I'm a Dork. With Pizza.

I am a dork. Just to make sure we're clear, I AM a dork. There's no need to tell me, I already know. I.am.a.dork.

Moving on . . .

I LURVE Pittsburgh. I really, really do. I love everything from the trees to the crazy accent to the hills to the fairly decent weather (Go ahead. Argue with me on that point. I will ship your arse to Buffalo for a REAL snow storm, down to Texas to feel what hot and humid can really do to your hair, and then to North Dakota for a taste of -20F and I'm pretty sure you will come to understand that Pittsburgh weather? Ain't all that bad.) There's just one little thing about the town that could stand for some improvement. (OK, two things considering the drivers here are sucktacular. The slowing down for a tunnel thing? Nearly kills me every time.)

What we need is a few dozen good franchises/chains. I don't know why, but Pittsburgh is lacking a lot of really good shopping and dining extravaganzas. We don't have World Market. We only recently sprouted a Stein Mart. And the food? Oh, there's a long list of fast-food restaurants we are missing out on here. Recently many of my Twits have been lamenting some of the specific places we are in need of, and one of those was Donato's.

I love Donato's.

I will stand at the top of a mountaintop and blast my full support and dedication for just about all pizza, but Donato's holds a special place in my heart (shh . . . don't tell me that the "special place" is my right ventricle that Donato's is single-handedly clogging).

Unclecrappy, a local blogger who is far from being a crappy uncle, just couldn't shoosh with his "we're going to Columbus and I'm going to eat Donato's." I couldn't quit with my, "YOU SUCK!" And then? A small miracle happened.

Unclecrappy offered to bring me back some Donato's after a recent trip to Donatoland.

Looky! Looky! Isn't it beautiful?

It brings a tear to my just remembering the moment I first held that splendid little box . . . Oh, and this?

Was nirvana. Sweet, sweet nirvana. Notice how I couldn't even take a photo without snaking a piece first? That is true love right there.

So, thank you UncleCrappy. You made the entire Burgh Baby family very happy that day.

So, anybody up for a White Castle/Carl Jr's/Tim Horton's/Culver's/In N Out Burger/Swensons/California Pizza Kitchen/Macaroni Grill run?

Caption Contest: We Have A Wiener, er, I Mean Winner

Before I tell you who won the Caption Contest, how about the story about how the photo came to be? It's a short little story, so I'm sure everybody will survive the wait.

I have been on a mission ALL summer to get a photo of the Toddler laying around in the grass. I happen to think grass makes a most excellent background and the Toddler happens to think that's very nice and no thank you. She.will.not.cooperate. But, there we were, trying again. This time, I had a weapon of mass cooperation with me--a gummy worm. I offered the kid a gummy worm (which is like offering me a lifetime supply of chocolate and fruit pizza) if she would sit on the grass on her elbows. She obliged. I handed her the gummy worm and moved into position to take a few thousand photos. As is ALWAYS the case, the second the camera came out the kid forgot how to make eye contact and would do nothing but stare at her book and maw on her gummy worm. I snapped away anyway figuring that I would just delete pretty much every picture I took.

Then it happened.

She dropped the gummy worm in the grass.

In the part of the yard where the dogs go to the bathroom.

Time stopped, the Earth quit rotating, and birds everywhere turned to watch as I yelled, "Nooooooo, doooooon't piiiiick it uuuuuuup," and tried to scramble over.

Too late.

The Toddler picked up the gummy worm and promptly stuck it back in her mouth. I'm guessing by the face she made (caught forever in that photo) that it didn't taste too fabulous. Mmmmmm . . . pee-flavored gummy worms.

Immediately after? She did what she ALWAYS does when she ends up with food she doesn't like. She went hunting for Meg, knowing full well that if anybody will eat whatever gross thing the Toddler has, it's the Bulldog.

So . . . the contest winner.

Bum, bum, bum.

La, la, la, la, la, la.

Oh, were you waiting for something?

Well then, it was CLOSE. Like, REAL CLOSE. By one YES ONE vote, Flea has triumphed. Sorry about your luck, Colleen. Maybe next time. (I would feel worse about this close call, but I actually met Colleen this past Saturday Live! and! In! Person! and she got to eat some of my homemade macaroni -n- cheese and some fruit salad I concocted. I think that makes her a winner right there.)

Flea, email me (burghbaby(at)gmail(dot)com) and let me know if you prefer Starbucks or McDonalds and give me your address.

And . . . because she so PERFECTLY managed to ascertain what was going on the day that photo was taken, I hereby declare Kimmjo a winner, too! Email me and we'll set things in motion.

Go Ahead, Tell Daddy

Fact: Men are born equipped with a filter that allows them to tune out 90% of what the female species says. I'm not exactly sure when the filter activates, but by the time men are in their 20's, the only words that get their attention are beer, (insert favorite sports team name here) news, sex, anything automotive, fire (oooooh, fire!), and probably fart. I have to add fart because I'm pretty sure that if you stand in the middle of a crowded street and yell, "FART!" all the men will turn and look. If anybody wants to test that theory, go ahead and let me know how it works out for you.

Mr. Husband is a man (trust me, I know these things) and came equipped with said filter. I wasn't aware of it's existence until after we were married, which is funny considering we dated for over six years before we decided people should give us gifts for carrying on the same as always. Of course, now that I'm thinking about it, weddings might activate that filter. Might.

Anyway, I am slowly coming to realize that the Toddler Version 2.5 (Dude. She turned 2 1/2 today. Oh.my.hells.bells time flies.) is smarter than me. She already knows about the man filter. Recently she has taken to making Mr. Husband feel like a jerk for not hearing what she says. A typical conversation around our house:

Toddler V2.5: Daddy, I want fruit snacks please.
*crickets*
Toddler V2.5: Daddy, I want fruit snacks!
*crickets*
Toddler V2.5: DADDY! I WANT FRUIT SNACKS!
Me: Alexis, here are some fruit snacks.
Toddler V2.5: NO! I tell Daddy!
Me: Here, hand these to your daughter.
*Mr. Husband stares at me blankly while handing fruit snacks to Toddler*
Toddler V2.5: Dank you, Daddy.

The same sort of thing happens in the car. For example, today we were kind enough to allow the child to eat popcorn in my car (a tale unto its own, let me tell ya'). When she decided she was done, this happened:

Toddler V2.5: Daddy, here.
*crickets*
Toddler V2.5: Daddy, here.
*crickets*
Me: I'll take the bag, Alexis.
Toddler V2.5: NO! I tell Daddy. Here, Daddy.
Me: Would you please take the bag of popcorn from her?

Miraculously (or because I bashed him over the head with my 30-pound purse), he listened and finally took the bag of popcorn from the persistent little creature in the back seat.

This little phenomenom of where she tells me, "NO! I tell Daddy," has been going on for several weeks. Mr. Husband has yet to figure out that it would be easier if he would just pay more attention to what she's saying. (In his defense, the girl doesn't EVER stop talking and generally doesn't care if anyone is paying attention. It's pretty easy to just tune her out and spare yourself the headache of trying to figure out how Dora and Boots have anything to do with the lellow car, blue house, and spinning.)

I might have to teach the kid to start every sentence with one of the magic words. I can hear it now, she'll be saying, "Daddy, *whispers* sex *regular voice* I need the car."

Somehow, I don't think it's going to work as well for her as it does me.