Obligatory Pittsburgh Complaint about Construction

I grew up thinking there were three absolute truths in life:

1. There will be snow for Halloween.
2. You can totally make a meal out of lefse, just so long as you have butter.
3. If you turn left three times, you'll end up back where you started.

I still think all three are true, but only if you are in Minot, North Dakota. Here in the land of Pittsburgh? #1 isn't really a guarantee, but more a possibility. #2 is some sort of foreign language. #3? HAHAHAHAHA! Turn left three times here, and you'll end up in West Virginia.

No. Really.

While a map of good ol' Minot looks kinda like this:

A map of Pittsburgh looks more like this:

Which is why I get absolutely, positively sporkified when I see these:

Before our move, I drove a whopping three miles from our house, to daycare, and then to work. It was a beautiful thing. Now my commute is a bit longer. It happens to be roughly seven or eight miles from our house to my office, and then I get to drive right past it as I drive another three miles or so to daycare.

So, ten miles. Not that bad.

Except, those ten miles happen to be on roads that feature signs like this:

When those signs are joined by Road Closed signs? THINGS GET UGLY.

Right now there are, and yes I really did count them all, six construction zones between home and daycare. SIX. That's six times that I have the wondrous opportunity to drive down the road only to be stopped by the good ol' Road Closed sign. Since this is Pittsburgh and we don't need no stinkin' detours, I get to try to figure out an alternate route on my own.

Um, please refer to the map of Pittsburgh. There ain't no stinkin' detours because there ain't no stinkin' alternative way of getting from Point A to Point B, unless you are OK with a reeeeeeally long drive through the middle of nowhere. The first time that I tried to navigate around the road closures, I was able to show Alexis the countryside. In Texas. And probably Massachusetts. I think we may have even seen a little bit of California.

Can you say painful? I CAN.

It has taken me two weeks to find a route that doesn't require that Alexis and I carry our passports. Two weeks.

It's enough to make me kinda sorta miss when my commute consisted mainly of looking at the rear-end of a beat-up Accord.

Can someone please pass the lefse?

Using that Fancy Translation Degree They Gave Me at Kent State

When a three-year old says "I'm not tired," she really means, "I can barely hold my eyes open, and it's your fault. You must pay for your crimes. WAAAAAAH!"

When a three-year old says, "I want to wear my Minnie shoes," she really means, "I was wandering around the house in the middle of the night and decided we should play a fun new game. I hid my Minnie shoes under my pillow. I know you'll never find them there, and I'll LOVE watching you search everywhere. I bet smoke comes out of your ears when you try to decide whether to try to convince me to wear other shoes or to keep looking!"

When a three-year old says, "I need to tell you sumpin," she really means, "I hope you weren't trying to go anywhere important because I'm in the mood to just sorta stand here and stall for twenty minutes by repeating that phrase over and over and over. I'm never actually going to tell you anything, Sucka. HAHA!"

When a three-year old says, "C'mere, Cody," she really means, "I feel like torturing a small animal. You, the small black and white puppy, you look like you're fun to torture. Come hither so I may beat you."

When a three-year old says, "Where are my markers?" she really means, "I can't believe you haven't hung any art on this wall. I'll fix that right quick."

When a three-year old says, "I don't like that dress," she really means, "Let's play a guessing game! If you buy it, will I ever wear it? If you don't buy it, will I spend the rest of my life complaining about how that was the greatest dress ever made? Go ahead, make your choice. No matter what, you're going to lose!"

When a three-year old says, "I can't find my Zoe backpack," she means, "Find. it. now. I'm going to lose my shizznet in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . TOO LATE."

When a three-year old says, "I'm not hungry," she really means, "Good grief, I'm so hungry I could eat that mutt over there. You know what I won't eat, though? That crap you just put in front of me. I wonder if I whine enough if you'll morph into a short order cook and fix me up some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?"

When a three-year old says, "I have a booboo. I'm going to die," she really means, "It's been at least four seconds since I had your undivided attention. This makes me sad. So, I'm going to be as overly dramatic as humanly possible because I AM THE CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE!!!!!"

When a three-year old says, "I love you," she means, "I love you." No translation required for that one.

Dear Mr. Google, Knock it Off. Or Else.

Dear Mr. Google,

So. I happen to have your ads on my site. Now, we both know that isn't because I'm looking for monetary gain. If I were to depend on y'all as a source of income, I'd die of starvation within seconds. The literal pennies that I earn from having those things over there aren't even enough to buy a pack of gum once per month.

It's not about the money.

Rather, it's about the entertainment value.

You see, that whole context sensitive thing? Makes really hysterical things happen. Like, if I write about dogs with foot fetishes, I'll get ads that in someone's approximation have something to do with dogs with foot fetishes. I happen to enjoy watching the ads change depending on what I've written. Sometimes it's funny, sometimes it's helpful (I found some fantabulous sites for swingsets when I wrote about them--too bad I decided we should buy a playhouse instead of the slide and swing), sometimes they are just plain dumb.

This one was none of the above.

Oh, I'm sorry. Can you not see the problem? Does this help?

An ad for baby caskets. Right next to my baby. With the words "Buy now!"

Not cool, Google. Not cool.

Now, I found the words that triggered that horrible, awful ad. When I wrote about the stairs of death and mentioned my kid in the same paragraph, your context sensitive joogly woogly stuff got all busy matching words together and decided it made sense to toss up an ad for baby caskets.

It is absolutely, positively NEVER OK to put an ad for child caskets on a mommy blogger site.

NEVER.

If I were in the market for such a thing? THIS is not where I'd go looking for it. If I had ever had the absolute horror of having to buy one in the past? I'd be REALLY pissed to find a reminder on THIS site. Seeing that ad was like a swift kick in the gut, and my kid is happy and healthy.

Thank goodness.

Now, I've blocked that ad. If you cross the line from funny and/or helpful over to TERRIBLY WRONG and bad taste again? I'm deleting your widget. Instantly.

You can keep the pennies and go buy yourself a pack of gum.

Thanks,

The Woman Who Has Been Pissed about that Damn Ad for Days Now

P.S.
Company who paid for that ad--Really? REALLY? You are spending money to have a Google ad? Does that seriously make sense to you? Look, all you need to do is have a website. Unfortunately, there is a need for that which you do, and people will find you when they need you. Don't go wasting money on ads. It's stupid. And offensive. Oh, and the use of the exclamation marks and happy tone? Makes me want to puke on your face.

KTHXBAI