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We took the baby to the Regent Square Theatre last night to see the original 1954, Japanese Gojira, aka Godzilla. The baby loves Godzilla movies because there’s a big monster who smashes stuff, but the screening last night also served as a platform for Remembering Hiroshima.

It seems that many Americans are still surprised to learn that the original Godzilla was actually a very serious film and commentary on the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings during World War II, and on the neverending nature of the arms race and destroying The Enemy. In the film, there are two scientists: one who holds the key to destroying Godzilla, even though further H-bomb tests will simply create another monster somewhere else, and another who wants to study the creature and learn from it. Though how one would go about capturing a seemingly indestructible dinosaur and studying it, we don’t know.

Pthpthptthpthpth. I intended to go on here about the empty notion of triumphing over evil and how it’s still VERY relevant today(*cough*everywhere in the Iraq such as therefore *cough*) but frankly, I’m not up for it and I get the impression that the only audience for my philosophical rants are those two or three crickets that happily chirp away and the one or two of you who bother to say, “Nuh uh.”

Anyway, the baby obviously wasn’t that interested in the post-film discussion, but I think it’s good to at least give him the opportunity to hear these things.

If you aren’t already keeping a list of things that I demand that you check out, you should start one and add the following items to it: Bill Burr’s latest stand-up special, Why Do I Do This?, and Chris Rock’s latest special, Kill the Messenger. The husband and I often describe Burr as, “The red-haired, white guy on Chappelle’s Show who was one of the commentators on the Racial Draft.” We’ve actually seen him live a few times through those underselling, free-ticket deals through the Improv, which is cool because I think he might actually blow up a little bit fairly soon. Rock’s special isn’t as good as his earlier ones and seems to slack off into recycled material and generic “Let me tell you about the nature of black and white women,” schtick, seasoned, I would guess, with bitterness over his marital problems, but whatever. Dude is still hilarious.

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.”

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.

So, I had a doctor’s appointment this morning. It was notable because when I called the office last week to see if they thought I should come in for this problem that I was having, their answer was, “You should be seen as soon as possible.” And that’s not always encouraging.

See, a few months ago, I noticed that my left, uh, “dirty pillow” was always really tender in this one spot. And it would get even more tender right around the time that my period would show up. I wasn’t sure what to make of that, but started poking around. I asked the husband to do the same and he said, “Hehehehe. Okay.” We both kinda felt…something.

“I don’t know. Do you think it’s Something?”
“I don’t know. I can’t tell.”
“Me neither.”
“I’d better check a few more times.”

Of course, WebMD was like, “YOU SO TOTALLY HAVE BREST CANCERZ! OMG!!!111,” but I was skeptical and my gut feeling was that everything was fine. Nonetheless, I knew it was important to get an expert opinion.

So, this morning, I had not one, but TWO very nice lady doctors go to town on my chesticles. Their verdict is that I’m a-okay, nothing feels out of sorts, the tenderness is probably due to some ligaments acting up, and that my tissue is just kind of lumpy…like oatmeal. I’m going to go get an ultrasound just to be sure, but I am relieved. Definitely.

I don’t like to lecture, but consider this your PSA: if something feels weird, go get yourself checked. Don’t worry about “wasting the doctor’s time,” or anything like that. And don’t explain things away if you’re actually worried, even just a little bit. Take care of yourself! Reassurance is rad.

That said, they had to weigh me and…well…fuck gravity. ANYWAY.

Enjoy this picture of me (looking slightly deranged from this particular angle) and my cat.

He was being goofy last night at bedtime, walking around my head and purring, before he plopped down on my head. He intended to sleep there, but I was laughing too hard.

Speaking of laughing (but in horror), I watched a little bit of Painted Babies 2 last night. And I know that it’s best to just say, “Well, it’s just a different culture and blah blah,” but seriously that whole pageant thing is just ridiculously fucked up. I don’t like it. I mean, mainly because it’s just messed the hell up to do that to a little kid, but also that whole scene is just SO CORNY and just not based in any kind of reality.

I was reading this article the other day that said something to the effect of “Cosmopolitan is like The Onion for feminists,” which is so true and I think pageants, particularly pageants for little girls, fall squarely into that category, too.

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.

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.