I traipsed around Las Vegas with Sarah (and pressured her into buying a cute dress), so I can vouch for her awesomeness. I’ve never met Devra, but I’m sure she doesn’t suck.
Anyway, there will be some yummy food and drinks and, of course, sparkling conversation and perhaps a farting contest. We haven’t yet nailed down the itinerary. We do know that it will start at 6 p.m. at AlphaLab on the South Side. If you can make it, RSVP to kdiddy.org@gmail.com.
The husband and I went to a wedding on Saturday night. The groom has been friends with the husband for a number of years, but neither of us had met the bride, despite them being together for over two years. She knew of the husband and knew that he was DJing the first portion of the evening. But when she spotted me at the reception she looked a little concerned, like I might be a wedding crasher.
“I’m [the husband]’s wife! Also, you and I are friends on Facebook! Congratulations!” I saw the spark of recognition and all was well.
By the way, the husband’s DJing portion was pretty rad. The bride walked out to “It’s a Man’s World” by Marvin Gaye and then right after the couple kissed and started making their way down the aisle, he played “Lovely Day” by Bill Whithers. It was pretty sweet.
The ceremony and reception were both at Phipps, which was lovely and the couple kept things light by just having a tower of cupcakes from Dozen and hors d’oeuvres. The only flaw with this plan was that they had an open bar (wine and beer) and the hors d’oeuvres were light and limited. Soooo people got kind of rowdy…including a certain blogger we all know and love and whose name rhymes with jbibby.
The husband and I were 1 for 1 for exes present. My ex was easily avoided. The husband’s ex came and sat with us to chat at around Chardonnay #4 on a relatively empty stomach. I remember this conversation going just fine and even commiserating with her over our badly stubbed toes.
After she rejoined her date, the husband turned to me later and said, “You were all loud and kind of snippy with her.”
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? I WAS NOT!”
“Yeah, you were. It’s okay, though. It was kind of funny.”
“I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK YOU MEAN, JAGOFF.”
And, yes, I do feel kind of sheepish about the fact that my last two blog entries have been about my twisted ability to accidentally get drunk, as though I don’t know what causes it.
Speaking of alcoholics, our useless neighbors forgot to put their trash out again and dumped it with ours. This practice in and of itself doesn’t bother me. I’m scatterbrained and can’t really judge anyone for forgetting such a task. However, it’s the CONTENTS of their trash that infuriates me. In the entry I linked to above, it was a bag of dirty diapers.
This week it was two cases of Beast. *horf*
As we got in the car to leave this morning, I said, loudly so that they might hear it, “I don’t want anyone thinking we drink that shit!” Think of my reputation, jerkfaces.
Ignore the pile of shirts in the background (hey, they’re folded, right?) and feast your eyes on my kick ass tshirt. I came across BelieveMerch a few weeks ago and ordered two of these shirts, one for me and one for the husband as a graduation/anniversary/Father’s Day gift. Then I had to wait because only someone of brilliance orders something from a small, local merchant who peddles Pittsburgh sports stuff two days before the Penguins win the Stanley Cup. I waited as long as I could before sending them nagging emails (by the way, if you happen to read this, BelieveMerch folks, sorry I put my mom voice on in that last email). But the shirts finally arrived today and I’m so so excited.
The reasons for the awesomeness of this shirt are threefold:
– It looks fucking badass
– It’s about Pittsburgh
– It’s a Weeds reference (Shane, a young character on the show, goes through a period of obsession with Pittsburgh, convinced that it’s the Promised Land and obviously art imitates life so he’s absolutely correct.)
Unrelated to any anniversary activities, last night I made some strawberry honey butter because some strawberries that we got in our CSA box last week were on their last legs. When it was done, I shoved the rubber spatula into the husband’s face and said, “Taste.” He wrinkled up his nose and pushed his head back. “What is it?” I told him and he tentatively stuck his tongue out. “Ugh. It’s good but it’s like eating butter,” he said, like that was a bad thing. I don’t understand his logic.
We had some pretty impressive storms last night. The husband called me from this meeting he was attending in Squirrel Hill and said that things were teetering on apocalyptic over there and that there were reports of tornadoes in the area. Because I have awesome survival skills, I crossed my fingers that the power would stay on long enough for me to Google “what the fuck the do I do during a tornado?” then started furiously searching for a compass app on my iPhone so that I could determine which walls in my basement I needed to avoid. Don’t you want me around for your next natural disaster?
