A 40-year-old woman said Dr. Boyda extracted three of her wisdom teeth during an appointment in Robinson in September 2002. She said she awoke from the anesthesia to discover Dr. Boyda rubbing her vaginal and breast areas. “I’d only been awake for a few minutes at that time, so I was just dumbfounded. It was brief,” the woman said.

But she also acknowledged that she returned for two to four office visits with Dr. Boyda, a point emphasized by defense attorney William Difenderfer.

When you wake up and find your dentist fondling your girl parts, you can do one of two things:

1. Kick him anywhere on his person, grab his drill and try to drill his eyeballs out of their sockets, bash his head repeatedly into the spitty-sink until he loses consciousness, then go directly to the police and report his punk ass.

or.

2. You can leave his office and return not once, but two to four times for additional visits.

Please, for the sake of our reputation as a gender that is not dumber than pigeon poop, choose option one next time.

Gawd.

(h/t Liz.  Girl, “WTF?” is right.)

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It’s too very long to post all of the important parts here, so you’ll need to go read this article about 18-year-old Justin Jackson who was killed by city police after he fired on them and killed their K-9 dog.

His family, despite Justin’s history of violence and crime, refuses to believe their angel did what the cops say he did. The most important parts:

Mr. Jackson began shooting, hitting the dog twice. Police Chief Nate Harper said yesterday that bullets recovered from the dog were consistent with Mr. Jackson’s gun, a .357-caliber Magnum.

The officers, who were not injured, returned fire. Mr. Jackson died of gunshot wounds to the head and chest, according to the Allegheny County medical examiner’s office.

At his parents’ house in the West End yesterday, Mr. Jackson’s relatives gathered to mourn. In addition to grief, they expressed anger over what they believe was an unjustified shooting. Many family members do not believe he had a gun and theorized that police shot both the K-9 and Mr. Jackson.

Donald James Jackson, his father, said he has witnesses to back up this theory, but he did not want to provide their names yesterday.

He said witnesses told him that they saw one of the officers hover over his son’s body and he suspects the officers planted a gun and other evidence there.

“Eyewitnesses, evidence at the scene and trace evidence from the crime lab will prove beyond doubt he had the gun,” said Lt. Daniel Herrmann of Major Crimes. Chief Harper said that the gun recovered from Mr. Jackson had been reported stolen in 2006 from a home in Elliott.

The family said even if Mr. Jackson did have a gun, it did not warrant police fatally shooting him. In their view, the officers may have shot Mr. Jackson to make him pay for killing the dog.

Denise Bazemore, his aunt, said she was infuriated at the way the police reacted.

“Is a dog’s life worth more than a human life?” she asked.

Mr. Jackson had planned on going to night school and getting his GED, his father said.

“He decided he wanted to make a change in his life,” he said. “At the hands of the city police department, it was taken away.”

Dear Jackson Family. In your suffering for your loss, you must come to acknowledge some truths, truths that may be easier to see once the grief clears:

1. Police officers would rather shoot themselves point blank in the knee cap than intentionally shoot their own K-9 dog. I promise you it is true.

2. If you are standing across from a person with a gun and that person begins firing that gun, you are not concerned with whether he is firing the gun at the dog or at you. You will fire your gun back every single time. I promise you it is true.

3. The police do not carry around stolen guns just in case they need to plant one on a body. Your son had a gun. I promise you it is true.

4. You son had his life taken away, not at the hands of the city police, but by his own hands when he chose to fire his weapon. I promise you it is true.

5. A dog’s life is not worth more than a human life, but as awful as it sounds, in my currency, the life of a police officer protecting his city and his own life, is worth more than the life of a criminal shooting a gun at him. I think it is true.

6. There are absolutely incidents all over the nation in which police officers wrongfully accuse and/or kill young black men. This is not one of those times. I promise you it is true.

7. You loved your son, but he went down the wrong path and that is why he is dead. Admitting that doesn’t mean that he was a bad son.

It is the truth.

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So my sister and I went to watch a “kid” we’ve known forever play his last home high school volleyball game, a kid I once babysat and played Pokemon with, if staring at cards with odd creatures on them and going “WTF?” can be considered “playing.”

I’m a professional girl long removed from high school, so it’s been ages since I’ve been inside of a high school.

I walked into the high school, took a seat in the bleachers with the group of family and friends, and I’m immediately struck by something odd.  The girls.  They are orange.  Okay?  Orange.  So orange you couldn’t even see their lips.  Just orange.

