kdiddy.org

The kindergarten classes at the baby’s school had a little Thanksgiving pageant thing today. I was pretty excited for it…so excited, in fact, that I left the house without some key accessories: my purse, which housed my wallet and my phone, and my camera. I also left some yummy leftover spaghetti at the house that I had planned to eat for lunch but, figuring I would have my wallet, decided on my way out the door that I would just buy something for lunch.

I blame this partially on the fact that I had a paper due today and when I left the house this morning it was only 1/3 done. That kind of thing is distracting. For what it’s worth, I just turned the paper in and I’m pretty confident that it sucks. But mentally I’m in no position to make it any better. Oh, well.

The pageant was extremely cute. I know it’s instinctual to groan at the idea of kids dressed up in homemade costumes and singing songs all off-key and distracted. But as a parent it was the best thing I’ve seen all year. I absolutely can not wait to go to every single one of those corny things.

The baby was a turkey and many of the songs that they sang were about eating turkey or the turkey’s sneaky methods for avoiding the oven. They sounded cute but really what kind of morbid shit is that? It’s all very close to this.

There were also pilgrims and, of course, “Indians.” I really couldn’t believe when the principal referred to them that way. Perpetuating Thanksgiving myths is one thing. Using terms for people that are known to be offensive is another.

I was very sad not to have my camera, nonetheless. But I managed to persuade some staff members to hook me up with some doubles and whatnot.

On a completely unrelated note, there is apparently a stomach virus going around these parts. This I am not at all cool with. Several faculty members were out yesterday and my officemate just went home sick after ralphing in the bathroom. I now get to be paranoid because I’m irrationally terrified of the stomach virus* and being that close to someone who might have it makes me very, very uneasy.

However, said officemate had lunched on leftover shrimp from Red Lobster, so I’m hoping it was just that. And seriously, how little regard can you have for your gastrointestinal integrity if you’re eating leftover shrimp from Red Lobster. Ugh. It’s like a 20/20 undercover report just waiting to happen.

I’m mostly worried because I’ve been talking about how much I’m going to eat on Thursday for about two months and if I have to miss it, or worse, barf it all up unintentionally afterward, I’m going to be extremely pissed.

*Everyone hates me for this.

My afternoon class was canceled so that means that I don’t have any classes this week. Yesssss. It was a highly needed reprieve, too. This morning, as I was dragging the baby to the bus stop, I was thinking, “God, I just don’t want to do anything anymore. I don’t want to go to work, I don’t want to go to class, I don’t want to be married, I don’t want to be a mom, I don’t want a house, I don’t even want to be a daughter. I just want to stay in bed all day and watch whatever is on TV.”

Healthy, yes? But apparently, all it took was for that 1:30 – 2:50 block to be freed up and I’m all on top of life again.

The baby also told me this morning that he didn’t think he should go to school because he wasn’t feeling well. I asked him what was wrong and he said, “I feel like I’m losing my mind.” Uh, okay.

The wedding on Saturday was very nice. On the drive up, the husband and I ranted about stuff. The ceremony was very short. The minister was a little strange, though. He kept stumbling on his words (“Who brings this woman to be buried…I mean, married,”), and when he asked for the rings he said, “Can you bring me those rings so I can bless them?” Christ, dude, act like you’ve done this before or at least be a little cheerier.

I didn’t take too many pictures because my batteries died, even though when my mom borrowed it last week she said she put new batteries in. I don’t know why she has to be such a dirty liar. I will post this one that I took of this really awesome garage door that was smack in the middle of Creepy Church Country, OH. What is up with Ohio and Jesus? They love that dude there. Multiple churches on every block. Like Lewis Black said, “He is the Coca-Cola of Ohio.”

On our way to the reception, the husband spotted a record store so we stopped in there for a few minutes, such is his addiction. He did manage to find a rare record so I guess it was worth it.

The reception was nice. The minister showed up in a pastel blue and yellow plaid suit and muttered grace. There was another woman there who wore this red satin dress for the ceremony and then changed into this yellow chiffon number for the reception. Diva! Someday I want to be badass enough to need a wardrobe change.

The DJ was kind of meh. He kept playing line dance songs, like whatever idiotic Dirty South-lite crap has come out in the past six months. That was fine, but it was an older crowd. The mostly sat around looking amused. Until he played the Electric Slide. Then things got serious. At the beginning, he had all of the married couples come out on the dance floor for this thing he likes to do called “Lessons in Love” or something. He played “Here and Now” by Luther Vandross (Luther!) then slowly eliminated all of the couples by years of marriage until there was one couple left dancing. The DJ asked them how long they had been married and the wife said, “I don’t know, sixty some years?” Ha! The husband and I got eliminated in the first round since we’ve been married less than five years, but it was nice to dance with that dude for a second.

