kdiddy.org

I did something kind of dumb a few weeks ago. As I mentioned the other day, I got a new iPhone. I initially went to buy it after having brunch with Laurie, Kim, and Jessica. I walked into the Apple Store with a small list of questions having to do with the fact that my laptop was from several OSes ago and could no longer support newer versions of iTunes and therefore could not update newer versions of iOS. This wasn’t a huge problem, since iPhones now have cloud storage, but the only thing to consider was that I would have trouble transferring images and contacts and stuff from old phone to new.

If you’ve been to an Apple Store, you know that everyone who is working there during your visit (all 50 of them), are extremely friendly and personable and have drunk enough of the Apple Kool-Aid that they’re JUST SO HAPPY FOR YOU THAT YOU’RE BUYING AN APPLE PRODUCT. The college student that I ended up oddly attached to was nice and kind and seemed to genuinely like me. And I’m not sure what happened, but I eventually heard myself saying, “I’ll take a MacBook Pro, please.”

The next 20 or so minutes were a blur of credit cards and rebates and Cloud set ups. I walked out of the store with a new laptop and a free-after-rebate printer in my hands. And I was pretty happy about my purchases until the fumes from the store wore off. Then I began to wonder if I’d acted foolishly.

I did want a new a laptop, though I wouldn’t have gone so far to claim that I needed one. But the one thing that I knew for certain was that I couldn’t afford one. I had, as I said, put it on a credit card, which wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world if it wasn’t the credit card that had been the bane of my existence since I got it as a wee college senior. Its interest rate was too high and the balance had been circling the same embarrassingly high amount for years. I would pay a chunk off and then something would happen and I would need funds that I didn’t have and out it would come. But for the most part, I had protected it from big impulse purchases.

When I got home, however, the majority of my brain was still excited about my new toy. The husband looked at my haul, puzzled. “Uh, why did you buy that?” he asked. I didn’t have an answer besides, “I just really wanted it.”

We didn’t argue and the husband didn’t try to make me feel bad, but I quickly began to feel ashamed of myself for doing something so impulsive and selfish and financially reckless.

I kept the laptop in its box and over the next few days tried to determine whether or not I could really afford the payments that I would be making and trying to deal with the fact that I had essentially put myself back a whole year in paying down that card. Eventually, I realized what I needed to do.

On Saturday, I went to a different Apple Store than the one where I had purchased the laptop. I didn’t want to risk seeing my buddy from the big purchase. The face of the Genius who helped me fell when I told her the reason for my visit. She seemed personally hurt and sad that I would return such a wonderful thing. And I’d be lying if I said that a tiny part of me didn’t hope that there would some reason that they would say that they couldn’t accept the return, that I would be forced (or “forced”) to keep the shiny pretty thing. But eventually I walked out of there, empty-handed but with the promise of a thousand-dollar bad idea soon to be erased.

I’m thankful for my impulses, for whatever it is that tells me to go for it. Those impulses got me a partner that I can’t imagine my life without and a son who makes the world a little bit better every day. They got me a house that surely does it what it can to drive me crazy, but that I can tell is going to be a center for us and my kid and his kids for years to come. They certainly give me some headaches, like when they drive me to make major purchases without really thinking them through. But if I don’t do that sometimes, I don’t get the opportunity to remind myself that I’m pretty good about fixing my mistakes.

So, I’m on this rosacea medication and that illicit acne cream. And I guess they’re working because, as I mentioned on Twitter yesterday, I feel kind of like this:

What’s even worse is that while I was searching for an image of that guy, I came across this:

Why, internet? Why?

It’s not that I don’t love Richard Simmons. I find him to be endlessly entertaining, especially since he only seems to pop up in the oddest places in my cultural existence.

I’m just unnerved by salad being potentially wasted.