I turned to my sister.  “Sister of PittGirl,” I whispered, “Why are all of the girls orange? Is this something they’re eating?  Or are they just really shitty at matching their foundation to their skin color?”

Sister of PittGirl whispered, “Prom.”

Oh.  That’s right.  Prom was last week.  That one day out of the year where suddenly it’s attractive to be as orange as one can be.  Except it’s not even a little bit attractive.  It’s weird-looking.  Cut it out, girls.

Accepting the fact that every 17-year-old girl I saw was going to be orange, I took a look at the boys warming up for the game, and I turned to my sister.  “SISTER OF PITTGIRL,” I shouted, “WHAT IN THE HELL ARE THEY FEEDING THE BOYS THESE DAYS?!”

Giants.  All of them.  Giant muscles.  Giant jumps.  Volleyballs leaving craters in the gym floor.  Whiskers.  Deep voices.  JUMP SERVES!

Not to get all get off my lawn with you, but back in the day when I went to high school, I seem to remember all of the boys averaging out at say, 5′ 10” and maybe 170 lbs.  Not sure.  But I am sure that they weren’t the huge, hulking monsters capable of taking my head off with a volleyball that this group of “youngsters” was.

Also.  That “little kid” I used to play Pokemon with is coming with my huge, entire family to the beach this year and he is SO going to be on my team for the Family of PittGirl Annual Summer Olympics (events include volleyball, bocce, limbo [that generates some stares], and tennis).  I’ve already called dibs.

I’m just going to sit in the sand with an umbrella drink and watch him pick my family members off one by one. “Hey, kid, that particular Sister of PittGirl over there?  She’s next.”

God bless whatever the hell they’re feeding the kids these days.

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1. So much to write about today, and yet so little time. Coming up today (hopefully) a Buccos of Suckitude post, a Pittsburgh Passion post, a “What are they feeding kids these days?!” post, and an OMG, YOUR KID WAS A CRIMINAL … ACCEPT IT! post.

It will be brought.

2. Did you guys see Burgh Baby’s Mom in her Mommy Blog interview with Ashley DiParlo, hereforetoforeverthereafter known as The Hawtness (tm Burgh Baby’s Mom)?

3. How long until the men of The Pittsburgh Men’s Blogging Society chime in with a “WAH! What about the DADDY BLOGGERS?! Wah! No fair! Girls get all the attention. Wah!”

Pout some more, why don’t you? Girls rule.

4. You know I love those boys over at The Society, but they have big giant buttons that are so very fun to push with abandon. Know what I’d like to see? Some sort of competition between the women of The Pittsburgh Women’s Blogging Society and the men of The Stupid Boys Society. Tug of War, softball, thumb-wrestling, Guitar Hero, Parcheesi, anything! I’d love to see a fight break out between, say, The Judge and Agent Ska. Make it happen.

5. That adorable baby up there is actually reader Barb’s grandson Quintan. How awesome is he? I want to hug him and rub my nose on his cheeks.

6. Want to have a good freakout, the kind of freakout that you get when you see scary baby dolls with no faces? Sure you do. Go take a look at these ManBabies that Rachel sent to me, writing:

I’m not sure why, PittGirl, but something about this site made me think of you. And by “think of you” I mean “discover another possible method of freaking you out a little bit.”

Gold star for Rachel, because the list of things PittGirl is irrationally afraid of now goes like so: spiders, cats, howler monkeys, clowns, scientologists, dolls/mannequins, and manbabies.

7. Douche.

(h/t Arika)

8. Did you know that Lady Elaine Freakin’ Demon Fairchilde is 35-years-old and wanted to get busy with Mr. Rogers? According to her MySpace, it is true.

Check it out and be sure to read her bio. “Hollah! Where’s my damn wig at!?”

HAH!

(h/t Beth)

Tags: Penguins

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It’s been almost three years. You know me by now. You know I love to laugh and you know how very much I hate to cry. You also know what makes me laugh and you know what makes me cry.

Sick kids make me cry. Always. So yeah, last Sunday, I read this article about 18-year old John Challis. Did you?

By the time I was done, my newspaper was covered with giant spots of wetness. Possibly a leak in the roof, but most likely a leak in my eyeballs.

I wasn’t going to write about it because there’s not much I can say. But then my sister emailed me the link today, not realizing I already had my heart ripped out by the story, but hey, thanks for REMINDING ME! Because is there anything more gut-wrenching than a son apologizing to his father because he couldn’t beat cancer?

