kdiddy.org

Here’s a photo in search of a caption…

I don’t think it’s normal to open up the website of your ex-bank and feel more than a twinge of sadness and regret and “What could we have done differently?” But that, my friends, is a glimpse into my psyche that speaks volumes.

For instance, do you know how long I had an AOL account? Five years. 1998 to 2003. Do you know when I stopped using it? 2002. I realized that AOL was a complete fucking joke some time around…early 1999 (I’m slow). But I kept it because I felt bad. This also explains why I keep every stub from my movie tickets and why it upset me to kick the soccer ball during gym.

I have all of these FEELINGS, which is fine, but they don’t make a lick of sense.

Like why did I get all excited when I was going through stuff at my mom’s house the other day and found my stub from seeing Clueless in the theater in 1995?

Oh, but I also found a bunch of notes from my friends that I kept that I need to scan or transcribe because they are awesome. (***Note to young’uns: “notes” are a primitive form of adolescent communication that pre-date the widespread use of email, IM, and text messages. These notes were written in ink or pencil on looseleaf paper, intricately folded, and then hand-delivered. See also: the effing Pony Express.)

Anyway. I did end up closing my account at the bank yesterday. It wasn’t very dramatic. They did not want to refund all of the overdraft fees because the whole thing resulted from my error, which was not getting the husband’s endorsement on the check which was made out to both of us. And, you know, fair enough. I do not subscribe to the “customer is always right” school of thought because…well, it’s bullshit. And I acknowledged my oversight and explained that I understood the bank’s position, but previous experience (like, when I deposited all of the checks from our wedding without incident) led me to believe that there wouldn’t be a problem and as a loyal customer I wanted us to kiss and make up.

They said no. I said that I wanted to close my account immediately. I am not a millionaire or a large corporation. But I’ve had that account since I was 19 years old. And the fact that they didn’t even blink an eye about losing me as a customer sealed the deal.

Then today, the dude that I dealt with called and pleasantly let me know that I owe the bank $65 before they can consider us split.

This is seriously the most bullshit break up I’ve ever gone through. I should’ve gotten a pre-nup.

So, tomorrow, I’m going to go down there with $65 and I’m going to feel like Paul McCartney doing it, too. “Here, Heather…I mean PNC. Here’s your $65 THAT YOU SO TOTALLY NEED I’M SO SURE HAVE FUN WITH YOUR EPONYMOUS BALL PARK OH SHIT I MISSED MY BUS!”

The husband and I were cooking up horrible things to do to the cash before handing it over, like rubbing it with various bodily fluids. I don’t think I’ll allow that to actually happen, though.

But I do want to do SOMETHING to express my dissatisfaction and, well, how hurt (but totally not surprised) I am that they don’t even care to see me go. Perhaps I will press my butt cheeks against the glass.

Or maybe I’ll just write them a letter. THAT’LL SHOW ‘EM.

We stopped at the Record Exchange on the way home and I bought used DVDs of Top Gun and Wall Street.

What is most disturbing about these purchases, you ask? Well, that would be the fact that I’ve never seen either of these movies. I also never saw Die Hard until late last year.

I’m really not sure what I was doing in the 80s, especially since I was indeed a TV watcher and we had HBO. And I didn’t drink or do drugs until the mid 90s, so I don’t have that as an excuse.

Hmm. The mysteries of life. At least now I can properly reminisce about when Tom Cruise was hotter and less…hyena-ish.

TAKE MY BREATH
AWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY.

OH BY THE WAY, SUCKERS. I got tickets to see Louis C.K. on November 8th. It’s how I’m helping to stimulate the economy. By the way, The Economy, are you stimulated yet? Huh? You like that? Right there? WHO’S YOUR DADDY, THE ECONOMY?

I don’t know why this post is so disgusting and shouty. YES THEY DESERVED TO DIE. AND I HOPE THEY BURN IN HELL.

