Threesome

OK. Screw the pix. Hard- and soft-ware uncooperating.
And really, who needs 'em?
Because I have a tale to tell, pals.
Today, I took a walk in Downtown Pittsburgh, stopping first at a PNC ATM.
Waited. Customer ahead finishes her business and I hear the familiar beep sequence that means take your money, but most important, take your card, or I, the machine, will suck it into my bowels, shred it and cause you untold grief.
Customer ahead doesn't hear. Walks away and machine burps out her card as I prepare to surrender mine. So. I grab her card and as she is still close, "Excuse me, your card?"
Profuse gratefulness ensues; I do my banking, take my cash, card and move on.
Shop at Macy's, admire the Arrott Building, wander back to office.
And on the way back, past a woman feeding a meter. Her quarter drops; rolls in front of me, so I scoop it up and hand it back. "You are too kind!" she says.
End of work day.
As I walk the dog in the late, last August afternoon, I ponder these two events, wishing for a third to complete the giving-ness of them.
So what happens?
I find $20 on the street.
Lameness would mean I was rewarded for two acts of charity, but because I am not lame,  I won't buy that reasoning. I am cynical, so no doubt that $20 has a future that does not include me.
But I like that it made a threesome. Even without the damn picture of the $20 in between my pink little fingers.
Pic: The 16th Street Bridge guardian who could be a currency all his own.

I hate reaching out to curated stuff

To start off, a link:
Science Guy on creationism
Scroll down a bit to the paragraph that reads: The Huffington Post reached out to ...
I heard those same words today in the ladies locker room at the gym; from the television that's constantly blaring "The View" or "The Chew" or some such. The talking heads were nattering about a celebrity in rehab. Or seclusion. Or pregnancy. Or something equally SCANDALOUS!
One head: "I reached out to her publicist ..."
Other heads: "Natter! Natter! Natter!"
Seriously.
I guess "reaching out" is what you do if you want a lame "prepared statement" or "release" or "tweet."
Which is, to say, you are, lame.
Please.
Grow cojones. Call. Speak.
"Reaching out" is for losers.
 Geez. Did cojones get you fired? Well, you can have a nice life in a "well curated" (just read the first graf) hovel, apartment, loft, mansion, beach house, interstate underpass or whatever.

This is a "well curated" bike from The Garden Basket in Elyria, Ohio.

Girl picks up girls

Ate out tonight at a new place in Mt. Lebo, Walnut Grill, which has a patio.

We sat inside with a view of the patio, which at the time had only two tables occupied, two young women drinking Cosmos at one and one young woman drinking white wine at the other.

Miss Singleton was smoking and looking entirely comfortable sitting alone but before long all three were chatting across two tables and not too long after that, Miss Singleton joined the Cosmo Girls.
By the time we left, they were all BFFs and had become the objects of interest of three later-arriving Beer Drinking Men. (Withholding obligatory smart-ass comment, er comments, about men and beer.) 

I briefly thought of "The Roommate" and "Single White Female." But these girls were having too much fun, and I almost wished I could grab my drink and join them.

What is it about girls that they can get together like this? I don't know, but seeing this little play reminded me how much I love my own BFFs.

Neighbors ... and non neighbors

It's the last Sunday of August. Kids in the school district we live in go back to the classrooms tomorrow. Some of those kids have a habit of tromping down the slope that frames most of the back yards on our side of the street. They like my neighbor's slope because his property isn't fenced. Just tromp down his slope, through the yard, across the street, through the park and there you are, at school.

Well, surprise kids. He put up a fence and attached it to ours. The message of the fence is: Get the ---- --- ---- ---- --- --- and --- --- and just to remind ------ ---- out of my yard.

So your detour will be through our yard, under the fallen hydrangea and over the bale of straw (never mind the explanation). Good luck to ya. That's a pretty crappy replacement hinge I put on the gate last year. Just please close the gate after you, so my swift greyhound doesn't spot her chance when I let her out for her business. Otherwise, tromp away.

Shared space with neighbors today at the Dormont Pool, on, as my husband said, one of the fast-dwindling days of summer. C dropped me off and the cutest surprise was tied up outside the entrance.

A puppy.

I was too entranced to be smart enough to take a picture, but this little guy, black with brindle markings and looking decidedly German Shepard-ish, was happy for any attention. He had a collar, but no tags and was tied to a post with blue Weed Whacker string. A lifeguard named George was determined to take him home, as repeated addresses on the pool P.A. system failed to raise the puppy's owners. One of the lifeguards had put a water dish down for him.

The little guy was gone when I left.

I hope George took him because the puppy liked him (and almost everyone who paid attention to him). Who would leave a puppy tied outside a public pool, with Weed Whacker string?