kdiddy.org

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.

I forgot to mention that the husband and I were looking at the new Wal-Mart logo the other day…

After a few seconds of quiet contemplation, the husband announced, “It’s an ass hole.”

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.

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 made you a muxtape.* Mostly chill stuff, very good for laying around and staring at clouds. Also good for humping. Just sayin’.

*I am all on top of internet trends from like 4 months ago.