Category Archives: Hedge

Not that there’s anything wrong with that


I have been in a real funk lately – just feeling depressed & to use the scientific term: yucky. But my oldest friend Hedge came up last night for a drunkover and what medicine that was – she’s the yuckiness antidote. We don’t see each other nearly enough, but when we do, we just get each other. We have a way of making each other feel better without the need to have deep meaningful conversations & cry-fests. We support each other in an unspoken sort of way. Like she says “Poop” and what she really means is “I’m here for you” and then I say “Boobs” and I mean “I love you, too.” And then we laugh our asses off. Last night was no exception.

Me: I think I told the boy’s friend’s mom I was gay

H: What?

Me (louder): I think I told the boy’s friend’s mom I was gay

H: I heard you, jackass, but what the hell are you talking about?

Me: Well, we were talking about being gay, and I said something that I think came out the wrong way so I think she thinks I was saying I am gay.

H: Did you correct yourself?

Me: Well, no, because I don’t care. Also, because I didn’t want to come off like it was an issue in any way.

H: Yeah, you don’t want to be all Seinfeld, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that”

Me: Exactly.

H: Well, how is it that you were talking about being gay anyway?

Me: We were talking about that weird homophobic facebook person.

H: Oh…her

Me: Yeah

H: You know what would be awesome? If her kid turned out to be gay.

Me: Not just gay, STAGE GAY.


Me: By the way, right after I implied I was gay, I mentioned you were staying over tonight, so…


Me: Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

I love you, Hedge!

I Did It!


Let me start by saying that i never, EVER post photos of myself in a swimsuit, but this is too big not to. Try to erase the images from your minds when you’re done.

I jumped into the frigid Monongahela River on New Year’s Day and lived to tell about it. Hedge came over on New Year’s Eve and we spent the night drinking champagne and eating all kinds of good food, just in case it turned out to be our last meal. Then we got up when it was still dark out – on New Year’s Day. That may have been crazier than the actual river-jumping.


Too early to be up on New Year’s Day

Leading up to it, people kept saying we’d chicken out. But these people are dicks. Because once I say I’m doing it, I will do it. And besides – I really wanted to do it – I was actually looking forward to it. Of course, some of those people have heard me bitching about how cold it was in the house, in the restaurant, in someone else’s house, outside, in the car, in the office, in the mall, the store, another restaurant and several more houses. See – I hate the cold, so I guess it makes sense that I wouldn’t want to jump in the river. Back when we had a pool, if the water was less that mid-80s, I thought it was cold. Because of that, I’ll give those naysayers a pass.

We got to the Mon Wharf pretty early – there were only a few cars there. We walked around a bit, looking for The Crappys and checking out the river. We saw some insane brave folks walking around in bathrobes and flip-flops, but we stayed bundled up for the time being.

Still-empty lot

We can’t even believe we’re jumping in there

Pretty soon, the place started filling up with cars and people – some were obvious jumpers – they had robes and towels and crazy looks in their eyes. Other were clearly observers, wearing jeans and earmuffs and gloves and looks on non-crazy contentment.

Pretty soon, The Crappys showed up, and the tailgating began as more folks trickled in. There was some “special” hot coffee, but Hedge and I both passed on the theory that if we got all warm and toasty it would feel worse when we went in.

Some of the group

Slowly, We started to get ready – we put on our swim caps, and they were quite beautiful. We got them for fun, but they turned out to be an awesome anti-cold measure – they kept our hair dry – I’m not a won’t-get-my-head-wet kind of girl, but my years of swim team taught me that wet hair+ cold air = frozen head and a chill that’s hard to shake. Plus, the caps were pretty thick rubber and actually kept our heads warm like hats would.

Next, we took our coats off, so we could start to get used to the cold (though admittedly, the air temperature was not too bad – had the jump been yesterday, I would have died. I’m sure the adrenaline and nerves over the crazy thing you’re about to do helps a little, too, though. At this point, you start to think, OK, let’s just get this show in the road – waiting for jump time is nerve-wracking.

