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With my 30th birthday quickly approaching (17 days!), I find myself in some sort of nesting mode. Sure, 30 is just a number but if all things go according to the loose plans that we have for life, this next year is going to be a pretty big one. So, in a way, I’m preparing to give birth to a new phase in life…to be all corny and new age about it.

I’m taking baby steps in getting our house in order. I’m taking care of long-overdue tasks, like getting new glasses (which I’m going to go pick up in a little bit eeee!). I’m trying to dig myself out of a stress and depression induced slump in which I totally let myself look like I was stressed and depressed. I bought some new clothes and shrugged my shoulders at the larger size and am also subscribing to the philosophy that a little lipstick can make you feel a lot better. I’m still no big fan of makeup but I’ll indulge it more often.

Am I sounding like a Cosmopolitan issue yet?

Anyway, another big thing is that I’m actually keeping a calendar. I have a pile of abandoned day planners and good intentions. But the calendar on my iPhone is actually the right tool for me. I make note of any event that I need to remember, thereby lessening the strain on my poor brain.

I knew that I had my annual gyno appointment today at 9 a.m. and got myself all prepared. The baby slept at the mother-in-law’s house last night since he is off school today, making our departure much more streamlined. I got to the doctor’s office a good five minutes before my appointment and went to check in, but the receptionist couldn’t find me on the books. That’s because my appointment is TOMORROW at 9 a.m.

I really, really had to restrain myself from asking if I could just have my appointment then anyway, since I was there and ready to face the stirrups. But I guess they don’t cushion the schedule for nitwits who show up 24 hours early.

No matter. I went to CVS and bought Claritin in the hopes of reclaiming my head from the depths of these horrendous allergies. I keep hoping that they’ll just go away but I’ve been hoping that since, like, February.

By the way, if you’re in Pittsburgh and looking for a haunted house to visit, you can go ahead and skip ScareHouse. The wait to get in ranges between 1 and 4 hours and it really is not that scary or even very interesting. There were some parts that were alright, but I really don’t know how it got all of the accolades it did. Tom Savini’s various haunted houses were much better and you’re probably better off going to whatever cheap local thing you have near you.

As I just said when I shared this on Google Reader, “There’s an Ice Cube ‘It Was a Good Day,’ ‘didn’t even have to use my AK’ joke in here somewhere and I just can’t get it out.”

Why, yes, I am avoiding thinking about my Grammar mid-term that starts in an hour and a half. Why do you ask?

Started this post last night:

I’m avoiding doing my homework because, well, it’s homework and I don’t wanna. Also, I made some chili earlier and cut up some kind of hot pepper from our CSA box to put in it. As you’re probably aware, the oils from hot peppers stay on your hands for awhile and I was, uh, digitally adjusting…something in my nostril. Now that delicate membrane is all burny and, according to the internet, vegetable oil will cut that spiciness.

I’m actually being very academic this week. On Friday, I’m going to a lecture with Scot Brown about funk music from Dayton, OH.

Ahem. Where I was going with that is I went to a lecture by Steven Greenhouse yesterday evening. Greenhouse is the labor reporter for the NYT and wrote a book called The Big Squeeze: Tough Times for the American Worker. It was a very timely lecture, considering all that’s been going on in the past week.

I will state right now that I could probably be accused of a bias. My dad’s been a postal worker for forty years and has always been a union member. Unions are good, not just for blue collar workers but for all workers, and contrary to what I hear most people my age and younger saying, they are definitely still needed nowadays.

While I have gripes with my job, just like anyone, I realize that I am pretty lucky. I have guaranteed paid time off days, good insurance, excellent job security and it’s paying for me to get my master’s. But it’s really mind-boggling to think of myself as lucky. Aside from the possible exception of tuition benefits, time off and insurance should not fall under the category of luxuries. But they do for millions of Americans.

As Greenhouse spoke last night, he would expound on a point and would make projections about what he thought would need to happen in order for American workers, blue and white collar, to have more rights and not get screwed over so much, and then would apologize for moralizing. But it is a moral issue.

I am not an economist. I am fascinated by economics and took a few classes in college whenever I could, but I will be the first to own up to the fact that I will never fully understand how we keep this machine running. But I think on a very basic level we have people who want money and things and power and then there are people who just want to live a decent life and not get stepped on. And, yeah, I think there’s something severely messed up with the moral compasses of people who will stop at nothing to get more.

Greenhouse said that as preposterous as the Wall Street bailout sounds to those of us who will pay for it, he believed that it was necessary in order to avoid a tremendous collapse. I think he’s probably right. So I’ll hand over my share. But, I think we should be honest about what it is. It’s welfare. It’s cash assistance. And you know that I believe in welfare.