However, the clouds and activity, while notable, didn’t seem tornado-level. So I did the sensible thing and left my child alone in the house with any number of short-circuitable things and went outside and took pictures.
Video, because I like to provide a multimedia experience whenever possible:
Please note that I did not take this picture in black and white. That’s just how ominous it was.
Eeek!
On the upside, I won’t need to water my plants for a few days.
I’ll be honest. I wasn’t totally sure that the Penguins could pull it off. Having to go back to Detroit for Game 7 after every appearance there in these playoffs was a total disaster had me thinking that last night could be another heartbreaking loss. But the team that played last night was a totally different team that played there a couple of nights ago, when we lost 5-0. Everything came together. They played well, they were focused, and, yes, we had some luck on our side.
And they won. They won. It was thrilling. Getting to see Sidney Crosby hoist the cup was awesome and watching him hand it off later to Mario Lemieux was almost too much. I only have vague memories of the last time that the Penguins won and Mario was the first to lift that beast over his head, mostly of hugging my parents in our living room and banging pots and pans outside. Last night was nice and clear, though.
As I’ve said before, I don’t care that it’s “silly” to be emotionally invested in my sports teams. There’s happiness and joy there. That’s a good thing.
We walked to our main drag last night and watched some of the celebrating. We left when the cops showed up in case things took a turn, since we had the baby with us and I would really like him to wait until he’s older to get teargassed for the first time. But things remained rowdy but peaceful. I could hear the cheering from all over the city for hours. It practically became my lullaby as I drifted off to sleep, so happy to call this goofy city my home.
I’m still working on my recap of our trip to Detroit, even though each day that passes makes it more irrelevant but whatever. It’s my blog, I’ll post what I want and you’ll read it and you’ll like it. In fact, next week I might post about Valentine’s Day and how wack it was. If you don’t read it, that just shows how uncommitted you are to this relationship.
In fact, this isn’t working out. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s what I’m going through. But let’s have angry and weepy break-up blog sex real quick before I help you find your Wii games. Jerk.
…
Anyway, I have this vague sickness going on and it’s weird. It hasn’t knocked me out and only makes me feel really crappy every so often. My throat is sore but not killing me and I’m getting what can only be described as hot flashes. I must have that throatal menopause that I’ve heard absolutely nothing about.
Last night I went to bed pretty early and when the husband came up a little bit later, he found me drenched in sweat and panting. And I imagine he resembled Bill Murray in Ghostbusters when he said of would-be girlfriend Dana Barrett, “Okay…so…she’s a dog.”
He popped a thermometer in my mouth and I didn’t have a fever, so I don’t know what happened.
…
I’m kind of not watching the Penguins game right now because I am HIGHLY concerned at this point and instead have been attempting to take a picture of the baby and the cat with whatever photographic devices in reach (ie, husband’s iPhone, my laptop). They fell asleep next to each other on the couch, but with the cat’s butt perilously close to the baby’s head and god damn if that ain’t one for the baby book shameless mommy blog.
“And here’s the time that the neutered cat teabagged you…”
…
All of this is to say that I’m not totally “with it” right now, so bear with me. Oh ALSO I have to do a “field observation” for my class on Friday, so I’m going to watch the staff at Starbucks interact from 9:30 to 11 a.m. And you know what my sophomore classmates said when we decided on that time? They said, “Hmm…well, yeah…I guess I can get up that early.” ISN’T THAT THE MOST PRECIOUS THING YOU’VE EVER HEARD?
If I had written out an itinerary for yesterday, it would look something like this:
8:30ish – 9:30 a.m.: Wake up, swear a little for not getting up a little earlier since the baby has Little League parade in an hour. Rush through breakfast and dressing and whatnot.
9:30 – 10:30 a.m.: Parade through neighborhood with the baby and 200 other cuties in knee socks and cleats. Forget to put sunscreen on. Face, chest, and arms burn quite nicely.
10:30 a.m. – 12:00 p.m.: Loiter around ball field for awhile, waiting for LL season opener to begin. My parents, my grandmother, my husband’s parents, and his grandmother all show up for the big day. I am relieved to see my dad looking and acting pretty healthy, despite being in the midst of chemo. Everyone gets along, which is amazing, and I choose to chuckle at my grandmother’s paranoid insistence that my son stand absolutely still to minimize his chances of getting horrifically hurt by running down the hill and climbing the bleachers. Local politicians are politicking, shaking hands, and helping to hand out hot dogs and Little Hugs, including the mayor. I notice that after a certain amount of time spent amongst “my people,” I start to sound like Gina from Greg & Donny.