Finally, it was time to move the party up to the water’s edge. Hedge and I came up with a genius idea for getting warm after we got out of the water – we bought a shitload of Hot Hands hand warmers and we wrapped comforters up with them tucked inside. Then we put both comforters in a big plastic tote. We did this before we left the house at 7:00, so by 9:00, the tote was actually warm to the touch. So we dragged the tote and a couple of towel with us to the water and got ready. First, the pants came off. Then a few minutes later, the shirts. Then we died and froze the end.


OK, not really, but when I said it wasn’t TOO cold, I was right – as long as you were wearing clothes and a coat. In a bathing suit? COOOOOOOOOOLD.

After a couple of minutes, we heard the “GO!” and people started jumping. Hedge and I waited until someone in front of us got out, because we didn’t want to jump too near anyone else – we wanted to avoid any accidental elbowing or other minor things that would be no big deal under normal conditions, but in these conditions might contribute to our deaths.

Getting ready to jump

Once the guy ahead of us got out, we held hands and jumped.

We were like, “OK, on three. One, Two…” and then we forgot how to count and just jumped

Going under

Also – this is about the time that The Grimace took up residence on my face. The Grimace was an involuntary facial contortion that in no way represented how I was feeling. I was happy – thrilled in fact, that I had just done it. But my face was saying “Shoot me now!” I was trying to smile and trying to thank @pgha for being our photographer, but my body would not let me. No, my body was all Grimace! Try To Breathe! (Did I mention that jumping in water that cold takes your breath away? It does.)

The beginning of The Grimace


We got to the shore and the next challenge was getting out. It’s a challenge because the “shore” is actually steeply slanted concrete – under the water it’s slippery, and out of the water, it’s high and steep and there’s nothing to grab onto. Plus – lead muscles. Luckily, I looked up and saw an angel – in the form of a swim-suited, be-toweled man – reaching out to help me out. He pulled me out of the water before I died and I wanted to thank him, but see: Grimace. Getting out was great, but once I was out, the cold wind hit me and I forgot all about hedge – she could have been drowning behind me, but all my body would allow me to do was a) Grimace and b) run for the warm blankets. Luckily, the Angel saved her, too.

Still Grimacing

My Angel – dude – if you are reading – THANK YOU!

Holy Grimace!

Hasn’t died, despite my lack of giving a shit at that moment

We got to the tote, threw it open and pulled on our warm blankets and immediately felt great. I wasn’t cold thanks to the blankets and my warm, dry head. The Grimace faded, and I was finally able to say thanks to @pgha, who very sweetly kept taking photos. We stood around and watched some of the other folks jumping, climbing, freezing (I don’t know that anyone else was Grimacing quite the way I was, though)

Happy and warm – relatively

So happy we did it

Once everyone had plunged, we headed back to the parking lot to drink warm up and get out of our wet swimsuits. And let me tell you – when you have just jumped into a freezing river and are standing in the freezing cold with wind chill, modesty goes right out the window. I imagine that no less than 6 people are scarred for life after getting a glimpse of me trying to change under a blanket next to my car.

We put on some warm clothes, thick socks and slippers, and headed to the Hard Rock for some much needed food and a drink or two – mojitos for Hedge and me.

It was a great time, and I plan on doing it every year now – it’s an awesome way to start off the new year.

Awesome folks

More awesome folks

And more awesome folks

Still more awesome folks

Now this is the part where I tell you what a jackass I am. Here’s the thing with me and blogs, twitter, plurk, etc. I “meet” people online – I like them, I talk to them, it’s great. Then, I go somewhere and see these same people in person and I turn into a complete idiot. I am not a shy person – in fact, I am outgoing. If they were all strangers, I would have no problems. But somehow, since I sort of “know” them already, I get all weird. There are the folks that I “know” online, but don’t realize who they are when I meet them. There are the ones I suspect I know who they are, but I feel weird asking – I think that it is part of the “I’m old and out of touch and they won’t know me anyway because I am not a rock star like them” complex that I seem to have (and guys – if you happen to be reading this – you ARE rock stars – every single one of you).