Anyway, I had a somewhat exciting weekend in that I finally got a new phone. My iPhone 3G was 3 years old and not in terrible shape, but it was pretty slow and rickety. I ventured to the Apple Store twice in the space of one week on this quest and I think that place needs to come with some kind of warning. Despite the fact that there’s a recession, there are always 100 customers in there. Though, of course, they’re probably not all buying stuff but are instead there to huff the fumes of pretty shiny things. The, admittedly wonderful and numerous, staff are all so…buddy buddy. All of the Apple Geniuses that I interacted with were so…I think “stoked” is the best word for them. They were so stoked that I was there, they were stoked that I was getting a new phone, they were just really stoked. This is truly the genius of Apple: that gentle hypnosis that convinces that anything you want to buy is totally awesome and you so totally deserve it just for being you.

Speaking of happiness-inducing things, I’m starting to think about the cookies that I’m going to bake for this holiday season. I have a really good cache of recipes, but I always want to find some new ones to try every year. My source for that the past however many years has been Martha Stewart, who used to always put out a special holiday issue. She doesn’t really seem to be doing that anymore. She has a “holiday handbook” but it’s light on recipes and heavy on crafts, which I don’t really get into at all. Martha seems to be on the forefront of the shift to digital media, as her magazines are now available for iPad and iPhone, plus she released a “Cookies” app just in time for the holiday baking season. Iiinteresting.

I’m going to get this out and then that’s all I’m going to say on the matter.

1) To the victims of Sandusky, and to victims everywhere: I’m so sorry. We always tell you to listen to adults because we’re in charge and we supposedly know what’s best for you. You’re supposed to trust us. Every single person who should have kept you safe and didn’t failed you and there’s no excuse for that. I wish there was some kind of official list of grown-ups who have sworn to look out for you, but there isn’t. So let me say this to anyone who might need to know: if someone is hurting you, you can tell me. I will make it stop. I promise.

2) To the media (I’m looking at you Fox News, though the fact that you still get called “the media” is such a joke) and anyone else with the ability to communicate: stop calling this a “sex scandal” right the hell now. A sex scandal is something naughty, something whispered about, some indiscretion between two or more people that maybe amounts to nothing more than a not-nice thing to do. A sex scandal is not illegal or wrong in every possible way. There was no sex involved here. What happened was criminal, morally reprehensible, rape, abuse, terrorizing innocents, and a systematic cover-up that is so disgusting it nauseates me almost as much as the initial violations. And scandal doesn’t really cover it. This was a disgusting, shameful failure of unbelievable proportions. Stop thinking with your ratings and REPORT WHAT HAPPENED FOR ONCE.

3) We can talk more in-depth about sports and “sports culture” later, but I really don’t think that’s a factor. People who rape children, or who cover up said rape, or who defend the people who did said covering up don’t do so because “they’re sports fans and that’s how they are.” They do such things because they are f*cked in the head and rather disgusting individuals. I know that my intense devotion to the Steelers will tempt people to draw comparisons to the actions of our quarterback. Though this isn’t quite a parallel case, I think you’ll recall that plenty of people wanted him gone, because Lombardis really don’t matter that much. I can tell you for certain, as I established above, my love of sports doesn’t suddenly erase my sense of right and wrong. If someone, especially a kid, is being hurt, and I have the power to stop that, I’m going to. I don’t care who I cheer for.

This past week was kind of ridiculous. Let’s break it down.

Me and My Maladies

I turned 33, which was also the day of Halloween. I had gone shopping for candy for trick-or-treaters the day before, which turned out to be a day of hormonal wackiness for me. Looking back, it now makes sense that I bolted out of bed at 7:30 in the morning and decided that I needed to procure candy as soon as possible. I imagine the staff at CVS saw the look in my eyes as I stomped over to the Snickers. They knew to stay out of my way. I worry sometimes that I am becoming a Roseanne episode.

I woke up with an extremely stiff back on Wednesday, which required me to ravage my office’s supply of ibuprofen. Also, somewhere around this time, I could not for the life of me remember if I had taken the pill that I take every morning or not. You know what that means?

