimating me to their legalese. My biggest challenge is to discern which Graham I’m speaking with: apparently everyone in the UK from 1965 to 1979 named their son Graham. There’s like 12 of them on each call.

I’ve learned that “statement of application” is their version of our summary judgement. They don’t have “status calls” instead they “parlay” (which is way more pirate talk cool). The evidentiary procedures are a lot like ours. Apparently barristers are known for being overpriced status wankers (maybe the wigs?).

Ironically, one of the exec newbees to the company that I suspect also loves golf and is trying to get invited to that Ryder Cup timed board meeting, is making the lawyers squirm with statements like “we certainly want to pick good judiciaries.” I don’t think that’s a word even the UK guys use . He tells us – a team with a century of combined legal expertise – that “it’s important we follow legal procedure”.

WTF?

Telling a team of seasoned counsel to mind their court filing protocols is like telling me to wipe front to back. There are a lot of pregnant pauses on these calls. Good thing the it’s not facetime as even the super polite Brits may struggle with decorum. On the upside, I’m learning tons about foreign financial regulations (which fuels my inner geek) and am 1000% confident that I could completely violate all EU privacy laws without even realizing my folly but for the extremely talented (and pleasant, because in the UK it’s important to be pleasant at all times) counsel we have on retainer in London. I’m solid on the US front, but when it comes to overseas stuff, I kinda feel like Bush: he knew he didn’t know much but was smart enough to surround himself with an excellent cabinet. (Oh, if Condy and her golfball sized pearls would run for President that would be a-ma-zing!)

FINALLY done with tournament baseball for the month; we get a hiatus which should really be called a mental health stay. I thought just the dads were loco, but after hearing the other team moms discuss the pros to eating sunflower seeds because it inhibits their ability to urinate, I now know the baseline normal factor is not gender specific. Why one would go to dire measures to NOT miss 45 seconds of little league play baffles me – especially since there’s only 19 minutes of actual movement in a lot of the games. Your odds of space traveling back in time and dying on the Titanic are higher than missing a good play.

I think the Hampshire Baseball Board (because small town politics infuse itself everywhere) decommissioned my ex as Julian says his dad is no longer the Bantam level commissioner. I was psyched when Chase took a position on the volunteer baseball board: they always need folks.

He believes he could have been a major league player had he not overslept the college walk on try-outs on account of a massive hangover and is totally trying to live that dream to fruition with Julian (ie he’s vested or is hoping to follow suit to his moocher dad and live off of Julian’s successes. Sometimes I think men of our generation look at their beautiful boys and find themselves already disappointed in their athletic careers prior to leaving the nursery.

He really does understand the game.

And it gives him something to do besides haranguing us.

All (mostly) positives.

Getting kicked off of a board where they beg folks to participate is impressive. Rumor circulates quickly out here in Mayberry and he is rumored to have gone apeshit when told to plan a game Julian didn’t get to play in. I guess yelling at the other board members and their wives when Julian didn’t get voted onto the local All Star team and the board refused to change the rules didn’t sit well. Which even I gotta admit is pimpy; especially since Chase still had to plan, orchestrate and attend the All Star game populated by kids voted in by other parents in what was the little league version of a parent popularity contest. Julian is one of the best players in the league – even idiot ballmom me can see that. All of which is a knock on the process, not on the kids. I had been told MONTHS prior that Julian would be part of this honor to play. When that (clearly) didn’t happen, the kids, my mom and I went into the city to see Cirque du Soleil and had a great time playing in parks on the lakefront.

As you know, Celebrity A and his D-lister wife bought a house in the plan behind your old McMansion. He-A is supposed to be awesome: goes to the HOA meetings, super nice guy, and a kid at heart. She-D requires a private room at local restaurants to keep the paparazzi (ie local middle agers with cell phone cameras) at bay. My friend Dina lives a block from them, was out getting the mail and helped He-A push his gokart back to his garage. Maybe his wife is just an introvert, maybe she’s not into gokarts (no judgment), but it’s hard not to love a dude that’s on major tv syndicates tooling around in his spare time in suburbia without a seeming care in the world on an oversized RC car.

Lastly, the Pittsburgh trip (going full circle) went well. Pete’s dad kept sheepishly introducing me as his son’s “[pause] friend” despite three plus years of dating (sin. sinner. sinnest!). As a result of the awkward intro, a number of Pete’s cousins that had not met me before thought I was birthday boy SENIOR Peter’s girlfriend and that he’d gone cradle robber. Glad we got that cleared up. His sister, who is sweet and really tries but like many has a little failure to launch aspect, said she would like to throw me a wedding shower. I think this was an attempt at subtle interrogation. Little does she know, we Midwesterners are THE ALL TIME MASTERS. We are the ginzu knives meets Apple meets Nike Jordans of passive aggressive behavior. So I responded, without missing a beat (because comedic timing is part of the mastery) that I’d like to throw HER (never married) a wedding shower and clearly I couldn’t have one because I’m not engaged. (Point of contention, grrrrrrrr….). And fortunately end of discussion.

Landing soon back in Chi-town.

Hang in there – xoxox love ya’, Stormy