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With my 30th birthday quickly approaching (17 days!), I find myself in some sort of nesting mode. Sure, 30 is just a number but if all things go according to the loose plans that we have for life, this next year is going to be a pretty big one. So, in a way, I’m preparing to give birth to a new phase in life…to be all corny and new age about it.

I’m taking baby steps in getting our house in order. I’m taking care of long-overdue tasks, like getting new glasses (which I’m going to go pick up in a little bit eeee!). I’m trying to dig myself out of a stress and depression induced slump in which I totally let myself look like I was stressed and depressed. I bought some new clothes and shrugged my shoulders at the larger size and am also subscribing to the philosophy that a little lipstick can make you feel a lot better. I’m still no big fan of makeup but I’ll indulge it more often.

Am I sounding like a Cosmopolitan issue yet?

Anyway, another big thing is that I’m actually keeping a calendar. I have a pile of abandoned day planners and good intentions. But the calendar on my iPhone is actually the right tool for me. I make note of any event that I need to remember, thereby lessening the strain on my poor brain.

I knew that I had my annual gyno appointment today at 9 a.m. and got myself all prepared. The baby slept at the mother-in-law’s house last night since he is off school today, making our departure much more streamlined. I got to the doctor’s office a good five minutes before my appointment and went to check in, but the receptionist couldn’t find me on the books. That’s because my appointment is TOMORROW at 9 a.m.

I really, really had to restrain myself from asking if I could just have my appointment then anyway, since I was there and ready to face the stirrups. But I guess they don’t cushion the schedule for nitwits who show up 24 hours early.

No matter. I went to CVS and bought Claritin in the hopes of reclaiming my head from the depths of these horrendous allergies. I keep hoping that they’ll just go away but I’ve been hoping that since, like, February.

By the way, if you’re in Pittsburgh and looking for a haunted house to visit, you can go ahead and skip ScareHouse. The wait to get in ranges between 1 and 4 hours and it really is not that scary or even very interesting. There were some parts that were alright, but I really don’t know how it got all of the accolades it did. Tom Savini’s various haunted houses were much better and you’re probably better off going to whatever cheap local thing you have near you.

I am brimming with excitement because after nearly ten years I am finally getting new glasses! I went to the eye doctor on Saturday and ordered new contacts, which I am also in dire need of since I had been in my last pair for way too long and they were all cruddy. I also picked out a cheap-ish pair of frames that will house new lenses that are actually my current prescription. And I promise not to fall asleep in them this time, since that was part of the downfall of my current pair, seen here in a rather bizarre picture of me eating birthday cake with my hands while dressed as Carrie at a Halloween party in an abandoned store in the South Side in 2000:

That’s just how I roll sometimes. Those glasses were something of a trademark of mine and I heard howls of protest from both the husband and our friend Jwan when I announced that they needed to be retired. But, the new glasses are very similar. Fear not.

I’m excited at the prospect of actually being able to wear glasses from time to time since my old ones were only good for seeing me from the bathroom to my bed without walking into walls.

I also had my massage on Saturday and I told the masseuse about my problems with sleeping weird and waking up immobile. When she initially ran her hand down the left side of my back, she said, “Ew.” She found and worked on nine knots and strongly suggested that I buy a new pillow. I repaid her good advice by drooling on her shoes through the face hole thingy.

The baby spent the night with my mom and the husband and I went to see Choke. It was only alright. Palahniuk’s novels are, I imagine, a tough thing to translate to the screen and Clark Gregg just didn’t…get it. Plus, there’s a lot of stuff going on in that book and he tried to fit all of it in and just present it as it is. It didn’t work.

Actually, the more I think about it, the more I hate it and really wish we had just waited until it was on DVD. We should have gone to see Blindness, but that’s another book that I love and if they fuck that up, too, I may go ballistic.

But to remedy that, the husband and I are going to see the premiere of Zack and Miri Make a Porno. Kevin Smith is doing a special screening at The Oaks and I’m really excited about this new movie.

To veer off into another direction in this already scattered post, I am very happy that the Steelers won but these late Sunday night games are totally messing up the one night that I have shows to watch. True Blood, Entourage, Californication, and Mad Men are all on Sundays and I missed all of them to watch the Steelers. I recorded them, of course, but I hate waiting. I need to know the latest on Betty and Don and I want to hear more about Joan and her fiance! God!

Hi. I just got back from the doctor’s office and getting my breast ultrasounded. Everything is cool. I had to wait forever, but I really didn’t mind since I walked out of there relieved and I really can’t say the same for a few of the women that were also there.

I hopped on the bus back to work and after squeezing out of the crowded bus past a few Pitt students who were “from Philly” (read: King-of-Prussia, because if you’re from Philly, why do you look like you were just dropped into the middle of Baghdad when you’re only in Oakland?), I scrounged around my office for a little snack since I was starving. But since I had been at the hospital and on the bus, I didn’t want to just eat something without sanitizing my hands a little bit first.

Now, it’s no surprise to anyone that knows me that I’m a little immature and much of my humor is of the Beavis-and-Butthead variety. So, it’s really unfortunate that we use hand sanitizer that is “hand lotion formula.” What this means is that it has the same liquid consistency, but it’s a translucent white color. And it looks like…well, you tell me:

What’s really bad is that the cheap pumps on the hand sanitizer bottles tend to malfunction and squirt this substance on whatever or whoever is in its aim. Believe me. I’ve accidentally squirted this stuff on my shirt before and tried to hide both my snickering and my blushing, since I’m not sure anyone gets (or wants to get) what is so funny. This morning I got it all over the office couch which luckily has vinyl seats. It just looked rather gross when I wiped it up.