12:00 – 2:30 p.m.: Play ball! Baby does well in his first real game. Even takes the opportunity to slide into home. Teammate hits a grand slam (the Pirates should consider hiring him) and their team wins. Sweet! Somewhere in this time period, my cat comes across a half-drunk cup of chocolate milk that the baby left sitting in the living room and knocks it onto the floor, leaving a nice brown splash pattern on the rug that will dry and set very nicely while we’re gone.
2:30 – 3:00 p.m.: Run home, shower my dusty kid and send him off with husband’s dad to go bike-riding so I can work on homework.
3:00 – 5:00 p.m.: Half-heartedly work on final project for school. Try not to freak out over how much crap I have to do in the next two weeks.
5:00 – 5:30 p.m.: Cat curls up on my notebooks, gives me a look and purrs. My eyelids start to droop.
5:30 – 6:00 p.m.: I give in to the cat’s hypnotic powers and take a much needed nap.
6:00 – 7:00 p.m.: Get up and shower since the husband will be home soon and we’re going on a date to the drive in to see Adventureland. Husband arrives home and cleans the car, specifically the windshield so we can see the movie, while I’m fighting with a pair of shorts that totally fit me last year but are now throwing up a lot of resistance. My waist, much like the universe, is ever-expanding.
7:00 p.m.: Husband and I set off toward the movie. I’m excited since I’ve never been to the drive in.
7:30 – 8:15 p.m.: Hit horrendous traffic due to a poorly-planned detour taking motorists away from construction happening en route to the airport. We go back and forth on whether or not we can actually make the movie, which starts at 8:10. We finally decide to just drive out there and if we miss it we’ll go to a later showing at a regular theater near our house.
8:15 p.m.: Hear hideous squealing of brakes behind us and then suddenly realize that my head has tried to go from upright to 90 degree angle with my body, somehow without taking any path between the two positions. I say things like, “Oooohhhh,” and “Auuuughhhh,” as I realize that we were harshly rear-ended.
8:16 – 8:30 p.m.: Of course, our new insurance cards are not in the car but we get the other guy’s information. I eventually stop shaking. This is the second car accident I’ve been in. The first was when I was 16 and riding with a newly-licensed friend. That accident was so minor that I didn’t even realize what had happened until my friend tearfully filled me in. This one, while still very minor, was much more frightening and painful and gives me new perspective on how much serious car accidents suck. I burned my foot a few years ago by spilling boiling water on it. It was a small area but was tremendously painful and took months to heal and gave me new perspective on how much it sucks to be a serious burn victim. So, burns and car accidents are officially off of my bucket list because fuck that ish.
8:30 – 9:00 p.m.: We’re definitely way too late for the drive in movie, so we make our way to a theater a few miles away. We have some time to kill, so we go to Sonic and I note that at least we’re getting some drive in experience tonight.
9:00 – 9:15 p.m.: We get ready to make our way across the shopping center to the movie theater and discover that the car won’t start. AWESOME. Husband says, “Fuck it. We’re going to the movie. I don’t care,” and enlists a fellow Sonic patron to help him push the car into the parking lot across the way.
9:15 – 9:30 p.m.: Husband and I walk to the movie theater and get into a quick argument because he says something that I don’t hear, gets mad at me for not hearing, and WON’T JUST REPEAT WHAT HE SAID. GAAAHHHH.
9:30 – 9:45 p.m.: Wait in line for tickets because the theater made the brilliant managerial decision to have one ticketing booth open on a Saturday night. Husband goes in to grab seats while I go to the concession stand, which also has only one register open. I come very close to starring in my own episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm while the young girls in front of me order 60 overpriced items and then have to rethink their entire order when they hear that the Icee machine is broken. A teenager with a pitiable case of acne and a large crystal around his neck opens another register. The people in front of me go to him, while the rest of us stay in one line, wordlessly agreeing to alternate registers as they become available. Except for the guy behind me who goes to the new register, essentially cutting in front of me. I hate humanity.
9:46 p.m.: I angrily shuffle into the theater to find that I’ve missed the first five minutes of the movie. Fucking whatever, man.