I went to Student Health yesterday. Let me put it right out there that I feel incredibly lucky to have highly competent medical staff on campus and available to me at practically a moment’s notice. But I get the sense that the folks at Student Health are maybe lacking some excitement. I mean, just judging by the posters and pamphlets covering the place, I imagine that 99% of the time they deal with minor STDs, contraception, and common colds and whatnot. Then here comes me, all flushed and bleh and complaining of weird pains.

So, yeah, they sent me to the ER to get checked for appendicitis.

I had some pain in my side but not like STABBING pain just “Ow, if you could please quit pressing there as soon as possible, that would be awesome.”

Obviously, since I’m here telling you about this and not in the hospital, I do not have appendicitis. At least, they’re pretty sure I don’t. I was told to make note of any debilitating pain and inform a medical professional should I start projectile vomiting and turning green. Which, you know…word. Will do!

And I’m pretty much okay today. I’m just still really tired despite getting like 9 hours of sleep and have had absolutely no appetite for the past two days. I can’t say for sure what was wrong with me, but none of the medical peeps think it was food poisoning either, so it must just be some low-level stomach bug.

Oh, and I am not pregnant. I know this because I believe I was tested 3 or 4 times yesterday. Like, “Okay, you were negative at 3:30 but it’s 6 p.m. You’re probably totally pregnant now!”

The best part of my trip to the ER was that student health insisted that campus police take me to West Penn. That was all well and good…until the (very nice) campus police officer dropped me off at the Liberty Avenue entrance to the Mellon Pavillion of West Penn. He told me, “Okay, just go in there and there will be a receptionist and they’ll call for you when they’re ready for you.” West Penn is notoriously maze-like, but I KNOW that the ER entrance is on Millvale. So I said, “I go in here? Really?” And he said yeah and I figured he knew something I didn’t. Like, someone from the ER would come get me from a completely different part of the building…because that’s how they roll.

I spent about 10 minutes lounging in the lobby completely alone (no receptionist, no patients, nothing) before figuring that if I DID have appendicitis, it would be best for me to go to the actual ER, instead of languishing in the non-ER, imagined arrangements aside.

So I just walked to the ER. And let me tell you. Stuff like this ALWAYS happens to me. Like a simple task of taking someone to the emergency room becomes this silly exercise in stupid.

Yesterday, I got this gigantic falafel salad for lunch from the Mediterranean truck on campus. It was delicious and I mused to Angela about my theories on falafel, namely that something in it sends my seratonin soaring or something. That was the last thing I ate yesterday

We went grocery shopping and on the way home I started to have stomach cramps. The cramps continued the rest of the night, varying in intensity. They woke me up a few times, plus I had a really bizarre nightmare about Twitter and the baby came in and was asking me about something.

By 7:30 a.m., I felt like absolute shit. The cramps weren’t coming as frequently, but I now had body aches, a headache, some chills, etc. I am at work now and am going to Student Health at 3:30.*

I think maybe I have a touch of food poisoning and that maybe the lettuce and/or tomatoes in my salad were tainted. I won’t tell you what I’ve been imagining about the nice old man who putters around making falafel in his truck and what his bathroom habits are, but I’m sure you can imagine.

So, yeah. I have nothing else to add…besides a request that you all pity me.

*One very good argument for being a professional student is access to Student Health. I LOVE Student Health.

We did not go grocery shopping yesterday. The reason for that being that I did not feel well at all yesterday and I think I was perhaps a tad hungover. This is sad because I had exactly 2.5 beers on Saturday night, but now I recall that I didn’t eat very much on Saturday.

I do recall sitting on the front porch with the husband. We were having one of those great “let’s philosophize!” conversations about life, the universe, and everything. You know, the ones. The conversations after which your neighbors glare at you with sleep-deprived eyes because they really didn’t care to know about your definition of soul at 1 a.m.? But I guess I can point to the moment where I realized things were getting a little sloppy when I said, “And THAT’SH why I think women are the evolution of men. Cause of the thingy. Don Cheadle. Placenta? *burp*”

What a weak performance on my part. Especially since we started to watch Road to Perdition upon my insistence and I fell asleep about 15 minutes into it. We watched the first half of Once Upon A Time in the West last night, which is extremely dope thus far. I’m not a big Western fan, but I don’t think Sergio Leone can really be denied in many instances. And of course there’s The Searchers.