So now that the richest among us are receiving it with the full support of the government, I demand that no broke person be given shit for the pittance that they receive. The next time that I pay for groceries with an EBT card, don’t glance at my selections and judge my character. The next time that I go into the hospital and have a baby and use my Medicaid, don’t bitch about “paying for my mistakes.” Don’t get all indignant about your tax dollars and don’t gripe about the irresponsible behavior of “those people.” Because what we’re seeing on Wall Street is the ultimate in irresponsible behavior and it’s not just fucking with the lives of one person or one family, it’s fucking all of us. We’ll pay for it. We’ll fix it because that’s what we need to do. Now hopefully that minuscule percentage of your tax dollar that goes toward social services won’t seem so outrageous. Because it isn’t.

And now back to our regularly scheduled pictures of not-jizz and innuendo-laden homework.

In somewhat stark contrast to the picture below, in which my brand-new son and I clung to each other, skin on skin, I report to you that I spent a good portion of the evening bellowing, “DO. YOUR. HOME. WORK. NOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWW.” And throwing in a, “There will be no TV ever again and if you think I’m joking, just TRY IT!” for good measure.

Gah. Today was perfectly fine until we tried to drive home and got stuck in the most horrendous traffic ever. We didn’t actually get home until 7 and I was just going to make us some grilled cheese sammiches, because what’s better after a stressful fall day than grilled cheese? But, lo, there was no cheese.

In the midst of this meal angst, the baby was just being…I don’t know…purposefully and infuriatingly obtuse about his homework. I went to help him and read the directions aloud: “Read the words in the box…Come. Good. On. That….Uh.”

Hi. I just got back from the doctor’s office and getting my breast ultrasounded. Everything is cool. I had to wait forever, but I really didn’t mind since I walked out of there relieved and I really can’t say the same for a few of the women that were also there.

I hopped on the bus back to work and after squeezing out of the crowded bus past a few Pitt students who were “from Philly” (read: King-of-Prussia, because if you’re from Philly, why do you look like you were just dropped into the middle of Baghdad when you’re only in Oakland?), I scrounged around my office for a little snack since I was starving. But since I had been at the hospital and on the bus, I didn’t want to just eat something without sanitizing my hands a little bit first.

Now, it’s no surprise to anyone that knows me that I’m a little immature and much of my humor is of the Beavis-and-Butthead variety. So, it’s really unfortunate that we use hand sanitizer that is “hand lotion formula.” What this means is that it has the same liquid consistency, but it’s a translucent white color. And it looks like…well, you tell me:

What’s really bad is that the cheap pumps on the hand sanitizer bottles tend to malfunction and squirt this substance on whatever or whoever is in its aim. Believe me. I’ve accidentally squirted this stuff on my shirt before and tried to hide both my snickering and my blushing, since I’m not sure anyone gets (or wants to get) what is so funny. This morning I got it all over the office couch which luckily has vinyl seats. It just looked rather gross when I wiped it up.

Last night, we watched the Steelers beat the Browns and immediately afterward, the power went out. Our windows were open so we heard the entire neighborhood go, “AWWWWWWW MAN!” It is indeed fortunate that the power went out after the game, as opposed to right in the middle, because then there might have been riots. But still: no post-game. Grr. We also didn’t get to watch True Blood, Entourage, or Mad Men and we didn’t get to finish watching The Seventh Seal, which we started watching the other night but we both fell asleep in the middle of it. I mean, it’s not like we knew what was going on, but it’s still awesome and I want to see all of it. I guess I never noticed how little I’ve heard Swedish being spoken, but it’s pretty rad since to my Latin-based ear it all sounds like gibberish and very…like…”I am Death-schnurgen. Do you play chess-schnurgen? Bork bork bjorn borg.”

I imagine that if I have any Swedish readers I’ve completely offended them and I’m sorry. But yinz talk funny, n’at.

The wind was pretty intense last night but I didn’t realize how much it messed things up until this morning. There was already a mess on the main street because a building that caught fire a few weeks ago partially collapsed, but now there were trees everywhere, no traffic lights, gutters and siding and shingles scattered all over. And the baby’s school had a 2-hour delay so we had to drop him at my mother-in-law’s house. But I wonder how people who don’t have family or trustworthy babysitters nearby manage when there’s something like a 2-hour delay and they CAN’T be late for work.

Oh, this is completely unrelated but we went to see Burn After Reading on Friday and it was pretty great. It’s been getting bad reviews but I think that’s because the Coen Brothers blew everyone’s minds so much with No Country for Old Men that people forgot that they make goofy movies all the time. Granted, Burn After Reading isn’t their BEST movie ever, but I can tell you that any time a whole, crowded theater cracks up at brutal killings…well, you got something special on your hands. Shit. I might make that into a Hallmark card.

