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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.

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.”

We saw WALL-E yesterday and I have to say that if you are generally not prone to believing the hype, you really should gobble this movie’s hype up.

I guess if you wanted to put a cutesy tag to WALL-E, I would describe it as 2001 for the grade school set…and for adults who “don’t get” 2001. The references are pretty hard to miss. There’s very little dialogue, they use some of the same music, plus the whole concept of the movie borrows heavily from 2001: a history of man on earth and in space, man’s rebirth and new history. And of course there’s the ship’s autopilot, who is very obviously HAL in a new outfit.

I’m sorry, Dave, I’m afraid I can’t do that.

I’ve seen similar themes in a lot of popular culture recently (see also: Idiocracy and Joe Rogan Live just to name two). I think/hope that many people are starting to question our future, much in the same way that the humans aboard the Axiom suddenly realize that there’s a whole galaxy beyond their communication screens and a planet that they abused and then abandoned at the command of a giant, monolithic corporation/government. What will become of our home, how much is fate, how much do we have control over? And what will become of us? Is there hope for our species? Or are we merely cycling around again? Maybe we’ll devolve until we’ve forgotten everything and then we’ll reset or re-evolve and rediscover the earth.

At the risk of sounding totally hokey and all like, “Let me introduce you to my magical healing crystals that I bought on Amazon!” I honestly feel like big things are going to start happening. I know part of this is watching too many nerd shows about Mayan prophecy and shit. Or maybe it’s a tiny sprout of optimism that hopes that it’s not too late.

I feel like I’ve not been attending to this space enough and I know that I haven’t even hinted at any of our adventures in Detroit, which are quickly fleeing from my memory and being replaced with nightmarish hockey visions and comparisons of Ryan Malone’s post-broken-nose-slapshot-to-the-beak voice and King Leonides’ voice in 300 and how the Penguins quest of the Stanley Cup is not unlike the campaign of the Spartans at Thermopylae, just with a lot more clothing and I don’t think Sidney Crosby was pinned to the ground with 60,000 arrows at the end.

I don’t know, though, because we turned the game off as soon as the buzzer sounded…couldn’t bear to watch the Red Wings celebrating and the Penguins being all gracious and cute. Instead we watched the aforementioned 300.

Speaking of Leonides, I kind of just wanted that dude to shut the hell up. Like, their freedom is at stake, etc. I get it. But dude, yelling constantly starts to lose its impact. Just saying.

I’m also sneezing a lot. I’m not real sure what the culprit is for this most recent allergic attack, but it takes me an extra half hour to get ready in the morning because of all of the pauses that I take so that I can stand in my kitchen and go, “AH CHOO! AH CHOO! AH CHOO! AH CHOO! AH CHOOOOOO! OH MY FUC–AH CHOO! FUCK!” It’s taking a lot out of me.

For what it’s worth, I have a few other non-bloggy writing things that I need to get moving on and I find myself terrified. I get really, really scared of writing sometimes.

Despite my rather radical beliefs, I’m very conservative about some things. For example, when I cook, I MUST have a recipe and I will not deviate from that recipe unless there’s a very good reason, ie, I’m out of an ingredient or I’m drunk. Similarly, my clothes are my clothes and I will not alter them to suit whatever kooky mood I’m in. I may have once made a pair of jean shorts by cutting up an old pair of jeans, but that’s about it.

Last year, when we went to Detroit, I got a nice, very old-school-looking t-shirt from the roller skating rink we went to. The only problem with it was that the shirt itself was poorly made and the neck came up around my throat. This made the shoulder seams bunch up oddly. All of these things combined made me gag when I wore it.

But today I went a little crazy and actually took a pair of scissors to the shirt.

Please also note my hair. I spent a good 35 minutes with the flat iron. I’m wearing the shirt and the hair to AVA tonight, where Rick Wilhite of fair Detroit will be playing records. Not sure what I’m going to wear on the bottom. Maybe I’ll just stick with these boxer shorts I’m currently rocking.