Also, I apparently cry at weddings very easily now. Awesome.

I fell asleep in the car on the ride home (3 glasses of red wine) and when we got home we watched The Wickerman, which was pretty messed up.

Is it time for turkey yet?

The baby has gotten better about letting me sleep in a little bit on the weekends. He’ll entertain himself by babbling in his bed, listening to music, playing in his room or just plopping on the couch to watch some TV.

The cat? Not so much. About 10 minutes after the baby went downstairs and I was well into a weird little dream about receiving drunken, incoherent gmail chats from Angela, the cat jumped up on me and started cooing and chirping and meowing in my face and sticking his cold nose into my ear. When that didn’t work, he started swatting at my head with his claws slightly extended, as if to say, “Betch, you better come correct with some Iam’s tout suite or I will cut you.”

We’re going to Akron today for a friend’s wedding. I was all excited about it but now I’m feeling worn out and lazy. Oh, well.

I really don’t know how people work from home. Aside from all of the distractions luring me away from being productive, there are other people who live here. And those other people are…how can I put this nicely and in a way that doesn’t diminish my love for them?

Those other people are obnoxious.

I have a new freelance gig and had squeezed in a phone interview yesterday. When I called the guy I got his voice mail, so I left a message telling him to call me back. He did a few hours later.

My voice recorder kicked the bucket a few weeks ago and I didn’t really grasp how much I would miss it until I was on the phone with this guy, furiously typing away notes, when the baby came upstairs.

He has a “sandwich” he had made for me and wants me to “eat” it right away. My silent shoos kind of work…but then he goes to the bathroom where the husband is taking a shower. So the husband starts yelling at the baby to close the door before the smoke alarm goes off (a charming quirk) and the baby starts whining back and they’re being incredibly loud. The guy on the phone is talking and talking and I’m saying “Mmhmm. Mmhmm,” even though I can’t hear anything and trying to close the door which doesn’t really close because our house is old and crooked. The baby sees this and pushes his way through. I give up and go back to my computer…and the cat is curled up on the keyboard.

I’m going to have, like, one vague quote for this article and whatever my cat managed to type out with its stomach. Great.

…but I think I deserve a Drink.

Today was stressful, but it’s over. Thank dog.

I’ve been meaning to mention that our fish did finally kick the bucket the other night. It happened some time on Tuesday night and the husband noticed that he had flitted off this mortal coil while I was putting the baby to bed. We briefly debated over whether or not to tell him right away, but figured that since the fish had some serious nastiness going on, leaving him in the tank for a day might result in some traumatizing unpleasantness. So we broke the news and had a quick little fish funeral. The baby wanted to be the one to actually flush the toilet so we let him do that. After the fish was finally gone, the baby started crying and, well, that was really sad.

My thoughts were all disjointed the next day and while I was gushing to a co-worker about the baby’s new reading skills, she asked me if I had given him any kind of present. I said, “Oh, well, his fish died right after so he got to flush him down the toilet.” Like that was his reward. Hi, I’m Mommie Dearest.

I seriously don’t know why I speak sometimes.

Yeah, I’m pretty sure our fish is done for.

Betting on the possibility that the swelling was just constipation, we cleaned out his tank last night and put some epsom salts in the clean water. But once I had taken the fish out and had him in a cup while the new water was getting to the right temperature, I got to take a look at him from above and saw that his scales were raised. According to the few sites that talk about betta illnesses, that’s a Very Bad Sign.

I took some pictures of him just for documentation. We told the baby to say goodbye.

This morning the fish was still hanging on, though he was sort of curled in a corner and not moving very much at all. I feel really bad for him since it looks so uncomfortable and I’m so worried that he’s in a ton of pain.

The baby is taking the impending loss pretty well. When we initially told him that the fish was probably going to be dying very soon, he cried. But over the weekend he’s been focused on just being very nice to the fish, drawing him pictures to be placed by the tank and offering to drop pennies into the water (we quashed that gesture). He knows it’s coming and is sure to tell the fish that he’s loved and will be missed.

But this whole episode has, not surprisingly, exacerbated the baby’s fears about death…specifically my death. I’m not sure when exactly he caught wind of the fact that every living thing someday dies, including moms, but it’s been a struggle ever since. I’m stuck somewhere between wanting to be honest with him and not wanting to see him upset. We’ve touched on concepts like heaven but I’ve told him that no one knows for sure what happens when you die and when he’s gone down the list of people he loves to find out if they will all have the same fate I’ve told him the truth.

I’ve also told him that death scares me sometimes too and it’s perfectly natural and good to be at least a little afraid. I don’t feel comfortable slipping into religious explanations because I don’t really believe them and it doesn’t seem fair to assuage his fears by telling him something I don’t think is true…or really that will ultimately let him down when he gets older and more cynical.