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.

Someone on flickr just questioned my street cred!

Anyway, the Rick Wilhite thing on Saturday was pretty fun. There was a decent turn-out, but there was a mass exodus around 1 a.m. or so. Very strange.

Rick Wilhite and his aura played many good records, including “Numbers” by Kraftwerk as a special treat.

Jwan’s ear! Jwan encouraged me to wear high heels more often but dude, I was practically in tears by the end of the night. Ballet made my feet all wide and thick. They are not dainty enough for girly shoes.

Frank showed up! He was in town for a friend’s wedding! I really need to get my teeth cleaned!

The event was all multimedia n’at. This painting was created on-site and I kind of want it for my dining room. There was also a sneak peek at Paul Dang’s movie Still City. Paul’s been working on the movie for awhile and I hope he’s able to release it soon because it looks pretty awesome. I love the title, too. It’s a play on words. People from this area tend to pronounce “steel” as “still” (ie, Stillers instead of Steelers). Imagery-wise it’s also pretty great. The three rivers flow through us constantly, but Pittsburgh is still, right in the middle of it. And Pittsburgh, for better or worse, never goes anywhere. Take that however you want. It just contains this weird mixture of people who are creative and loyal and cynical and interesting and just all around kind of weird.

Despite my rather radical beliefs, I’m very conservative about some things. For example, when I cook, I MUST have a recipe and I will not deviate from that recipe unless there’s a very good reason, ie, I’m out of an ingredient or I’m drunk. Similarly, my clothes are my clothes and I will not alter them to suit whatever kooky mood I’m in. I may have once made a pair of jean shorts by cutting up an old pair of jeans, but that’s about it.

Last year, when we went to Detroit, I got a nice, very old-school-looking t-shirt from the roller skating rink we went to. The only problem with it was that the shirt itself was poorly made and the neck came up around my throat. This made the shoulder seams bunch up oddly. All of these things combined made me gag when I wore it.

But today I went a little crazy and actually took a pair of scissors to the shirt.

Please also note my hair. I spent a good 35 minutes with the flat iron. I’m wearing the shirt and the hair to AVA tonight, where Rick Wilhite of fair Detroit will be playing records. Not sure what I’m going to wear on the bottom. Maybe I’ll just stick with these boxer shorts I’m currently rocking.

Somewhat related, the baby and I made a video greeting for Tracey today for her birthday, but I didn’t send it to her. When I got a look at myself, my face, I was stunned. I look so…tired. And old. And swollen. And worn out. This past year aged me so much. I’m freaking out somewhat. Sure, I can definitely do things like eat better and do yoga and get more sleep and stress less now that the semester is almost totally over. But I feel like maybe I wasted the last year of my “youth” spreading myself too thin. What if I’m just “old” now?

Promises to keep, 1500 words before I sleep.

Goodnight, Myron. Yoi. You are amazing.

Could somebody explain to me why my son’s school has a 2-hour delay this morning? It’s in the mid-30s and the only thing they’re predicting for today is some rain. If I’m not mistaken, we live in Pittsburgh and rain is kind of a given. I’m left to believe it’s because the school officials exist to screw up my mornings.

…there are no happy endings…

I guess it should, but this story doesn’t make me angry at all. Just sad.

The baby is doing much better today and is just thrilled to be doing shots of that pink, bubble-gum-flavored amoxicillin. I believe his exact words were, “God, I LOVE this stuff!”

It is good and I don’t see why all medicine can’t be flavored that way.

I am also feeling a little bit better. I scolded myself this morning for phoning it in as far as school goes the past few weeks. I know I’m behind, but I don’t know exactly how far behind because I don’t want to look and face the facts. Mature, no? But I’m doing some reading and stuff now…well, aside from this short break to write about how studious I am.

I’m just really burnt out on my bloated schedule. The past few days I had tossed around the idea of dropping a class, but realized that would be pretty stupid since I’m practically halfway through the semester now.

In the fall I’m only taking one “real” class and that will be such a huge relief. Then I’ll take two courses in spring 09, probably another required course in summer 09, one more elective in fall 09 and then I’ll be done. Somewhere in there I have to squeeze in an internship, which will probably end up being some kind of project through my job since my grad program knows that I can’t exactly do an unpaid internship for 3 months. I have a taste for the finer things in life, like eating and having a roof over my head.

The husband and I watched The Crazies last night, which is a George Romero flick from 1973. It’s set and was filmed in Evans City, which is also where he filmed Night of the Living Dead. I’ve always loved NotLD and Dawn of the Dead, but I’m really starting to get into the look and feel of Romero. We watched Martin a few weeks ago, though admittedly I didn’t make it to the end. It was getting late and I find that I get panicked watching movies in which someone breaks into a house because, uh, someone broke into our house. But anyway, that’s not the point. Romero’s films that are set in and around Pittsburgh are so very Pittsburgh. The actors all seem to be fairly local and there doesn’t seem to be any alterations made to the sets.

What is so striking about the films from that time period is that they seem to be plucked from my memories of what Pittsburgh looked and felt like around the time that I was born, when the steel industry was gasping its last breaths and the city was depressed and kind of…stale. Watching those movies I can almost recall the smell. Beer and work boots, metal lunchboxes, and the scent that men have when they’ve been outside. It’s uncomfortable but at the same time pleasingly nostalgic. It’s really hard to describe.

Grunt. I should get back to being a hardcore student.