Somewhat related, the baby and I made a video greeting for Tracey today for her birthday, but I didn’t send it to her. When I got a look at myself, my face, I was stunned. I look so…tired. And old. And swollen. And worn out. This past year aged me so much. I’m freaking out somewhat. Sure, I can definitely do things like eat better and do yoga and get more sleep and stress less now that the semester is almost totally over. But I feel like maybe I wasted the last year of my “youth” spreading myself too thin. What if I’m just “old” now?

Promises to keep, 1500 words before I sleep.

So, here’s the thing: I don’t want to participate in Mother’s Day. I don’t want to acknowledge it for my mom and grandmother and mother-in-law. I don’t want anyone to toss even a “Happy Mother’s Day” in my direction.

I don’t know how to explain it. And this isn’t some screed shaming my husband or anyone else for their lack of enthusiasm for the holiday. I’m just not feeling it any longer.

In theory, it’s very nice. Take one day to recognize the work that the maternal figure in your life does. The work that will never end. The work that will resume promptly on Monday morning. The work that I will continue to perform for less pay and a hell of a lot more judgment. Suddenly the chocolates and the flowers and the mass-produced greeting cards seem insulting.

We caught up with the rest of the country last night and watched Juno, finally. I’m totally smitten with that movie…and Ellen Page and Diablo Cody and Michael Cera and Jason Reitman and Olivia Thirlby and pretty much anyone who had anything to do with it. Angela told me yesterday that she just watched it and had totally cried. I admitted that I had my reservations about it, that maybe it was going to be a pregnant Garden State, which I really didn’t like. But I was completely stunned at how fantastic Juno was. I’m sure it holds more of an emotional punch for people who have gone through an unplanned pregnancy when they were young and how fucked your mind gets because of it and how people say the most hurtful things to you. For people who haven’t, it might just be kind of cute. But I still thought the dialogue and the story were wonderful and Ellen Page was seriously robbed at the Oscars. She is just amazing and I couldn’t believe that she hadn’t gotten pregnant and given the baby up for adoption at 16. She nailed the whole thing.

I think I really started to unravel when Juno drives home after an upsetting visit with the baby’s adoptive parents and she pulls off to the side of the road and just sobs. I had that cry, several times, when I was pregnant. Not for those reasons, but I remember feeling like there was no ground for me to stand on, that I was totally untethered, and worst of all, it was all my doing. I just wanted someone to understand how I felt, but I knew that no one possibly could, not even the people closest to me.

Hmph. Well. This is way deeper than I really wanted to get on a Sunday afternoon.

I wanted to post something here today but so far I haven’t been able to think of anything…besides this…and this. Meta.

ummm…Oh! I got my period a week early! That was fun, especially the part where I had to use the free pads in the bathroom and wobble back to my office like, “Hey! Do you like this twin mattress I’m sporting?”

The husband and the baby are playing Connect Four in the next room, which sounds all wholesome and nice, but the baby doesn’t really get strategy yet and the husband does not have any patience. In another minute, they’ll no longer be on speaking terms.

We have yet to go serious grocery shopping this month and my god I don’t want to. At all. Serious grocery shopping means making a list and then driving and then spending two hours in Wal-Mart. Not really in a rush to do that.

I got a new toy on Saturday.

Olympus VN-3100, baby! I just transferred the interview that I did last night onto the computer and am listening to it, marveling at how cool the new toy is and the fact that I sound approximately 3 months old on recordings.

Other cool new toy:

My embosser from paper-source.com. It has our address on it in a very Garamond font. I would show you its work but then it would be like, “Hey! If you’re one of the 6 billion people in the world who HASN’T yet burglarized my house, here’s where to go!” The embosser is also my insurance policy against moving, should the husband ever get that idea into his head. I’m not attached to the house so much, but I just can’t move. ever. again.

You need to bring back the original Spirograph. Trust me on this. Hasbro butchered it and vintage sets are going for mad loot on eBay.

Rings. Cogs. Paper. Colored pens. Done.

I wonder if my old set is still somewhere at my dad’s house…