I don’t know. I don’t want to make it sound like an obsession. It’s not like it’s death 24/7 at our house. But he gets really upset by the fact that I am going to die which I totally understand. Hell, I’m 29 and I’m still paralyzed when I think about the fact that my mom will die someday.

But I wouldn’t mind if he just kinda laid off every once in awhile. On my birthday we had a relatively cheerful discussion of the things that he will place in my coffin when I die (ie, drawings, toys, etc.).

But I kinda felt like, “Hey, could we NOT discuss my mortality right now since I’ve just taken a step closer to it? Thanks.”

Okay, so, besides the fact that there’s a devilish looking cat staring him down, do you think our betta fish is dying?

I guess it’s “dropsy.” Initially we thought there was no hope, but this site suggests that he might be treated. Erghhh. I’m afraid to move him or do anything because…well, I’m afraid he’ll explode or something.

Poor fishie.

While I fret over that, I will tell you that I’ve previously claimed that my favorite breakfast (maybe even my favorite meal) is a bagel, cream cheese, and a big ass coffee. I must revise that statement. My favorite breakfast is a sandwich consisting of a toasted bagel, fried egg, and a slice of bright orange American cheese…and a big ass coffee. And that is precisely what I made myself for breakfast this morning.

And God said, “Let there be bagel egg and cheese sandwiches and big ass cups of coffee,” and there were bagel, egg and cheese sandwiches and big ass cups of coffee. And it was good.

Genesis 1:5,348,478

It goes back to when I worked at this record store in college. Not a cool, indie record store, mind you. A corny, corporate one that, despite all the suggestions to the contrary, kept raising their prices as mp3s grew in popularity and is now defunct. Anyway, I used to have to open the store and set up for the day and would normally get everything done a good half hour before it was time to open. So I would go next door to Bruegger’s and get a bagel sandwich and a coffee. I would go back to the store, lock the door, put some Radiohead or some Miles Davis on, cuddle up on the floor behind the counter and chow down. Best job ever.

We just got a piece of mail from one of the detectives working on our case and that reminded me that I never wrote about my Adventures at City Court.

If you’re new to the site, our house was broken into about a month and a half ago. We got a summons in the mail to testify against the burglar a few weeks ago. Since the husband gave the actual statement to the cops, he was supposed to appear but he had classes on the day that the hearing was going on and didn’t want to miss them. (His major is a little intense and missing a day of classes is generally not a good idea.) So I went in his place.

My mom was nice enough to give me a ride so I wouldn’t have to contend with lunchtime bus traffic. I arrived at the courthouse not really sure what to expect since I had never been to court before. But I walked in, got my backpack searched, went through the metal detector and indirectly gave the security guard a hernia when she handed my backpack to me (sorry, lady!). All that jazz. People were sort of just sitting around in the hallway and by piecing together information from the various handwritten signs taped to the wall I determined that we were all waiting to check in for the 12:30 hearings. There were about half a dozen, rickety old writing desks scattered about but those were all taken, so I slid down against a wall and started reading some stuff for class.

After a few minutes I looked up and everyone was shuffling into a sloppy line, so I followed suit. I ended up behind a woman who had two bootleg Coach tote bags that were filled with all of her mail, junk mail, catalogs and bills. She took each piece of mail out, read it thoroughly, and then carefully replace it in one of the bags. When the line moved forward she would replace whatever she was reading, straighten the tote bags out, then pick them up and move 6 inches forward before returning to the Giant Eagle circular that she was studying. This whole process of hers really started to get on my nerves.

But the checking in process was surprisingly efficient and I was soon sitting in an actual chair in the courtroom. I read some more but mostly did some people-watching. I later told Jwan, who works for lawyers and is in court everyday, that it’s very much a cross-section of humanity. I had worried earlier in the day that I would be under-dressed since I was wearing jeans, but my fellow citizens quickly assuaged my concerns. There were a few attendees in shirts, ties, and other business casual staples. There were plenty of people who just did not care and other folks like me who were somewhere in between.

One woman rolled past me in a wheelchair. She was missing half of her left leg and was wearing sweatpants, an old Tweetie Bird sweatshirt, and a dingy Ked. A crumpled pack of Kools rested in her lap.

Every single person there was irritated or depressed. Or both.

A woman came in and asked everybody there for our case to follow her out into the hall. It was very crowded and when I finally managed to shuffle into the hallway, I found myself pressed against a young man whose baseball jacket I had been admiring in the courtroom. The woman, who turned out to be the detective on the case, called all of the victims over and told the group of about 10 people that the burglar had postponed the hearing so that he could retain private counsel. She gave us the information for the next hearing and instructed us to call the police immediately if the burglar attempted to have any contact with any of us. One person asked if he could be pointed out to us so we would know what he looked like. The detective described him and mentioned that he was wearing a red baseball jacket.