So, I sit back and think, is that so and so? Oh, wait, maybe that’s so and so. And I don’t introduce myself and probably come off as an unfriendly douchebag and then I kick myself for days afterward because I really like these people! And I love meeting new people. And we just had a great time together. And yet I douchily let the opportunity to put faces with names pass because I have some weird old-lady inferiority complex.

So maybe I talked to you briefly, or maybe I took your photo, or maybe I don’t know your name even thought I met you once before and douchily didn’t introduce myself then either, or maybe you took photos for me, or maybe I shared some hot hands with you, or maybe I stood next to you while we waited, or maybe I was near you in the group photo, or maybe you complimented my swim cap, or maybe I just stupidly smiled (or Grimaced) at you. But if you read this – know that I am not as douchey as I seemed – I was thrilled to spend that time and that great experience with all of you. YOU ARE ALL AWESOME! And if you are reading this and have a minute, leave me a comment and introduce yourself, so I can finally know exactly who all you awesome folks are. And next year (or hopefully before then) when I see you all again, I promise I won’t be such a jackass.

I can’t promise I won’t Grimace again, though, because that shit is cold



I need a weekend to recover from my weekend. Not that it was particularly wild and crazy, unless you count shopping, cleaning and organizing as wild and crazy, that is.

Mr b was away this weekend – our awesome nephew Pap took him to Charlotte to see Widespread Panic and The Allman Brothers as a 50th birthday gift. He had a great time and quite enjoyed rubbing it in and sending me photos of Widespread Panic. It’s just not right. I drowned my sorrows in pomegranate mojitos. In his defense, he did come home with shirts for me and the kids, so I think I’ll keep him.

Friday, I dragged Hedge along on a shopping trip, since I had a giant list of things I needed to buy for the upcoming party. Not that hedge was super-excited about going to Hell-Mart or anything. I tricked her into going with the promise of a birthday dinner and gift. So we failed miserably at the shopping and ended up stuffing ourselves with food, mojitos and balls (!?!?) at Tusca. Because she is turning FORTY. FORTY FORTY FORTY! HEDGE IS FORTY! Ahem. Anyway, I wanted to get her something special for her big day, and I thought long and hard before I came up with the perfect, tear-jerking, sentimental gift. About 30 years ago, we started calling each other Hedgehog and Rooster. So I designed a t-shirt for her with this on it:

It brings a tear to your eye, doesn’t it? of course I got one for myself, too, because who wouldn’t want that?

Saturday, I went back out to finish the shopping, then came home for another mojito party. Rapunzel and Scabs came over to help me get some stuff done, which really meant “to help drink a half gallon of rum.” We did a fine job, if I do say so myself. Luckily, Scabs and I weren’t too hungover on Sunday to get as shitload of organizing and decorating done. The walls in the addition have been bare for over a year now, since I suck at decorating, so I put Scabs to work and she hung stuff and made it look way better than anything I would have done. The room looks a lot less empty and crappy now. She also kicked my ass into getting rid of a ton of stuff, which I needed.

I still have a ton of things to do and get, but I am a hell of a lot closer than I was last week. So, yay!

Oh, also – on Friday night, Hedge and I were getting off the expressway and I accidentally went through the e-z pass lane (even though I knew mr b had taken the ez-pass and I had cash in hand), and as I was sitting there like a jackass, trying to put money in while it kept spotting it back out, I noticed that a) it was the ez-pass lane, and b) the light was green. So I went through and hoped that I wouldn’t end up getting ticket. Anyway, this morning, I went through the pay lane, (since mr b didn’t give back the ez-pass) and before I even got to the pay basket, the light turned green and the bar went up. So clearly? I HAVE THE MAGIC! I called mr b to tell him:


Him: I know, I know, I still have the ez-pass

Me: No – it happened again! It turned green and I didn’t even pay! I HAVE THE MAGIC!

Him: OK…so…is that all you called me for?

Me: Duh. You’d call me if you discovered you had the magic, wouldn’t you?

Him: Yeah, I guess so. So…congratulations? I gotta go.

Me: Fine. You’re just mad because you don’t have the magic.

Tragically Unhip


During the drunken old lady trampoline extravaganza:

The boy: Ouch I hurt my ankle!

Hedge: Ooo, I know – rice!

Gina: What?

