kdiddy.org

As messed up as it is, vacation really stresses me out. Well, actually being on vacation is fine, but immediately before and after vacation is a really sucky time for me, I’ve found. Next week, we’re going on vacation with my dad. (One of the messed up “advantages” of a divorce is the multiple attempts at normal family activities.)

So, right now I’m dealing with both post and pre-vacation stress.

I worry about getting stuff done around my house and the various projects I had planned for this summer that I’m probably not going to get to. I worry about how I’m eating and the admittedly unhealthy goals I set for my 30th birthday. I REALLY worry about work and making sure I take care of everything there before taking off. And I’m just generally annoyed at the drama surrounding the vacation with my dad, which has opened up a ridiculous amount of issues with my family…over nothing, really.

It all makes me not want to go anywhere ever, which is messed up since I’m entitled to a break now and then. And I can’t help but feel like no one in my life gets just how much I need a break from everything. I need the people who care about me to be like, “Yes, Kelly, take some time. It’s totally fine and I promise that we will not make any attempts to make you feel bad about it or even give you an inkling that we are anything less than completely enthusiastic that you are taking some time off.”

Alright, I’m whining. I know this. I think I need more fiber, which explains this:

The stuff that looks like hamster food is Nature’s Path Smart Bran, featuring 13g of fiber per serving, and the container underneath has a few dollops of Stonyfield Farm Lowfat Vanilla yogurt. Alternative names for this meal are “Hippie Hippie Hippie Patchouli,” “Move, I Have to Poop,” or “I’m 90 God Damn Years Old.”

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.

Hi! I am back from a week in the country with the extended family. The above picture does not really do justice to just how freckled I am, but let me just say that I’m pretty sure that I might actually achieve a tan should I get 500,000 more of these goofy little spots.

I’m also really pimply. I don’t know what that’s about, but I would be really happy if it ended soon.

Anyway, this entry is taking me forever to write because I’ve been away from the internet for a week and it’s like being plopped in the middle of some sensory overload machine while on amphetamines. My current attention span is about…wait, what?…seconds long.

All of which is to say that I don’t think it’s a very good idea to attempt any kind of substantial post because it will undoubtedly turn into rambling about nonsense…as opposed to my usual content which is all linear and topical and shit.

God, I’m hungry.

Edited to add: I watched Wall Street! It was good! Just like greed!

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 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.

Earmark of a good Saturday: Your son calls from the bathroom, “Mum! I have diarrhea. Come wipe my butt.”

Oh, gee, can I?

Our 4th of July was alright. I spent most of the first part of the day rolling around and moaning. I had a horrible headache and allergies, but once I got my act together we went to a picnic/graduation party for a cousin of mine. The baby joined a game of wiffle ball and I got pretty happy about the fact that he felt comfortable just playing with some kids he didn’t know. I could never do that when I was a kid. Hell, I can’t do that now.

We stopped by the mother-in-law’s house and tried to figure out where to go to see fireworks. The sister-in-law got a text message from her friend, Maria, and we remembered that she lives on the South Side Slopes with an amazing view of downtown. We sped over there and when we stepped onto one of her THREE decks we saw:

Pretty, no?

The fireworks themselves were kind of meh. I kept trying to take pictures but my little digital camera really isn’t up for low-light and long exposures. I got a few alright shots, though:

When we got home, the husband and I watched Assassin of Youth. When Incredibly Strange Video was going out of business, I bought a bunch of campy old drive-in movies about young women with loose morals and a few movies about the devil reefers. They’re kind of entertaining, but they get tedious after awhile. Plus, it’s just downright infuriating that people still kind of think that way.

And obviously the depiction of high school life in the late 30s, before the word “teenager” really existed to describe people of that age group, is somewhat exaggerated. But imagining a life where listening to 78s and doing the Charleston was the general idea of a wild Saturday night was kind of depressing.

Also, these movies were made purely for the propaganda/shock factor, so there wasn’t a whole lot of time to worry about the plot making sense.

In a similar vein, we watched most of Brazil on Thursday night. I really, really wish I could psychotically love that movie the way everyone else does. But it’s just SO weird. Everyone and everything in that movie makes me feel vaguely sick and it reminds of some long not-quite-terrifying nightmare I would have had as a kid. The soundtrack does kick ass, though.

Ahhhhh….tee-ball is over. And I finally got a shower for the first time in, uh, a few days. This day is shaping up to be a success, provided I can kick this writer’s block for the paying gig to the curb. And if the husband can rouse himself from this epic nap that he’s taking, we can go to see Wall-E.