So, I had been standing right next to the guy who had broken into our house. Nice.

Talking to the detective some more, I found out that he was responsible for a home invasion that happened a few weeks after our burglary and during that home invasion he beat the homeowner with a pipe. Another woman there told us that he had taken her dog when he had burglarized her house and beaten the dog quite severely.

That scared me. A lot. In the weeks after the burglary, after finding out that it was some random person and not someone we knew, I had felt much better about the whole thing. We had had some bad luck but he had simply wanted stuff and had no interest in harming anyone. But that wasn’t the case. He had hurt someone and cruelly attacked an animal. This new portrait of him was not as warm and fuzzy as the punk kid who needed cash.

On the phone with my mom earlier:

Mom: “I think the store over here has tea lights” *

Me: “No, they don’t, I was over there this morning.”

Mom: “Oh yeah?”

Me: “Yeah, I had to go buy cranberry juice because I got a UTI for my birthday.”

Mom: “Augh!”

Me: “And a stiff neck. Again. It’s like I just woke up OLD.”

Mom: “Wait til next year.”

Me: “Can’t friggin’ WAIT. I think I’m just going to start drinking now.”

Mom: “Well, that won’t cure your neck or anything.”

Me: “No, but I’ll be too drunk to notice.”

I’ve actually had a very nice day so far, aside from the pain in the various polar regions of my body. The folks at work gave me bagels, some flowers and a nice card and I’ve received so many happy birthday wishes today I could burst.

Tomorrow begins NaBloPoMo. I’m not feeling too optimistic about my chances of success, but we’ll see. Regardless, I’ll be kicking things off in grand style as I tell you about my trip to city court to testify against the *#!@)$#)( that broke into our house. It’s a kicker.

*We, of course, are not currently in possession of jack-o-lantern illumination devices.

Our neighborhood had a Halloween parade on Saturday. A bunch of kids came out in their costumes and paraded down the main drag, cheered on by parents, grandparents, shopkeepers, and whatever patrons managed to stumble out of the bars. The baby is going as Godzilla this year, but we couldn’t find a Godzilla specific costume and I am not yet up to the job of constructing costumes, so we borrowed a dinosaur costume from my mom’s friend. It serves the purpose, kinda, but the baby was increasingly irritated with people assuming that he was some chump dinosaur. “I’m GODZILLA!” he would whine. Duh. Trampled Tokyo multiple times…ring any bells?

The baby actually once told me that Godzilla protects humanity from the tyranny of all monsters. Those were the words he used. Who is he?

Anyway, the parade was alright. I took a few pictures of the baby but mostly spent my time snapping shots of the boulevard, which is a good way to see how…odd the neighborhood is. It’s equal parts old world Pittsburgh and honestly-we-don’t-give-a-shit.

For instance:

There’s a drive-thru beer distributor. This is not unique to us, of course, but I think any place that has establishments that combine two things that aren’t supposed to go together (ie, drinking and driving) has a certain je ne sais quoi.

There were some miscreants about. These kids watched the parade with a certain amount of wistfulness in their eyes. I could tell they really wanted to still take part in all of the pageantry, but felt that they were too old now.

Or maybe they were just high.

Firehouse. Mediterranean grocery store containing the bomb pita, hummus, tabouleh, and grape leaves.

Luke Ravenstahl, Mayor of Pittsburgh, looking very…mayoral. I emailed this pic to the mayor’s office but have not yet heard back from Luke saying, “OMG thanks! I’m making it my default pic on MySpace right now.”

Me and Godzilla, who looks pretty gentle. Also, there is not a cheerleader growing out of his head, even though it looks that way. And, yes, I’m wearing a Sean John hoodie. My dad gave all three of us hoodies last year for Christmas and they were all brands that he had seen on drug dealers on The Wire. My dad’s weird. But that hoodie is huge and warm and I love it.

Anyway, speaking of Halloween, I’ve posted a very useful scary movie guide on MamaPop which you should peruse at your earliest convenience. To sum it up for you: Suspiria owns.

Maybe the lack of wholesome cinema in my diet can explain my attitude as of late, which is rather poor. I’ve definitely hit a slump and am viewing all of my duties with contempt. I did not do the readings for any of my classes over the weekend, I did not do laundry, I did not scrub poopy toilets (can’t imagine why not, I’ve been looking forward to it so), and am cranky at work. This morning, I realized, to my great annoyance, that I still needed to pack a lunch for the baby. As I told Angela, I have a very, “You need fed AGAIN? I just fed you yesterday!” approach to parenting at the moment and all this needs to stop because I need to make a living, get my master’s and keep my kid alive. God, adulthood is such a drag.

I guess I need to watch some Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood or something.