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You know what is a really rad way to start your morning? Getting an auto-alert email from your bank saying that your account is suspended because someone failed too many authentication attempts. In other words, “Someone was trying to get into your money.” Very comforting.

I called and it’s all straightened out now, but for a few hours there I had neither a bank account nor a cell phone. I came very close to rubbing two sticks together and sorting through the recycling bag for tin cans and string.

On that note, I am hopefully going to the store after work today and getting a new phone. Because I am a sucker, and despite the fact that Apple is kind of creeping me out, I’m hoping to get an iPhone. If I can’t get one, I’ll just get a regular phone.

In other, “can I please be a yuppie?” news, I subscribed to a CSA that delivers to campus. I can’t afford to go nuts buying stuff from them, but I’m hoping that I can get a good base of vegetables and then maybe just buy fruit from a farmer’s market every week. I’m just trying to, like, be a good person or some shit.

We watched most of Starship Troopers last night, which I had seen bits of before…only enough to know that Casper Van Dien was in it and that men and women soldiers showered together. I actually really enjoyed it. The commentary on the military was heavy-handed enough that I don’t think I really need to go into it (plus, I just don’t feel like it right now). But what I liked most about it was the acting.

Hear me out.

Denise Richards and Casper Van Dien and Jake Busey. Those guys are some of the worst actors ever to get a SAG card. But it works so well for this movie. While it’s still kind of comical to imagine Richards getting a 97% on a math exam and then being an ace pilot skilled enough to give Luke Skywalker the sweats, you can’t deny that she nails that vapid, “Sigh…applesauce,” facial expression. They all do. And that’s why the did so well performing the roles of the, “Fuck rights! Let’s go blow shit up and/or get slaughtered!” dudes.

Plus, Brother Justin was in it. And “Girl with Cigar” from Swingers.

And, because it needs to be said…IT’S FRIDAY.

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.

Earmark of a good Saturday: Your son calls from the bathroom, “Mum! I have diarrhea. Come wipe my butt.”

Oh, gee, can I?

Our 4th of July was alright. I spent most of the first part of the day rolling around and moaning. I had a horrible headache and allergies, but once I got my act together we went to a picnic/graduation party for a cousin of mine. The baby joined a game of wiffle ball and I got pretty happy about the fact that he felt comfortable just playing with some kids he didn’t know. I could never do that when I was a kid. Hell, I can’t do that now.

We stopped by the mother-in-law’s house and tried to figure out where to go to see fireworks. The sister-in-law got a text message from her friend, Maria, and we remembered that she lives on the South Side Slopes with an amazing view of downtown. We sped over there and when we stepped onto one of her THREE decks we saw:

Pretty, no?

The fireworks themselves were kind of meh. I kept trying to take pictures but my little digital camera really isn’t up for low-light and long exposures. I got a few alright shots, though:

When we got home, the husband and I watched Assassin of Youth. When Incredibly Strange Video was going out of business, I bought a bunch of campy old drive-in movies about young women with loose morals and a few movies about the devil reefers. They’re kind of entertaining, but they get tedious after awhile. Plus, it’s just downright infuriating that people still kind of think that way.

And obviously the depiction of high school life in the late 30s, before the word “teenager” really existed to describe people of that age group, is somewhat exaggerated. But imagining a life where listening to 78s and doing the Charleston was the general idea of a wild Saturday night was kind of depressing.

Also, these movies were made purely for the propaganda/shock factor, so there wasn’t a whole lot of time to worry about the plot making sense.

In a similar vein, we watched most of Brazil on Thursday night. I really, really wish I could psychotically love that movie the way everyone else does. But it’s just SO weird. Everyone and everything in that movie makes me feel vaguely sick and it reminds of some long not-quite-terrifying nightmare I would have had as a kid. The soundtrack does kick ass, though.

Ahhhhh….tee-ball is over. And I finally got a shower for the first time in, uh, a few days. This day is shaping up to be a success, provided I can kick this writer’s block for the paying gig to the curb. And if the husband can rouse himself from this epic nap that he’s taking, we can go to see Wall-E.

Speaking of my husband (the charming guy making that interesting face in the picture above), he almost got into it with one of the moms this morning. We were watching the baby’s team practice, and the coach tossed the ball at a kid who held his glove out all weird and nearly got his block knocked off. The husband commented that it was a lousy throw, but that the kid needed to hold his glove up better. Just observations, not, “Oh my god! That kid needs to step it up or we’re going to lose the championship and then I’ll have to berate my kid to ease my insecurities about my failures in life.” Like, TOTALLY NOT being one of those parents. But apparently, the coach’s wife was sitting next to us and said, “Hey! That’s my husband and my kid out there! Thanks a lot! You know, everyone has a bad throw from time to time.” The husband and I just kind of stared at her. We all sat there uncomfortably for a few minutes until she finally huffed off.

Yeah. I’m really glad that tee-ball is over. Even if it means that I have to wait a whole year to see the baby in those huge helmets.

(Please do your best to ignore the frizz. It’s been humid for the past few days and I’m pretty powerless against my hair’s will.)

I had the brilliant idea to grab the last little bit of coffee from the pot and take my laptop out to the porch.

Dude, seriously, can June last forever?

Tomorrow is the baby’s last day of tee-ball. I’m not completely heartbroken over this fact, since Saturdays and Sundays will now be sleeping-in days again. Getting up early 7 days a week is NOT what’s up.