Anyway, besides getting surprisingly drunk and killing my cell phone, I also got reacquainted with my Wii Fit on Saturday. It was surprisingly gentle about my extended absence (24 days), but I did note some sarcasm when I first stepped on the balance board. You know how it says, “Oh?” I could have sworn mine said something closer to “Whoa.” Like, “Whoa, what’s up, Krispy Kreme?” Whatever.

A scene. Earlyish evening. A laundry room. A woman pulls wet jeans out of the washer and tosses them into the dryer.

“Hey. What’s that kind of large, silvery, flat thing in the bottom of the tub?”

*beat*

“OH IT’S MY CELL PHONE THAT’S FUCKING AWESOME YES 100% GRAND!!!!!!!!!1″

I am in serious need of some levity today (is that a contradiction?), so in honor of the 50 greatest conservative rock songs and the subsequent hilarious responses, I give you my top 15 conservative songs:

1. The Beatles “Norwegian Wood” - The line “Isn’t it good, Norwegian wood?” refers to the glorious benefits of a global market and the commercial opportunities afforded to us by imports and free trade. Look for Ringo Starr’s follow-up anthem for Ikea, “Swedish Particleboard.”

2. The Rolling Stones “Start Me Up” - This song was written to celebrate the release of Windows 95 and the overall capitalist success of Microsoft. Only in America!

3. The Beach Boys “God Only Knows” - “God only knows what I’d be without you,” is a sweet ode to The Creator’s omnipotence and psychic powers.

4. U2 “Sunday Bloody Sunday” - In the line, “How long? How long must we sing this song?” Bono expresses his exasperation with singing such liberal anthems.

5. The Sex Pistols “Anarchy in the U.K.” - The call for anarchy is obviously sarcasm. This song is actually just a call for an end to big government.

6. Metallica “One” - “Fed through the tube that sticks in me/Just like a wartime novelty/Tied to machines that make me be/Cut this life off from me” speaks to the glory of dying on the battlefield…er, well, almost dying on the battlefield.

7. The Kinks “Lola” - “I pushed her away/I walked to the door/I fell to the floor/I got down on my knees
Then I looked at her and she at me” refers to the physical altercation that always ensues when a manly man realizes that the chick he’s been macking on is actually a dude. It happens to the best of us.

8. Bob Dylan “Masters of War” - In the line, “You fasten the triggers/For the others to fire/Then you set back and watch/When the death count gets higher” Dylan acknowledges the fact that those who are drawn to politics aren’t that great with all of the killing and stuff and that it’s better left to people who are more predisposed to rage…like pissy broke people.

9. The Pretenders “Brass in Pocket” - The title line is an homage to how it’s better to have money than to not have money and those who do not have money should get some so that they won’t be poor anymore and then they can stop whining about being hungry all the time.

10. David Bowie “Suffragette City” - A plaintive song about how women gaining the right to vote directly led to men refusing to help their buddies in favor of shagging.

11. Ben Folds Five “Song for the Dumped” - Folds rails against welfare queens when he screams, “Give me my money back, you bitch!”

12. Led Zeppelin “Stairway to Heaven” - Proof that God is a capitalist: “And she’s buying a stairway to heaven/And when she gets there she knows if the stores are closed/With a word she can get what she came for.” THERE ARE STORES IN HEAVEN! We can shop ’til we die and then just keep shopping!

13. Pussycat Dolls “Don’t Cha” - The obvious lesson from this song is that good ol’, healthy American competition gives us all character…and results in hotter chicks who will fight and/or make out to attract men with five brain cells. Everyone wins!

