kdiddy.org

Husband’s classes started yesterday. Mine started today. The baby starts first grade (the FUCK?!??!) on Thursday. So far, so good.

I’d forgotten how relatively awesome it is to only take one class per semester. I looked at my syllabus today and didn’t have a total breakdown. That seems like a step in a healthier direction. I felt so relatively unstressed about the whole thing that I got all cavalier, like, “Pssshhh! I’m practically AUDITING this shiz!” and then realized that the prof had asked a question and I am, in fact, taking this for a GRADE for my MASTER’S and daydreaming should mayhaps cease for a few hours a week.

We went to the baby’s school tonight for their “welcome back” thingy that they stupidly scheduled to begin at 5 (hello? jobs?) and met his teacher. Weirdly enough we went to high school with her. She is actually two years younger than me which is a little wild. And she has a gigantic engagement ring.

This is pretty much all I know about the woman who will be educating my son this year. I win.

With all of this stuff going on this week, I’ve been a little more frazzled than usual. I’ve had to go to these interviews for candidates for this upper-level admin position at my job and today I successfully made an ass of myself in front of the candidate by a) showing up at 3:45 when I was scheduled for 3:15 b) busting into his previous meeting thinking I was a few minutes late and startling the woman he was speaking to c) smugly asking a question about something on his CV and then realizing that I had grabbed the wrong CV.

I should have just rolled with it. Been like, “Tell me about this initiative that you started…What do you mean ‘what initiative?’ You don’t have an initiative? Aw, man. That’s a problem. You should really have an initiative.”

I shall perfect my mind games.

That was my fridge on Saturday. The fridge that I had as a sophomore in college looked shockingly similar, minus the green juice (try as I might, I just can’t get into drinking the stuff, but am really happy that the baby loves it). It also smelled very similar to my young kdiddy fridge up until last night when I finally found a hunk of mozzarella that had weird red spots in it. Whoops.

So, we had two weeks in the Outer Banks and it was just wonderful. My dad rented this awesome house right on the beach. We don’t get to see my dad that much, so getting to hang out with him was great.

We fell into a really comfortable pattern of lingering over coffee in the morning before strolling a few feet to the beach. The water was warm and renewing and the sand was incredibly soft. Several of my dad’s friends stayed with us and were excellent cooks, so we would have delicious dinner every night before retiring to the tiki bar.

A few times, the husband and I took a moonlit stroll on the beach, dodging crabs and frightening the groups of teenagers that would gather to do any number of illicit things by the light of campfire.

The bushes on the dune by the beach hid the remnants of those gatherings…beer bottles…panties…you know, the usual.

I got to hang out with this guy a lot. We dug holes in the sand and dug trenches so that the ocean would fill them up and completely failed at building a sandcastle. Architecture is not in our bones.

We ate tons of BBQ and got the itis.

We topped off our trip with a stop at Idlewild.

We got really used to being barefoot constantly and wearing shorts at the most. Being here now, in shoes and pants, feels downright oppressive.

School starts next week for all three of us. The baby is starting first grade, which I just can’t believe. The husband is entering his last year of undergrad. I think we’re all very excited for him to be done. It’s been a struggle for all of us to get him through, but his degree will present him with many opportunities. Hopefully by this time next year we will no longer be a one-income family and things won’t be so precarious all the time.

I still have about two years to go on my master’s, but I’m not regretting slowing down with my coursework.

The cicadas hiss that fall will be here soon. I’ll miss this summer. I drank it in. And it was lovely.

Well, I think I can officially say that I am homesick. I mean, I really like it here. We get to sleep in a king-sized bed and I know that the wheels are now turning in my head to try to figure out to make that a reality in our daily life even though those suckers are expensive. Then, of course, there is the beach and all its glory. We’ve had near perfect weather everyday. The sand is incredibly soft (but HOT in the middle of the day), the water is nearly clear and the waves aren’t harsh at all.

But I miss relaxing on our ugly couch at the end of the day. I miss our cat. But I know that I need to shake this off since before we know it, we’ll be home. And really un-fun things like school and work will start bearing down on us.