*Okay, so, I know I’m a cornball but I am once again referencing Joe Rogan. He has a bit in his 2005 (a whole two years before Idiocracy came out, which is pretty wild since it’s basically the same argument) special in which he talks about how people are getting stupider, but we all think we’re smart because we use things that smart people have made. “If I left you alone in the woods with a hatchet, how long do you think it would be before you sent me an email?” Perhaps the best example he gives is what we do when the power goes out, which is just sit and wait for it to come back on. And last night, I couldn’t help but think about that, especially as the husband and I stumbled around breaking our toes on our furniture and downloading flashlight apps for our iPhones, for fuck’s sake. Totally helpless.

Last night, I twittered: “on second glass of wine. Have ditched pants entirely. Onto the dishes.” Reviewing that now, I realized that it sounds like I ditched my pants physically onto the dishes, which is just not what happened. I poured myself my second glass of wine, removed my pants, and then started to do the dishes. I just really wanted to clear that up. I am a lady, after all.

Anyway, Jwan was over last night and we watched Platoon, crossing another movie off of my Fundamental 80s Movies list…which doesn’t really exist in any physical format and we should really write these things down before we forget and I go another 20 years without seeing Risky Business.

Afterward, I went to bed and fell asleep HARD and slept through three events:

– The husband woke up at 3 a.m. because he smelled something strange and realized that our house was filled with some kind of smoky fog (smog, I guess). He scurried around for a few minutes, trying to determine if we were on fire, before noticing some emergency vehicles a street away and realizing that there was some fire over there or something and that we were okay, fire-wise.

– The baby got up some time later and came into our room to tell us that he needed to go to the bathroom and started farting. I do recall hearing the husband say, “Do NOT poop your pants,” but apparently was not alarmed enough to see to any impending (literal) shitstorms.

– My alarm clock going off.

I told the husband that this obviously means that he, alone, is on save-the-family detail since I can’t really be bothered.

To be fair to myself, and it’s my blog so I get to do that, it’s a dreary, rainy day and I really think I should get an award for getting up at all. I also fed my child, dressed him, put him on the bus, showered and dressed myself all in under an hour. Actually, now that I think of it, I’m going to walk to Starbucks and reward myself with a Pumpkin Spice Latte. ‘Tis the season and I need to get started on my pumpkin-flavored-junk addiction.

Stiff greetings to you this morning. I pulled my neck in my sleep last night and am now rocking the “I have no movable parts!” look. I rolled over around 5 a.m. and The Pain hit. I started yelping and my very sweet husband, thinking I was having a nightmare, spoke such concerned and comforting words as, “Hey! HEY! What. Is. Wrong. With. You?” Since it was 5 a.m. and I was still grappling with the searing pain, I explained, “NECK. PAIN. FUCKIN. BAD THING. OWWWW.”

And because I am the universe’s bitch, right after the neck spasm, I launched into a sneezing fit. It felt SO GOOD.

Not much else to report. Tracey visited me this weekend and Snarky Amber was in town, as well. On Saturday night we had something of a slumber party, though slightly different from the slumber parties of my youth. We were all passing out by 11:30, no one’s training bra found its way to the freezer, and I had a bit of a hangover in the morning.

Because I’m awesome, I didn’t take any pictures of our antics.

Anyway.

I bent the husband’s ear for a few minutes this morning explaining my conspiracy theories surrounding the McCain/Palin campaign.

I know I don’t delve into politics too much on here, and that’s on purpose. Mostly I just don’t have the energy to get into it with internet people but I’m also just not that compelled to write about it.

But dude. Something is UP. This whole election is such a circus, more so than usual, and the GOP’s decisions are just bizarre. It’s really starting to freak me out that they seem so willing to just throw this election. What are they up to? What do they have planned? What is with this soap opera shit? SOMEBODY TELL ME WHAT’S GOING ON.

Or don’t. Maybe I don’t really want to know. I suppose it says something about me that Joe Rogan totally gets me. But dude:

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.

My department had orientation for the new graduate students yesterday that ended with a happy hour, mixer type thing at a local watering hole. It was nice, but I was really worn out from readjusting to regular life after vacation.

This morning, when I woke up, my brain finished dumping its dregs of thoughts and dreams and for some reason I recalled snippets of conversations from last night. A number of people asked me when I would be done with my master’s and with quite a great deal of embarrassment, I realized that I told everyone some variation of, “I have two years left, so I’ll be done in May 2009.”

Yeah. May 2009, for those of you playing at home is in 9 months. Not two years.

But if I made a hefty deposit into the karmic bank of cringe-worthy moments with that nonsense, I think I redeemed myself somewhat with the exchange that I had with the husband when I got home. He spent his evening downloading iPhone apps and was particularly excited about Shazam, which he demonstrated to me with a great deal of geeky glee.

After attempting to trick Shazam with some obscure artists and squeeing at its continued success, the husband declared, “This is the greatest thing ever.”

I retorted, “No, the husband. Hyperbole is the greatest thing ever.”

See? I’m smrt.