We went out to the Greek Food Festival in Oakmont last night and while there I bumped into a 65-year-old(ish) man who was not wearing a shirt and had both nipples pierced. So…yeah. My great-aunt, who is in her late 70s and is just deliciously crazy, was heading to the beer vendor and offered to buy me a Yeungling. She came back with these two huge plastic pilsner glasses that had flashing LEDs in the bottom. It’s the greatest thing ever. I call it my party glass.

We also stopped at a party that one of the MA students was having at her house which is pretty close to us. She has a couple of kids, including one who is right around the baby’s age. We only stayed for a little bit, but we had a really nice time and I foresee us hanging out with her and her family more in the future. A local mom-friend! Who’da thunk?

Alright. Even though I have a short mag article to write, I’m going to read a book. Not feeling quite ready to form coherent prose for a non-internet audience.

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.

I’m mostly recovered from yesterday’s nonsense, though my feet still resemble raw meat loaf and are therefore still tender. It helps that it is absolutely gorgeous outside today. I walked over to the little La Prima stand on campus to buy a latte as a Friday treat and took my time getting back to the office so that I could enjoy the morning a little.

Jive Turkey commented on one of my wedding photos on flickr, and I just noticed two years after the fact that my eyes appear to be looking in two different directions. I’m looking a little “touched.”

And actually that might explain why I watched not one, but TWO episodes of My Big Redneck Wedding on fucking Country Music Television last night. I’m not sure what came over me. I guess I was just so pissy that I needed to gawk at some people who are too stupid to realize when they’re being mocked and Tom Arnold is quite possibly the most useless human being ever, so it worked out pretty well.

However, I’m still traumatized from seeing the “kiss” that this couple exchanged in which I saw two tongues flapping wildly at each other before disappearing into a sucking motion that could give my Dyson a run for its money. Ah, to be 18 and terrible at kissing.

But the bride was truly a model for thrifty weddings, since she decorated the reception venue entirely with quilts and bought all of the wedding party’s clothes in the hunting section of Wal-Mart. Hey, whatever, so long as those two crazy kids are married and happy at the end of the day that’s all that matters.

Ahem. Anyway. The sister-in-law is having her graduation party tomorrow and she and I came up with the idea of having a cupcake potluck. Her friends are making somewhere in the neighborhood of four dozen cupcakes and she and I are going to make about four dozen, as well. That equals…an assload of cupcakes.

And because it’s Friday:

…because it’s been ONE OF THOSE DAYS OH MY EFFING HELL.

Here we have: party socks (complete with hole [KLASS]), gaucho pants from like five years ago (elastic waistband and not fashion is key here), and some hairy legs.

What you can’t see in this picture are the five or six blisters that I got this morning traipsing through downtown after an appointment that was meh.

I passed a bread line. I’m not even kidding. There were some broke people in line and they were getting bread from some volunteers. So that was distressing.

Almost as distressing was standing at the bus stop for an hour and some change and watching every 71 ever roll past me while I muttered, “Can I get a 61? Can I GET a 61? NO? NO? WHY CAN’T I GET A 61?”

I finally called the husband and PAT’s site was down, so I decided to try that “stand on the corner and scream obscenities” thing that’s all the rage with the crazies. It was cathartic, certainly, but it didn’t procure a 61.

The husband called me back with the awesome news that PAT had discontinued 61 service to my particular stop but had never noted that on the bus stop sign. NYYYAAARRRGGGHHH. The husband and I shouted at each other for a few minutes before he declared that he would just drive me to work since it was like 11:45 at that point. I continued to steam and decided to call PAT and let them know that, hi, I’m no doctor or anything, but indicating exactly which buses do or not stop at any given point is kind of important, especially when you’re eleventy billion hours late for work and wearing heels and your feet are leaking.

I called 411 and asked for the number for Port Authority Transit. They texted me the number for Sports Authority. Thanks.

But now there is Annie Hall and beer and talk of cupcakes.

Thanks for all of the happy anniversary wishes yesterday. We didn’t do anything “special.” Just went home, ate dinner, and watched Ocean’s 13. Before going to bed, I convinced the husband to dance in the dining room with me to our song. About halfway through, full of glowiness and mush and la-di-da, I sweetly whispered in his ear, “Is this hurting your back?”

“Ugh, yes. It is.”

“Here, I’ll get on my tip toes.”

“Why do you have to be so short?”

Very romantic.

Anyway, I’m not sure how much love this space is going to get from me in the next few days. I have some important crap coming up and I will certainly be having nervous breakdowns in addition to my already existing nervous breakdowns. What can I say? I’m a busy woman and am feeling the head-in-the-sand urge.

We watched Funny Games last night, which turned out to be a really interesting choice as the clock ticked past midnight and it became Father’s Day. Funny Games is a shot-for-shot remake of the Austrian original from 1997.

Another interesting thing about Funny Games is that it is quite possibly the must fucked up movie ever. I felt completely disturbed when it was over and am contemplating never leaving the city ever again.

What made our viewing even weirder was that the husband happened to look out the window and notice that this intense fog had descended on our neighborhood. But not like nice misty fog, dense soggy fog. Like The Fog. I tried to take some pictures of it but my camera isn’t really made for taking very low light pictures. You can kind of get the idea, though.

The husband ran his fingers up and down the screen to show that it was completely soaked.

I did not take this picture through the screen. Those are droplets of fog all around me. Check out the glow from the streetlight.

Dark and creepy street view.

Anyway, Happy Father’s Day to those of who are of the paternal persuasion. The baby and I gave the husband some fancy facial scrub and lotion hoping to remedy his dry, flaky skin situation. I’ll make a metrosexual out of him yet!