As I said. Nothing I can say, nothing I can do. I just wanted you guys to be aware of this young Burgher and his amazing amazing bravery and perhaps his even more amazing maturity.

A wise man once said, “Life ain’t about how many breaths you take. It’s what you do with those breaths.”

And that wise man is this young kid, John Challis.

So yeah, read it. Just realize you’ll be left with questions with no answers and bleeding emotions with no salve.

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“For too long, this organization has been about us and what we want to accomplish as an agency, and we have lost sight of what matters most — our customers,” Mr. Stapleton said.

A survey 2,000 of customers last year was “a real wake-up call,” he said in a release. “Less than half our customers told us they were satisfied with their shopping experience. They viewed a visit to the Wine & Spirits store as a chore and said they spent an average of only eight minutes in the store per visit, while other specialty retailers have average visits closer to half an hour.

“With retail customers’ expectations rightfully higher than ever, that’s simply not good enough.”

Memo to self:

Dear PittGirl,

Someday when you’ve completely conquered the blogging world and are regularly having coffee with Sir David Conrad and you decide to run for President of Pittsburgh or of Pennsylvania or of the World (Campaign slogan: “Mwah-hahahaha!”), to your already wonderful platform of a flat 15 percent income tax, do not, I repeat to you, self, do NOT forget to also add in that thing about destroying the PLCB with a missile because clearly, even with data staring them in the eyes and kicking them in the shins, they still do not realize the good that a nice dose of free-market competition would bring. Kill them hard, PittGirl.

A chicken in every pot and a frickin’ six-pack in every gas station.

KTHXBAI.

Rock on,

You.

Tags: David Conrad

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Can we talk about Seviche on Penn Avenue?

I had dinner there last night and you know, normally when I go to a new restaurant, I like what I order, I eat it, and it’s fine. Fine. Rarely do I eat something, point a tiny fork at my dinner companion and say, “Holy shit. That is the best thing I have eaten ever in my life and I cannot walk out of here unless I have another tray of it.”

Yesterday, after the second tray of Asian Tartare, after the lamb chops, after the Strawberry Mimosa Mojito (oh, yes. Yum.), after the wine, after the pulled pork sandwich with cilantro and lime, after savoring every single teeny tiny itsy bitsy little bite, well, I wanted a Whopper to fill me up, but still.  Delicious!

Yes, the portions are small. Ten dollars for four bites of lamb. So if you like to eat a piece of meat the size of a gazelle, it might be just a snack for you, but as for me and my friend and all that food and liquor coming in at only $64 and change. Perfection.

Valet is only $5. The music is perfect. The atmosphere is very Miami-y and I’m not lying when I say that lots of gorgeous people go to Seviche. Seriously. I was like, “Are these people ACTORS or something with their slight faux-hawks, big glasses and trendy suits?” Very good people-watching to be had there.

If you’ve got a date and you don’t know where to take her/him. This is a fun place to try. Tell them that PittGirl sent you (they’ll say “who?” but you just be all, “WTF is wrong with you?  THE PittGirl!”) and that she said to turn the frickin’ fans down a little. It was like sitting under a hurricane.

Geez.  My hair was NOT thugalicious after that meal.

P.S.  The best ceviche in the world (yes, damn it.  It’s supposed to be spelled with a C) can be found at El Cejas in Mercado 28 in downtown Cancun, Mexico.  That’s church.

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It would appear that when socialites see the words “wear a hat” they mistakenly READ the words “look ridiculous, if at all possible.”

A few of the ridiculous hats from this year’s Hat Luncheon:

1. Here’s Lukey and Erin.

Erin, as per usual, looks wonderful, even if the pearls clash with the hat that clashes with the dress (I think). Lukey Sinatra says:”I wanna wake up in a city, that doesn’t sleep, and find I’m king of the hill - top of the heap.”

Also, shouldn’t a fedora sit down a little further on the head?

2.  You know what?  When you wake up in the morning, walk outside, and a rooster goes and dies on your head, just go back to bed. No good will come of that day.

3.  Lady?  That buzzing sound you hear?

Bees.  Horny bees.  Also?  Flowers are not a hat.  Take a lesson.

4.  But this hat:

PittGirl approved.

5.  Scroll up, see what I wrote about what to do when a rooster dies on your head:

And replace “rooster” with “peacock.”

(h/t Liz)

Tags: Luke Ravenstahl

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So many questions and no one with any answers.