Speaking of my husband (the charming guy making that interesting face in the picture above), he almost got into it with one of the moms this morning. We were watching the baby’s team practice, and the coach tossed the ball at a kid who held his glove out all weird and nearly got his block knocked off. The husband commented that it was a lousy throw, but that the kid needed to hold his glove up better. Just observations, not, “Oh my god! That kid needs to step it up or we’re going to lose the championship and then I’ll have to berate my kid to ease my insecurities about my failures in life.” Like, TOTALLY NOT being one of those parents. But apparently, the coach’s wife was sitting next to us and said, “Hey! That’s my husband and my kid out there! Thanks a lot! You know, everyone has a bad throw from time to time.” The husband and I just kind of stared at her. We all sat there uncomfortably for a few minutes until she finally huffed off.

Yeah. I’m really glad that tee-ball is over. Even if it means that I have to wait a whole year to see the baby in those huge helmets.

(Please do your best to ignore the frizz. It’s been humid for the past few days and I’m pretty powerless against my hair’s will.)

I had the brilliant idea to grab the last little bit of coffee from the pot and take my laptop out to the porch.

Dude, seriously, can June last forever?

Tomorrow is the baby’s last day of tee-ball. I’m not completely heartbroken over this fact, since Saturdays and Sundays will now be sleeping-in days again. Getting up early 7 days a week is NOT what’s up.

We went out to the Greek Food Festival in Oakmont last night and while there I bumped into a 65-year-old(ish) man who was not wearing a shirt and had both nipples pierced. So…yeah. My great-aunt, who is in her late 70s and is just deliciously crazy, was heading to the beer vendor and offered to buy me a Yeungling. She came back with these two huge plastic pilsner glasses that had flashing LEDs in the bottom. It’s the greatest thing ever. I call it my party glass.

We also stopped at a party that one of the MA students was having at her house which is pretty close to us. She has a couple of kids, including one who is right around the baby’s age. We only stayed for a little bit, but we had a really nice time and I foresee us hanging out with her and her family more in the future. A local mom-friend! Who’da thunk?

Alright. Even though I have a short mag article to write, I’m going to read a book. Not feeling quite ready to form coherent prose for a non-internet audience.

First, the lulz:

And now, the baking hubris.

So, I was all impressed with myself (and the sister-in-law) after the success of our cupcakes and decided to tackle a baking project that I’ve had my eye on for awhile: homemade English Muffins. I’ve had the tab for that recipe open in my browser for like two months and last night I finally decided to go for it, since I actually had all of the ingredients and some time to mess around.

It’s probably obvious to many of you smart folks that baking yeasty products on a humid June night in Pittsburgh is a Dumb Idea, but I’ve always turned my nose up at conventional wisdom.

See, everything was pretty much fine until I got to the kneading part. I’m sure that I’ve bitched about my tiny kitchen on here before, but let me reiterate that I do NOT have counters. Like, there just aren’t any. I have a patch of space next to the sink that houses the dish rack (er, well, a towel that I rest pots and pans on to dry), an apartment dishwasher with a few feet of space on top, and the stove. That’s it. Those are my working surfaces. I’ve moved prep operations out to the dining room table before but it’s obviously kind of a pain. So last night I decided to just clean the six or seven inches of space between the burners of the stove and do the kneading there.

So, not only did the dough start touching the gross burners almost immediately, since it was hot, the dough just got stickier and stickier…and I could not extract my hands from it. I spent about 15 minutes going, “Oh my god. Oh my god. I don’t believe this shit. Oh, shit. Where’s my wedding ring?”

Sigh. I let the dough rise in the fridge overnight and haven’t had a chance to actually cook the suckers, so whether or not the whole project is a failure remains to be seen.

However, I am happy to report that the baby and I went to the dentist today and neither of us has cavities! Woohoo! I was pretty concerned about the state of my teeth since it’s been about a year since I had them cleaned and I had a very sensitive spot in between two of my bottom teeth. I braced myself for them to say things like “root canal” or “fuck this, you’re getting dentures,” but it turns out that one of my gums is receding a little and I just need to be a little more vigilant with my brushing and flossing.

The hygienist lectured me on letting the baby brush his own teeth and I was starting to feel a little irritated since she kept saying stuff like, “And MOMMY is going to brush your teeth, right?” and “Yes, Dr. Dentist, and the baby’s mom agreed to pay more attention to his brushing habits.” God, lady, back off. She reminded me of the Wii balance board which, if you didn’t know, is a snarky little asshole. The last time I got on that thing it asked me if the baby had improved any and I said no because I’ve pretty much accepted that he’s going to be in the -15th percentile for weight until puberty. And you know what that thing said to me? It said, “Maybe you should pay more attention to the baby.” So I “accidentally” jumped on it during the ski jump game. I don’t like passive aggressive electronics.

Of course, it’s been like two weeks since I’ve done the Wii Fit and I can just imagine the earful I’m going to hear from that thing now.