Hedge: You know, RICE. RICE? For sprains?

Gina: I have no idea.

Hedge: Duh – RIIIIIIIIIICE – wrap, ice, compression, elevate.

Gina: Wrap?

Hedge: Yeah, wrap….oooohhh, yeah. What the hell is the R for, then?

Gina: Maybe it is rap.

Hedge: Wrap – W.

Gina: I know, but maybe it’s RAP, I mean – that might distract you from the pain.

Hedge: Oh, you mean rap like…uh…

Gina: Yeah…um…

Hedge: …………

Gina: …um…….

Hedge:….Yo Yo Yo…er

Gina: …yeah yeah…getcha

Hedge: boom chicka…

Gina: We are so white

Hedge: And old. Don’t forget old. You have any Tom Jones?

They Aren’t Worth It


REMINDER: My March of Dimes Giveaway/Raffle for Maddie is still going on! Join in!


I was in the mall recently and overheard a couple of girls taking about some friends of theirs that were feuding over a boy. And I just don’t get it. Even when I was an angsty, needy teen, I never fought with my friends over boys. No matter how much I “loved” (or, more likely “lusted after”) my boyfriend/crush/booty call, it was never more important to me than my girlfriends. I always had the attitude that even if I married this guy today, on our 50th anniversary, I would b e celebrating my approximately 65th anniversary with Hedge. I had a friend who put boyfriends first. Every time she had one, you never saw her – it was all boyfriend al the time. This started when we were about 13 and continued well into adulthood. As in, she just grew a pair a coupe of year ago. But even she didn’t play those bullshit games that these girls seem to be playing. There were rules. You didn’t date your friends’ boyfriends. You didn’t date your friends’ exes. You took your friends’ sides in every disagreement. Because boyfriends come and go, but friends are (mostly) forever.

But you also know when to let it go. I have had people wonder if it’s weird that hedge is married to someone I used to date. No. It’s not. Because we are adults and high school was twentysmrrphnngg years ago. I’ll admit, if she had ended up marrying THE high school boyfriend, it would have been weird for a while. But she didn’t. She married the Freshman Night Date. Big fat deal. I think she may have written “Good luck with Asshole (not his real name)” in my freshman yearbook. By the time she started dating him, I barely even knew him anymore, so who cares.

We did fight over him once. Recently, in fact:

Hedge: You take him

Gina: Hell no

Hedge: Come ON

Gina: No way – why would I want him?

Hedge: You owe me

Gina: What? For what?

Hedge: Well… – I know! Remember that time we hid a bottle of Old Granddad in the bushes and then we went back to look for it and it was gone?

Gina: Yeah?

Hedge: Well, you owe me.

Gina: Why on earth would I owe you for that?

Hedge: Did we not take photos of the bushes so we could use the flash as a light?

Gina: Yeah.

Hedge: And it didn’t work?

Gina: Yeah.

Hedge: Well, it was YOUR camera.

Gina: You’re crazy, bitch. I let you wear my prom gown any time you wanted. I owe you nothing.

Hedge: Eh. You want a beer?

Gina: Yeah.

Hedge: ……..

Gina: ……..

Hedge: Seriously, though. Take him.

Gina: Fuck you.

Hedge: Well, it was worth a try.

Gina: I know. Hey – didn’t he date that skanky girl? Maybe she’ll take him!

Hedge: Give me the phone.

I wanted to tell those girls not to fight over a boy, because 20 years from now, neither of them would want him anymore.

It’s Emails Like This That Get Me Through The Long, Boring Work Day


Hedge: I just read a news story about some jackass parolees that poured cologne on their passed out friends’ crotch and set him on fire. He got third degree crotch burns. This is why I don’t drink and pass out with parolees.

Gina: I have a photo of my friend Dave passed out with his crotch on fire. We used carpet foam, though, so it just sat on top and burned off long enough to get a good pic…

Hedge: Hence the reason you aren’t a parolee. You know how to pull off a proper crotch burn.