9:46 – 11:30 p.m.: The movie is good and very, very sweet and makes Kennywood look even more magical and awesome. I love Pittsburgh.
11:30 – 12:00 p.m.: We wait by our car for the father-in-law to arrive with jumper cables. We study the damage to the rear bumper and the husband says, “I wonder if that will make it hard to close the trunk.” As he says this, he opens the trunk, which makes an alarming THWONK noise. The husband grins at me, because we both know that the trunk will no longer be closing. He tries to get me to stand on the bumper while he jumps on the trunk lid. I fear for my toes and the few people still at the shopping center wonder what the hell we’re doing. The husband and I have to chuckle at the day’s series of events and I give him some kisses because we went on a date, dammit, in spite of everything.
12:00 – 12:30 p.m.: The father-in-law arrives with jumper cables and we’re able to drive home. When we finally arrive at our house, five hours after we left to go see a two-hour movie, I realize that I wasn’t wearing my seat belt, despite being in a car accident just a few hours prior.
Sunday: Hoping absolutely nothing happens today. Edit: Nevermind. The baby is having breathing trouble and is now passed out in bed. Highly unusual. AWESOME.
Back when a dude broke into our house, and after the initial shock wore off, the husband and I had some questions. Like, why would the guy take the cumbersome and not very valuable DVDs and not the lightweight and higher-street-value Wii? (By the way, ne’er-do-wells who may be reading, that is NOT an invitation to finish what that jackass started.) The cop chuckled and shook his head at our naivete.
“You would steal that because you have common sense. Criminals like this guy do NOT have common sense,” he explained.
A lack of common sense is probably responsible for the events that transpired earlier this evening.
The baby’s baseball practices started tonight. The husband and I were chilling on the bleachers, giggling at our scrawny kid rounding the bases. A mom behind me yelled at someone: “GO FIGHT SOMEWHERE ELSE! THERE’S KIDS HERE!” I jerked around and saw two young men, one no longer wearing a shirt, walking toward their cars and continuing to argue. The husband and I shook our heads at their stupidity and went back to watching the practice.
I turned around again to see if they were still arguing and noticed that one of the guys was pointing something at the other guy. Something silver. And shiny.
“Hey,” I said to the husband. “Does that guy have a gun?”
In retrospect, my reaction to this new information was really puzzling. I turned back around and went back to watching the practice, not really concerned that someone was brandishing a firearm just a few yards from where my son was. Luckily, the other parents had their BAD THING thinking caps on and yelled at the coaches to get the kids out of the immediate area and started calling 911.
I turned back around and watched the rest of the events unfold. From what I could gather, the two guys were fighting over a woman and there may have been some custody issues. Other parents went over to yell at the guy, but I tend to stay away from people with guns. Yosemite Sam’s girlfriend became irritated with the confrontational parents and whined, “He put the gun away! Gawd! What’s your problem?”
No common sense. I don’t know who shows up at a kids’ baseball practice to start some shit. I don’t know who brings a gun to a kids’ baseball practice. I don’t know who draws a gun at a kids’ baseball practice. And I really don’t know who asks such a dumb fucking question as, “What’s your problem?” when a gun is pulled with 50 kids, including presumably one of their own, nearby.
Posting is still slow around these parts, I know. I’ve been working my dupa off this semester, this past week in particular, and had a mini-meltdown Wednesday morning. Just one of those, “I…just…don’t want to do all of this anymore! Hwwheeee!” kind of crying episodes that I have at least once a semester. I met with one of my instructors this morning to go over some XML basics and was wildly comforted that she didn’t think that I was a total moron. She has a daughter around the same age as the baby, and works, and teaches, so I think she recognized that, “I’m falling apart,” look in my eyes. I don’t honestly think that I’m going to crash and burn, but I guess I don’t always believe it.
Anyway, when I do have a minute here and there, I don’t feel like voicing anything, preferring instead to retreat to quiet. I spent a few hours the other day looking at the pictures on Shorpy and marveling at how alive the pictures seem and how a little twitch in the universe could send me there.
I love this picture of Pittsburgh in 1941 so much.
rainy pittsburgh 1941
It’s raining, of course, just as it has been here for the past few days. But if you lean in, you can almost hear the drops slapping onto the street and bouncing off the roofs of the cars. I can almost smell the refreshment of an early summer storm and grin because it’s almost here.