14. Chumbawamba “Tubthumping” - Sure, the band members are all anarchists and anti-corporate, but you can’t miss the Horatio Alger pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps of “I get knocked down, but I get up again, you’re never gonna keep me down.”

15. Jimi Hendrix “Purple Haze” - When he sings (I think), “‘Scuse me while I kiss this guy!” Hendrix is apologizing for his homosexuality because he knows it threatens my marriage.

Bonus: Heidi Montag “Higher” - The song is being considered as the new theme for No Child Left Behind.

So, this morning, I was fixing some breakfast for the baby and while we were waiting for the toaster, I said, “Hey, come here!” He immediately jumped into my arms and we hugged and hugged and hugged. I gave him some kisses and he started giggling and peppering my face and neck with kisses. I laughed and tried to hide my neck and it was such a gag-worthy, cute moment.

Until the baby said, “You bastard!”

Sigh. I mean, obviously, he has no idea what that means. At least, I don’t think so. I just told him not to say it again and we moved on with our lives. I did NOT get super immature and snot, “Yeah, well, at least my parents were married when I was born.” Because that would be mean and stupid and a tad messed up.

First, the lulz:

And now, the baking hubris.

So, I was all impressed with myself (and the sister-in-law) after the success of our cupcakes and decided to tackle a baking project that I’ve had my eye on for awhile: homemade English Muffins. I’ve had the tab for that recipe open in my browser for like two months and last night I finally decided to go for it, since I actually had all of the ingredients and some time to mess around.

It’s probably obvious to many of you smart folks that baking yeasty products on a humid June night in Pittsburgh is a Dumb Idea, but I’ve always turned my nose up at conventional wisdom.

See, everything was pretty much fine until I got to the kneading part. I’m sure that I’ve bitched about my tiny kitchen on here before, but let me reiterate that I do NOT have counters. Like, there just aren’t any. I have a patch of space next to the sink that houses the dish rack (er, well, a towel that I rest pots and pans on to dry), an apartment dishwasher with a few feet of space on top, and the stove. That’s it. Those are my working surfaces. I’ve moved prep operations out to the dining room table before but it’s obviously kind of a pain. So last night I decided to just clean the six or seven inches of space between the burners of the stove and do the kneading there.

So, not only did the dough start touching the gross burners almost immediately, since it was hot, the dough just got stickier and stickier…and I could not extract my hands from it. I spent about 15 minutes going, “Oh my god. Oh my god. I don’t believe this shit. Oh, shit. Where’s my wedding ring?”

Sigh. I let the dough rise in the fridge overnight and haven’t had a chance to actually cook the suckers, so whether or not the whole project is a failure remains to be seen.

However, I am happy to report that the baby and I went to the dentist today and neither of us has cavities! Woohoo! I was pretty concerned about the state of my teeth since it’s been about a year since I had them cleaned and I had a very sensitive spot in between two of my bottom teeth. I braced myself for them to say things like “root canal” or “fuck this, you’re getting dentures,” but it turns out that one of my gums is receding a little and I just need to be a little more vigilant with my brushing and flossing.

The hygienist lectured me on letting the baby brush his own teeth and I was starting to feel a little irritated since she kept saying stuff like, “And MOMMY is going to brush your teeth, right?” and “Yes, Dr. Dentist, and the baby’s mom agreed to pay more attention to his brushing habits.” God, lady, back off. She reminded me of the Wii balance board which, if you didn’t know, is a snarky little asshole. The last time I got on that thing it asked me if the baby had improved any and I said no because I’ve pretty much accepted that he’s going to be in the -15th percentile for weight until puberty. And you know what that thing said to me? It said, “Maybe you should pay more attention to the baby.” So I “accidentally” jumped on it during the ski jump game. I don’t like passive aggressive electronics.

Of course, it’s been like two weeks since I’ve done the Wii Fit and I can just imagine the earful I’m going to hear from that thing now.