Gina: Well, I didn’t go to college for nothing. I passed with flying colors the following classes:

Appropriate places to puke
Proper crotch burning 101: How to take hilarious photos of your friends and not kill anyone
Tequila: finding your limits
How to make a pipe/bong out of anything: fruit division
How to make a pipe/bong out of anything: school supplies division
How to make a pipe/bong out of anything: kitchenware division
How to make a pipe/bong out of anything: medical devices division
What to tell your mother when she asks where you were
Casual Sex: a primer

Hedge: I got a 4.0 in being the only girl among my friends that could beer bong 3 beers without as much as a slight gag. All while on my knees wearing a half shirt and mini skirt.

Gina: Niiiice!

Hedge: I wish I could find the pics of that. Just to see myself in a half shirt and mini skirt. You know, I could probably still pull of the beer bong. I was already an expert on the “open throat” concept. That I learned in Fellatio 101.

Don’t forget about my contest. I’ll announce the winner some time on Friday and post the answers.



I had thought this weekend was going to be nice and relaxing, but I was so very wrong. The boy’s chorus was singing the national anthem at the baseball game and the school, in their usual fashion of last minute bullshittery, sent home a paper on Thursday saying that the kids must wear khaki pants or shorts and red shirts (the school provided the shorts). This apparently, was the ballpark’s rule and not the school’s. And I understand wanting them to match. But what I don’t understand is why they decided to send the damned thing home on such short notice. They sent home the info on the concert and the order form for the tickets over a month ago, so I’m not sure why they didn’t include this information then.

Oh – and also? In the snippily worded memo, it stated that “students WILL wear khaki pants or shorts – NO DEMIN!!”

Yes folks, I am entrusting my son’s education to people who a) can’t spell a five-letter word, and b) clearly have never heard of spell-check. Ladies and Gentlemen – your tax dollars at work.


I got up Saturday and was preparing to go out shopping and then go clean the car. But at the last minute, I remembered that it was collection/packing day for Scouting for Food. I jumped in the car with the boy’s uniform, picked him up from Rapunzel’s house and rushed to the church where we were doing the packing. There, I spent the next 3 and a half hours picking up, sorting, packing, boxing, carrying and loading approximately 352 billion cans of food. Which: Yay for fighting hunger! And also: Boo for my back!


After the packing, I ran home to get the girl and we went out to run our errands. We ended up getting the boy’s shorts (and getting some for Hedge’s son – Hedge – being another victim of the bullshittery – was busy and couldn’t get out shopping), plus some odds and ends. We went to a sports outlet store and got some Pirates shirts for a couple bucks each. A lot of the stuff is from previous years, but for the prices, who cares. And since the Pirates suck balls, it’s hard to spend a ton of money. Mine shirt was actually an All-Star game shirt and not a Pirates shirt, but it did the trick for a buck.

The reason I didn’t get a regular Pirates shirt was that the only ones they had for women were those pansy-ass pink ones, which I HATE. I don’t mind pink in general – I have pink shirts and pink shoes and pink candles. But I hate the pink sports jerseys. I hate them and all the other stupid “girl-centric” pink bullshit sports merchandise that they keep trying to get me to like. Because NO. I will not like it. I will continue to hate it. The day the Pirates/Steelers/Penguins start wearing pink is the day I will buy a pink jersey – not a moment before. I hate the idea that in order to appeal to women, you need to make everything all pink and girly. I don’t know about the other cities, but here in the ‘Burgh, we women love our sports – we love the black and gold. We paint our faces and wear our jerseys and drink our beer and get just as rowdy as the men. We will buy the same shirts as the men. Please don’t insult us by thinking that you need to make it pink. I mean, just pass me a wine cooler, hang some tampons from my ears and shoot me, why don’t you?

So, uh…down with the pink sports gear!


Also on Saturday:
Cleaning out the car – SUCKED
Washing the car – SUCKED
Eating a chocolate covered frozen banana for lunch and having it fit into my weight watchers plan – AWESOME! And a little porn-y.