I’m sure part of it is the aforementioned snarky menses. But I think there’s something else eating at me. Our last few summer vacations have been spent with Tracey and her family. They were supposed to come with us on this trip, too, but couldn’t. I think they’re definitely my “beach buddies” and I’m really noticing their absence. Perhaps I’m “homesick” for the long tequila-and-Fresca-fueled chats that Tracey and I have and the companionship between M and the baby that prevents both of them from getting beach dementia.

For instance, I don’t think the baby would have tried to pick up that gigantic table lamp just now if M were here. Ahem.

Greetings from what are obviously not my usual surroundings. It’s not quite 9 a.m. on a beautiful Sunday morning. We’re in North Carolina with my dad and some family friends and I’m warning you now that I might not ever leave.

The drive down here was somewhat hellacious. It took about two hours longer than it should have, thanks to the most ridiculous traffic on I-95 and Rte. 12. I tempted the fates with my sassy Twitter update and I did, in fact, get my period as soon as we got here.

But all of that is melting away because it is absolutely beautiful here. The husband and I walked down to the beach late last night and got a quick glimpse of the ocean. I’m already feeling “restored.”

*vaguely mangled quote from City of God

I wouldn’t even go so far as to say that I have any kind of shell. I have a crust at best and you can easily crack it like so much creme brulee.

Completely separate from my impersonation of a bank this morning, I continue to have issues with my thought-to-be-former bank. Issues that want to cost me hundreds of dollars. It seems that when I closed my account, PNC re-opened it a day or two later so that they could continue their really fun game of overdraft fees. It’s some provisional thing so that if a merchant has already somehow made an agreement with PNC to get money, they can still receive it.

And, you know…I get all of this stuff. I really do. I still think banks are shady, but I know that they have to protect their interests and blah blah blah.

But I can’t just keep handing over money every two weeks. And the reality of just how much I can not do that was really weighing on me, especially after I wrote out my bills the other night. Prices for basic utilities keep going up, food is astronomical, we all know about gas. The only thing that doesn’t seem to be going up is people’s salaries. Things could get ugly everywhere very, very soon.

But I walked to the bank, furious. I resolved that I was going to be strong, aggressive, that I wasn’t going to take any bull. I had the power of Suze Orman in me.

My mom came along since her name is on the account (we opened it when I started undergrad). She ran into a friend of hers there. A rather kooky older woman who came here from Saudi Arabia some years ago, writes poetry about Barack Obama, has a PhD in French Literature, and quivers with the early stages of Parkinson’s. Her outfit consisted of splashes of denim and floral and scarves. Her glasses were huge and were unlike anything I had seen before in all of my optometry travels. They were gold…and red…and blue…and green. They were “Karma Chameleon” manifested.

My mother’s friend told us that we should speak to her friend that she works with at the bank. She silently crossed the room and sauntered into a woman’s cubicle. The woman was surprised by grinned at her eccentric client. We were introduced and I began to wonder if I shouldn’t just take my mom’s friend with me everywhere.

I sat down ready to pound my fist on the cheap veneer desk and bellow out my rights as a consumer, to toss around insults like “fraudulent” and “disgusting capitalist pigs.”

But instead I cried.

I’m a worker and a writer and a student. I am not a rich person. I’m a mom and the breadwinner for my family. My brain and I don’t always get along. I know that I screw up all the time, but couldn’t we please fix this? Please.

The rep was taken aback. She offered me tissues. She looked at me and said, “We will fix this.” I glanced around her desk and saw a picture of her and her daughter. I think maybe she got me.

We went through the charges and determined what was what. On top of everything, there was what appeared to be a fraudulent charge to some vague internet company. But the rep did everything right. She reversed what fees she could and froze the account so that nothing else could come out of it. There’s some paperwork on its way to me but this whole ordeal might actually end…and I might actually come out of it okay.

My mom wanted to stop at Starbucks on the way back and the staff had posted today’s horoscopes by the bar. Mine, of course, warned of financial difficulties. I’ve been feeling like the universe has just been tossing me around, but maybe that was some kind of sign. The universe is having its way with me these days, but perhaps soon it will be open to snuggling and spooning.

