kdiddy.org

I actually had a few blissful moments to myself this morning. The husband played records last night at Remedy in Lawrenceville, so the baby spent the night at my mother-in-law’s. The club was pretty fun, though the turnout was pretty pitiful. Does no one go out anymore?

The mother-in-law dropped me off at the club since the husband had to go earlier. When I got there, the bouncer asked me for my ID and then said, “Are you here for the comedy?” What? When I got upstairs there was, in fact, a stand up comedian performing and I was very, very confused. I stood there for a minute until I finally tiptoed to the back room where the pool table was and found the husband and our friend Tony and, most exciting of all, our friend Jonathan who recently moved back here from Colorado. I was so happy to see him, especially since we’ve been trying to get together for the past, like, two months with no success.

When the comedian was finally done, they got set up and started playing records. I was stationed by the door to collect the $2 cover charge, but that was…kind of a bust. No one was really showing up (a) and (b) everyone that came upstairs apparently worked at the bar. There were more bartenders than patrons. And when I managed to snag one actual patron and told him that it was $2, he asked me if I wanted to play pool. Another guy stumbled up the stairs and when I said, “Two dollars, please,” he replied, “I really need to stop smoking weed.” So, everyone there was either a bartender or mentally impaired in some way. Fun!

But the music was, of course, really great and I was so pleased to bullshit with Jonathan all night. We emo-ly comiserated that we have no friends and hate everyone, so it seems to be really good timing on his part to have moved back here.

Anyway, the husband and I slept waaaay in this morning and after he left for work, I snuggled onto the couch with my coffee and my laptop and turned the TV on. The mother-in-law dropped the baby off a few minutes ago and we’re watching Sleepless in Seattle, which the baby apparently really likes.

He is going out with my mom and dad in a little while and I am doing homework, laundry, homework, laundry, homework, homework, and uh, homework. So exciting! *dies*

Ah, finally!

But you know what else? Today is me and the husband’s anniversary (relationship, not wedding). We have been together for seven years.

I’m impressed with us. *brushes dirt off shoulders*

It’s really weird to think that when we finally got together after roughly a year of indirect flirting and all-night chat sessions on ICQ, I was just a goofy, irresponsible 22-year-old kid and he was just barely 21. Everything is so different now.

I was looking through my LJ for something the other day and found this entry from our 5th anniversary and that sums everything up pretty well.

…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.

I am going to be dealing with multiple crises at work and will be too busy to post anything of substance.

Just FYI.

I emailed this picture to the mayor’s office a few weeks ago and today I got an email from Gigi Saladna, the Communications Manager.

“Hi Kelly,
Just a note to let you know we did receive your email with the picture of the Mayor back on Oct. 29 (We’re a little backed up with emails!)
What a nice surprise! The Mayor loved it and thanks you for your kindness. (We were all teasing him how tall he looks in the picture!)
Thanks for taking the time to write to us – we really appreciate it.
Sincerely,
Gigi”

The baby is reading. Like, actually reading sentences in a story book. This is a really cool milestone. Really cool. I am all a-grin.

Also whoa: I has too many limbs.

One tradition that I’ve always been a sucker for is holiday cards. I’ve been sending out my own cards since I was about 16.* Now I am currently facing the dilemma of what kind of cards I want to send out this year and that’s good because it means I’m not procrastinating and it gives me something to think about other than, “Oh my god, what was I thinking going to grad school? I’m going to die.”

I was just telling Angela about all of this. I’m very tempted to have this picture turned into a card:

Then the inside would say something like, “Happy Holidays. Or whatever.” I took that of us at the beach last year and I think it’s very…us. Cranky. Squinty. Wearing hoodies. Messy hair. Eye bags. All of that. The only downfall, of course, is that the baby isn’t in it.

I’m such a sucker for pretty xmas cards that have like Walt Whitman and Robert Frost quotes in them and shit, though.

*At least that’s how I remember it. I could be totally making that up.

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.