Sunday was the game and mr b and the girl stayed home, since she was sick. Mr b didn’t mind, though, since the Pens game was on. It was nice for me, too, because Hedge came with me and we had a nice day together, which we rarely ever get. We drank beer and ate and laughed and acted like jackasses. I used up my entire days; points, plus all my weekly points, too. And I didn’t even care, because I wanted beer and wings and pizza and ice cream. Well, actually I got frozen yogurt, because I always make wise food choices. Hahahahahahaha! I’m just hoping that since I did stay within my weekly points that I haven’t screwed myself this week. Because that would suck. But those wings were good.

I was truly more interested in the Pens game than the Pirates, but I drew the line at being the jagoff who wears a different sport’s jersey to the game. I was, however, the douchebag who sits through the baseball game with one earbud in, listening to the Pens game and shouting, “Yay!” when Jordan Staal’s goal came at an inappropriate time in PNC Park. But I don’t care, because Pens rocked!! (and rocked it again last night – woooo!)

Oh and also – Jagr? Shut the fuck up.


Lastly, because I am a huge dork – the biggest dork that ever dork – a dork to the nth power (Who uses the phrase “nth power”? I’ll tell you who – a dork), and also to get maximum Embarrass Your Kid points, I took the Pirates up on their “get your text on the scoreboard” invitation (I was going to make it something about us being dirty whores, but I figured they’d censor it. Bastards):

Also – Dorks:

The chorus:

How NOT to Get the Job


Hedge sent me an email yesterday telling me that she was sitting at her desk, looking at a man who was waiting for an interview with her company. Sitting beside him was his wife. On her lap was their dog. Who does that?? What on earth would have made this guy think that bringing his wife and dog on an interview would be a good thing.

You know, I can almost forgive the dog. Because although bringing your dog on the interview is clearly a sign of batshittery, there’s always the possibility of you actually being able to function in the job. But bringing your wife? This says to me that you may or may not be batshit crazy, but your wife is most definitely batshit crazy and the only thing worse than a batshit crazy employee is an employee with a batshit crazy wife. And a wife who feels it’s appropriate to accompany her husband right into the office on a job interview, dog in tow, is the poster child for the Batshit Crazy Wives Association of America.

I can tell you from experience (not that I have or have been a batshit crazy wife, but I have witnessed it), that a batshit crazy wife will result in the employee getting 238 calls a day, 197 of which will be dire emergencies like “I can’t find the coffee filters” or “How do you work the DVD player?” The other 41 will just be plain old batshit crazy conversation. Also – batshit crazy wives will result in the employee being late or absent often, because of emergencies such as the one I mentioned, as well as rampant hypochondria, paranoia, and the inability to function as an adult.

Needless to say, this man will not be getting the job. So, just in case you were on your way out the door for an interview and your wife or husband or dog thinks it’s a good idea to come along – it’s not.


In other news, the boy has his crossover ceremony from cub scouts to boy scouts on Saturday and I know that I am going to cry and look like a blubbering fool in all the photos. I had a hard time deciding to let him join scouts because their policy on gays makes me want to vomit. But he really wanted to join, plus the fact that he’s not a huge athlete and the fact that there’s not a whole lot of options in a small town made me rethink it. The biggest deciding factor was a conversation I had with an openly gay woman who was a scout leader, who encouraged me to let him join.

I decided that the benefits of joining scouts were many, in that he would be learning outdoor skills, leadership and citizenship. I figured that I could teach him about acceptance and you never know – maybe someday he would be involved in helping to make a change in an offensive and ridiculous policy. In the meantime, he’s participated on activities that have honored and helped veterans, the mentally challenged, the hungry, the elderly and the environment. And that is always a good thing. In a few years, he’ll have to do his Eagle Scout project and since his won personal “cause” has always seemed to be homelessness and hunger, maybe he’ll have a chance to make a real impact. So while I still feel a little like a hypocrite for participating in an organization that has some views that I can’t get behind, I am also very proud of my son for sticking with it for five years and achieving what he has.


And in super good happy news, Weenie came down this weekend and we worked like working dogs who work for 34,926 hours (OK, we actually drank lots of rum for some of thse hours, but still), and I am happy to announce that my kids finally have rooms. There are still a few odds and ends to be tied up, but thank Jeebus, we finally, finally, can all get a little space. It feel as good as you would expect it to feel when three people, a dog and a cat and crawl out of each your ass.