As messed up as it is, vacation really stresses me out. Well, actually being on vacation is fine, but immediately before and after vacation is a really sucky time for me, I’ve found. Next week, we’re going on vacation with my dad. (One of the messed up “advantages” of a divorce is the multiple attempts at normal family activities.)

So, right now I’m dealing with both post and pre-vacation stress.

I worry about getting stuff done around my house and the various projects I had planned for this summer that I’m probably not going to get to. I worry about how I’m eating and the admittedly unhealthy goals I set for my 30th birthday. I REALLY worry about work and making sure I take care of everything there before taking off. And I’m just generally annoyed at the drama surrounding the vacation with my dad, which has opened up a ridiculous amount of issues with my family…over nothing, really.

It all makes me not want to go anywhere ever, which is messed up since I’m entitled to a break now and then. And I can’t help but feel like no one in my life gets just how much I need a break from everything. I need the people who care about me to be like, “Yes, Kelly, take some time. It’s totally fine and I promise that we will not make any attempts to make you feel bad about it or even give you an inkling that we are anything less than completely enthusiastic that you are taking some time off.”

Alright, I’m whining. I know this. I think I need more fiber, which explains this:

The stuff that looks like hamster food is Nature’s Path Smart Bran, featuring 13g of fiber per serving, and the container underneath has a few dollops of Stonyfield Farm Lowfat Vanilla yogurt. Alternative names for this meal are “Hippie Hippie Hippie Patchouli,” “Move, I Have to Poop,” or “I’m 90 God Damn Years Old.”

So, I went to Conneaut last week…

There were bugs, including this beetle and a flying ant that I inadvertently ate while celebrating my cousin’s birthday. Said ant landed on my chocolate ice cream which I inserted into my gaping maw. I felt a little pinch, which I guess was the ant’s way of saying, “WTF ARE YOU DOING?” I spit him out, but it was too late. He was dead. I mourned him by eating more chocolate ice cream.

There were also bug parts, like this wing that landed on my towel and captivated me so.

You recognize my kid, of course, but the short, drunk-looking guy in the foreground is my baby cousin. He is very cute and likes to cuddle, but he drools a lot. He is the youngest of seven (SEVEN) boys.

I’m kind of over babies at this point in my life, which isn’t to say that I don’t like them, but before I had one I would always go apeshit over them and want to hold them and change them and blah blah blah. Then I had a baby and let me tell you, the novelty of all of that wears off somewhere around 3 a.m. the first night. Now I hold a baby for about 30 seconds and I’m like, “Yeah, I’m good. Here, take this. Is there more beer?”

But this little guy had me quite captivated. It might have something to do with the huge (moist) hug that he gave me. My heart might have melted a little.

Ring Pops for lunch…because we were on vacation and I just couldn’t care.

I scored 100% on “My Name Is Jonas” on the medium level of Guitar Hero III. This may not be an astonishing accomplishment, but the husband and I have been trying to best each other at this song for awhile. I took a picture because he was not around when it happened and I knew he wouldn’t believe me. We have a healthy relationship.

My kid and another of the seven brothers (who will need seven brides at some point, I guess). They look all sweet and precious here, but they were actually in the middle of an epic whinefest that included the longest recitation of, “STOP IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT” ever.

Ain’t it quaint?

I don’t know this guy, but he sat on this bench for the longest time, just quietly taking everything in. I like to think that he stared at those clouds and watched the kids play and reflected deeply on his life.

Or maybe he was just taking note of how hot the lifeguard was.

On our last night we went to dinner at the Stable Pit and Pub, which is this Western-themed restaurant and bar smack dab in the middle of Pennsylvania. It’s very corny and I love it. They have one cottage that they rent out and you can get a romantic getaway package that features champagne service, a Jacuzzi and a mirrored ceiling. I reminded the husband that we never went on a honeymoon, so maybe he’ll surprise me for my birthday. Because what better way is there to turn 30 than in the countryside of Pennsyltucky with cowboy paraphernalia a few feet away? Fingers crossed!

Anyway, they arrange their creamers in this little flower formation and I just thought that was the cutest thing ever.