It's gettin' to be pill sorter time!

On Friday night, I uttered those famous last words, “I have to go into CVS. It should only take a few minutes,” because I never learn. Yes, it should only take a few minutes, but in reality you are going to die there. After standing in line behind someone who was attempting to do something shady with a gift card, avoiding the oral projectiles of the grunting guy behind me, and getting into a surprisingly in-depth conversation about Kim Kardashian’s “marriage” with a woman I’m pretty sure was drunk, I mosied up to the counter to pick up my rosacea and acne medication. If you were wondering, “Kdiddy, how do you bring all the boys to the yard?” well, now you know. But, of course, the acne medication had been rejected by my insurance company because it required my doctor’s authorization. “Isn’t the…prescription…the…authorization?” I naively asked. No. See, because of my age (read: way too old to have acne), my doctor needed to call the insurance company and reassure them that I am not, in fact, purchasing creams and salves to sell on the street. An unintended side effect of this transaction was that I’m now seriously tempted to see if the acne cream can get me high. I mean, what are they hiding? What aren’t they telling us? I was puzzled by this, because there I was, all 33 years of me, and there was my acne. What could I be trying to get away with?

Eventually, I left, sans acne medication. I forgot to buy a pill sorter, too. Say…where are my pants?

My Kid Is Pretty Rad

Halloween itself was fine. I don’t have any pictures of the baby actually trick-or-treating because I suck, plus it was raining. I do have a picture of him about to win the prize for Most Original Costume at the Halloween parade in our neighborhood.

He was Paul McCartney, which everyone loved, though there was still some confusion over who he was supposed to be. A surprising number of people asked if he was Elvis, which was weird. There was no pompadour involved in his costume.

Those weren’t the only accolades he earned last week. Saturday, his soccer team had their playoffs. They lost, but maintained their first place record in their division.

His coach wasn’t actually about to shove a cupcake in his face. That’s just how I take pictures okay?

Later that evening, he had a piano recital in which he played “Ode to Joy.”

It was part recital/part informational lecture about Beethoven, which was mostly watching clips from Immortal Beloved. I love that movie, artistic license be damned, so this was fine with me. And I remembered that I have a pretty strong reaction to the Ninth, which makes me wonder if I’ve been subjected to some A Clockwork Orange treatment at some point in life.

I do enjoy the ultraviolence, come to think of it.

Big Night Aht

The husband and I had tickets to see Louis CK last week. I co-opted the event to be part of my birthday celebrations. We went to Morton’s the Steakhouse beforehand, which was omfgdelicious and omfgexpensive. My grandfather had given me some gift cards that someone he worked with gave him. I had initially scoffed at needing $250 at a restaurant, but, um, we still went over that. But whatever. The meal was so good that I started calling the husband, “Girl,” as in, “Giirrllll this is so good.”

Louis CK was amazing and afterward we met up with Gayle for a drink. I was especially excited about that last bit because a) Gayle, b) DRANK, and c) we went to Meat & Potatoes, which I’d been wanting to try forever. I was actually back there on Sunday for brunch with Kim, Jessica, and Laurie. It was delicious. We had Bloody Marys with bacon vodka and Laurie was kind enough to InstaGram my Irish Benedict before I stuffed it in my face.

Miscellaneous Moments of Grace

I met up with Mary for lunch yesterday. We were enjoying a beautiful day by the lunch trucks when leaves abruptly fell from the trees all at once. It was odd. Like, “And now…AUTUMN!” We chuckled at this until one leaf flew into the side of my eye with such force that it knocked me off balance and I almost fell off the picnic bench. Well played, Nature. (PS, you’re a dick.)

Leaf assaults aside, we found ourselves sharing our favorite moments from the new Beavis and Butthead. I discovered that is impossible to talk about Beavis and Butthead without giggling exactly like them.