1.  First up, regarding the owner of The Tiger Ranch “shelter” who will stand trial for the abuse of 400 feral, sick and abandoned cats, 100 of which were euthanized — said the owner’s defense attorney:

“This is the first serious attempt to shut down a no-kill facility. That’s what this is.”

The question: Is it really a no-kill facility when the animals are all sick, dying or dead?  Or is it just a slow-kill facility.  Just because you’re not actually slitting their throats doesn’t mean you’re not killing them.  Either way:  GUILTY!

2.  From the PG:

A customer used a broom to fight off a knife-wielding suspect who tried to rob a store in Somerset Township last night, state police said. The suspect fled to a waiting vehicle, but eyewitnesses obtained the license plate number and gave it to state police. The witness reported the occupant of the vehicle was seen throwing clothing from the car window.

The question: Why did the occupant throw clothing out of the vehicle?  Was it stolen clothing?  Was there drug residue on the clothing?  Was he taking clothing off of his body?  Was he hoping to be the next Scary Naked Bleeding Man?  Either way:  KEEP YOUR DAMN CLOTHES ON!

3.  King Kong is sadcakes:

The nonprofit University of Pittsburgh Medical Center — a profit machine in recent years — did something rare during the first nine months of fiscal 2008.

It lost money.

Question: Does anyone, anyone at all, care that King Kong, a for-profit giant hiding behind a non-profit piece of paper, didn’t actually turn a profit?  Not me.  Not me at all.  King Kong can come and kiss my ass.  And speaking of ass-kissing …

4.  Those newlyweds that went ballistic on the “Good Samaritans” held a news conference to give their side of the story and their side was basically that they were defending themselves:

The bride who was jailed along with her groom after a wedding night brawl said yesterday the melee started when she stuck out her rear end for her husband to kiss during a boisterous argument in a hotel hallway.

When the cops questioned the groom about kicking her in the butt, did he say, “Well, she was ASKING FOR IT!”

Either way:  Don’t ask for it.  You might get it.

5.  Innocent until proven guilty be damned, the man that last year raped and killed that girl riding her ATV  and then confessed to it, claimed yesterday on the stand in his own defense that a complete stranger showed up on his land with the ATV and the dead girl and offered him $100 to bury the ATV.

Returning to the truck, Mr. Martin saw a body in the passenger seat covered with a gray coat. All he could see were a hand, legs and some hair.  “I said, ‘What’s this?’ ” he testified, “and he said, ‘There was an accident.’ At this point, I was so scared and confused I didn’t know what to do.”

The question: You walk up to a guy’s truck, see a girl’s body covered in a coat on the front seat after you’ve helped the man bury an ATV, you’re “scared”, so you look at the murderer and say, “What’s this?”

No.  You do not.  You scream “AUGH!” and you run away like there’s a doll with no face chasing after you.

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It’s hard to believe it, but you guys know I wouldn’t tell you a lie … unless it was a funny lie … and this is not even a little bit funny.

There are still people on the planet that proudly admit that they are die-hard Buccos of Suckitude fans.  People that go to every game and know every player (I know three: Freddy Sanchez, Jason Bay, and Doug Drabek.  What?).  People that have not yet tossed their every Buccos collectible into an angry bonfire.  People that look at a 15-year losing record and say, “Next year.  Next year we’re winning the whole damn thing.”  Delusional people.

Mondesi’s House has found the nation’s die-est hard-est Buccos of Suckitude fans and your job is to go and vote because the winner gets some pretty sweet prizes.  Well, for THEM they are prizes, for PittGirl, it’s more like tinder.  But whatever.

The finalists range from the sad to the very sad.  I mean, these people truly love the Buccos.  I cannot comprehend that. It’s like loving a spouse that kicks you 62.5%  of the time but that other 37.5% of the time, he’s a total winner.  Why would you still love that spouse?

That’s a bad analogy.  Bite me.

Wow.  I’m testy today.  Bite me.

HAH!

Okay, I’m done.  So listen, my favorite by FAR is Zach from Austin, Texas.  Would you look at his picture with his friends at the game.  He keeps score during the game!

You know how PittGirl keeps score when she’s dragged by her thick, lustrous hair to a Buccos game at PNC Park?  I hear a loud collective groan and scattered boos after the crack of a bat, I look up from Saucy on whom I’m playing a killer game of PacMan,  then I look up at the scoreboard and go, “Huh.  Another home run.  That Doug Drabek sucks.  Hey! Can I get some more beer over here!?”  THAT’S how you keep score at a Buccos game.

Go vote!

Tags: Pittsburgh Pirates

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