As soon as we got home from Conneaut, the husband and I headed to Alto Lounge to hear our friend Tony play records. He was headed back to the Navy on Sunday and it was his birthday, so it was all kinds of bittersweet.

Yeah.

This French guy was there and told everyone that he had traveled to Pittsburgh, “in ze canoe,” and demonstrated his rowing technique through some interpretive dance. The sister-in-law found his antics hilarious, but then realized that she probably sounded exactly like that dude during her time in Argentina. “Me llamo Bolt. Yo me gusto Pittsburgh. N’at.”

After we left the club, we saw the French dude approaching random people sitting on their porches. The husband, who had heard all about ze canoe at length, hissed at us to cross the street. Luckily, Shadyside has plenty of alleys that one can sneak through when escaping odd French men. And I think Pittsburgh needs to promote that aspect of our fair city much more.

Hi! I am back from a week in the country with the extended family. The above picture does not really do justice to just how freckled I am, but let me just say that I’m pretty sure that I might actually achieve a tan should I get 500,000 more of these goofy little spots.

I’m also really pimply. I don’t know what that’s about, but I would be really happy if it ended soon.

Anyway, this entry is taking me forever to write because I’ve been away from the internet for a week and it’s like being plopped in the middle of some sensory overload machine while on amphetamines. My current attention span is about…wait, what?…seconds long.

All of which is to say that I don’t think it’s a very good idea to attempt any kind of substantial post because it will undoubtedly turn into rambling about nonsense…as opposed to my usual content which is all linear and topical and shit.

God, I’m hungry.

Edited to add: I watched Wall Street! It was good! Just like greed!

On Saturday morning, I opened my email to find yet another alert from my bank telling me that my account was suspended again. “Argh,” I thought. “What a pain. I’ll call them in a little bit.” I went and got the snail mail and found a letter from the bank. “What’s this?” I wondered. It was an overdraft notice and my bank balance contained a “-” and quite a few digits and the only sound that could be heard for many miles was the primal scream that I let loose.

There are few things more embarrassing than talking to three different customer service reps while your voice is very obviously shaking and you are completely failing at hiding the fact that you are losing your shit. One woman felt bad for me and told me to try to have a good day after explaining that, yes, it does look like someone was trying to hack into your account, but you’re overdrawn because we decided to reject your economic stimulus check and charge you hundreds of dollars in fees. Essentially, we jacked the money that you got from the government. Yes, please, do try to have a good day and I hope you don’t have too hard of a time sitting down after that fresh ass-raping. Kthxbi!

Immediately after that, I got an email from a friend and it contained some really disappointing news that, for me, threw our whole friendship into question.

I went upstairs and stared at the husband. Apparently, I have mental powers that alert those close to me that, “YO SOME SHIT IS GOING DOWN.” The husband woke up, saw me, and said, “What is it?” I lost it. I crumpled into his arms and sobbed, wondering when the hell something is going to go right for us.

And so it continued for most of the weekend. My mom showed up yesterday afternoon to take me to the mall so that she and I could get new cell phones (I’m on her plan). On our way out to South Hills Village mall, we were stopped by a member of the Mt. Lebanon police. My mom had tried to move over, figuring that the frantic officer had his lights and sirens on to pursue an actual criminal, but the cop screamed at us to pull over. There are very few things that this particular officer could have done to make the traffic stop more infuriating. He was cocky. He was condescending. He was threatening. He asked my mother how long she had been driving and didn’t she know that she was responsible for pulling over at the command of an emergency vehicle. Oooh, he was disgusting. I could practically see his power-trip boner poking through his blues.

At the end of our traffic stop, which he extended for the maximum amount of time so that he could feel at least somewhat useful as a cop and a human being for a little while longer, he handed my mom a verbal warning for her inspection sticker, which had expired a week ago, and a $75 ticket for “refusing” to stop for an emergency vehicle.

He also handed me a sticker for the baby, which I declined, as I am not in the habit of accepting gifts from abusive people whom I detest.

However, we did get cell phones and in a fit of, “I need something good to happen today,” I went to Victoria’s Secret and replaced my 4-year-old bras. Somehow, this little bit of consumerism made me feel so much better.

Life may be dragging me down, but my boobs don’t have to.

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.