kdiddy.org

So, I had a doctor’s appointment this morning. It was notable because when I called the office last week to see if they thought I should come in for this problem that I was having, their answer was, “You should be seen as soon as possible.” And that’s not always encouraging.

See, a few months ago, I noticed that my left, uh, “dirty pillow” was always really tender in this one spot. And it would get even more tender right around the time that my period would show up. I wasn’t sure what to make of that, but started poking around. I asked the husband to do the same and he said, “Hehehehe. Okay.” We both kinda felt…something.

“I don’t know. Do you think it’s Something?”
“I don’t know. I can’t tell.”
“Me neither.”
“I’d better check a few more times.”

Of course, WebMD was like, “YOU SO TOTALLY HAVE BREST CANCERZ! OMG!!!111,” but I was skeptical and my gut feeling was that everything was fine. Nonetheless, I knew it was important to get an expert opinion.

So, this morning, I had not one, but TWO very nice lady doctors go to town on my chesticles. Their verdict is that I’m a-okay, nothing feels out of sorts, the tenderness is probably due to some ligaments acting up, and that my tissue is just kind of lumpy…like oatmeal. I’m going to go get an ultrasound just to be sure, but I am relieved. Definitely.

I don’t like to lecture, but consider this your PSA: if something feels weird, go get yourself checked. Don’t worry about “wasting the doctor’s time,” or anything like that. And don’t explain things away if you’re actually worried, even just a little bit. Take care of yourself! Reassurance is rad.

That said, they had to weigh me and…well…fuck gravity. ANYWAY.

Enjoy this picture of me (looking slightly deranged from this particular angle) and my cat.

He was being goofy last night at bedtime, walking around my head and purring, before he plopped down on my head. He intended to sleep there, but I was laughing too hard.

Speaking of laughing (but in horror), I watched a little bit of Painted Babies 2 last night. And I know that it’s best to just say, “Well, it’s just a different culture and blah blah,” but seriously that whole pageant thing is just ridiculously fucked up. I don’t like it. I mean, mainly because it’s just messed the hell up to do that to a little kid, but also that whole scene is just SO CORNY and just not based in any kind of reality.

I was reading this article the other day that said something to the effect of “Cosmopolitan is like The Onion for feminists,” which is so true and I think pageants, particularly pageants for little girls, fall squarely into that category, too.

Stiff greetings to you this morning. I pulled my neck in my sleep last night and am now rocking the “I have no movable parts!” look. I rolled over around 5 a.m. and The Pain hit. I started yelping and my very sweet husband, thinking I was having a nightmare, spoke such concerned and comforting words as, “Hey! HEY! What. Is. Wrong. With. You?” Since it was 5 a.m. and I was still grappling with the searing pain, I explained, “NECK. PAIN. FUCKIN. BAD THING. OWWWW.”

And because I am the universe’s bitch, right after the neck spasm, I launched into a sneezing fit. It felt SO GOOD.

Not much else to report. Tracey visited me this weekend and Snarky Amber was in town, as well. On Saturday night we had something of a slumber party, though slightly different from the slumber parties of my youth. We were all passing out by 11:30, no one’s training bra found its way to the freezer, and I had a bit of a hangover in the morning.

Because I’m awesome, I didn’t take any pictures of our antics.

Anyway.

I bent the husband’s ear for a few minutes this morning explaining my conspiracy theories surrounding the McCain/Palin campaign.

I know I don’t delve into politics too much on here, and that’s on purpose. Mostly I just don’t have the energy to get into it with internet people but I’m also just not that compelled to write about it.

But dude. Something is UP. This whole election is such a circus, more so than usual, and the GOP’s decisions are just bizarre. It’s really starting to freak me out that they seem so willing to just throw this election. What are they up to? What do they have planned? What is with this soap opera shit? SOMEBODY TELL ME WHAT’S GOING ON.

Or don’t. Maybe I don’t really want to know. I suppose it says something about me that Joe Rogan totally gets me. But dude:

Wednesday night: 4-alarm fire
Friday night: another huge fire
2 a.m. Friday morning: random drunk dude walks into our house while the husband and I are watching a movie in the living room.
Saturday night: dog across the street attacks random pedestrian
Currently: unspecified domestic disturbance somewhere in the distance

I can has quiet neighborhood now, please?

We saw WALL-E yesterday and I have to say that if you are generally not prone to believing the hype, you really should gobble this movie’s hype up.

I guess if you wanted to put a cutesy tag to WALL-E, I would describe it as 2001 for the grade school set…and for adults who “don’t get” 2001. The references are pretty hard to miss. There’s very little dialogue, they use some of the same music, plus the whole concept of the movie borrows heavily from 2001: a history of man on earth and in space, man’s rebirth and new history. And of course there’s the ship’s autopilot, who is very obviously HAL in a new outfit.

I’m sorry, Dave, I’m afraid I can’t do that.

I’ve seen similar themes in a lot of popular culture recently (see also: Idiocracy and Joe Rogan Live just to name two). I think/hope that many people are starting to question our future, much in the same way that the humans aboard the Axiom suddenly realize that there’s a whole galaxy beyond their communication screens and a planet that they abused and then abandoned at the command of a giant, monolithic corporation/government. What will become of our home, how much is fate, how much do we have control over? And what will become of us? Is there hope for our species? Or are we merely cycling around again? Maybe we’ll devolve until we’ve forgotten everything and then we’ll reset or re-evolve and rediscover the earth.

At the risk of sounding totally hokey and all like, “Let me introduce you to my magical healing crystals that I bought on Amazon!” I honestly feel like big things are going to start happening. I know part of this is watching too many nerd shows about Mayan prophecy and shit. Or maybe it’s a tiny sprout of optimism that hopes that it’s not too late.

…because it’s been ONE OF THOSE DAYS OH MY EFFING HELL.

Here we have: party socks (complete with hole [KLASS]), gaucho pants from like five years ago (elastic waistband and not fashion is key here), and some hairy legs.

What you can’t see in this picture are the five or six blisters that I got this morning traipsing through downtown after an appointment that was meh.

I passed a bread line. I’m not even kidding. There were some broke people in line and they were getting bread from some volunteers. So that was distressing.

Almost as distressing was standing at the bus stop for an hour and some change and watching every 71 ever roll past me while I muttered, “Can I get a 61? Can I GET a 61? NO? NO? WHY CAN’T I GET A 61?”

I finally called the husband and PAT’s site was down, so I decided to try that “stand on the corner and scream obscenities” thing that’s all the rage with the crazies. It was cathartic, certainly, but it didn’t procure a 61.

The husband called me back with the awesome news that PAT had discontinued 61 service to my particular stop but had never noted that on the bus stop sign. NYYYAAARRRGGGHHH. The husband and I shouted at each other for a few minutes before he declared that he would just drive me to work since it was like 11:45 at that point. I continued to steam and decided to call PAT and let them know that, hi, I’m no doctor or anything, but indicating exactly which buses do or not stop at any given point is kind of important, especially when you’re eleventy billion hours late for work and wearing heels and your feet are leaking.

I called 411 and asked for the number for Port Authority Transit. They texted me the number for Sports Authority. Thanks.

But now there is Annie Hall and beer and talk of cupcakes.

If you are a kdiddy.org reader, I would anticipate many machine-gun-style posts today, because I’m wired and I have a lot on mind. I realize that’s what they make things like twitter for, but whatever.

First up: I officially hate the term “muffin top.” HATE IT. I thought it was funny when I first heard it, now it just makes me want to rampage.

Our wedding anniversary is June 17th, which is also the first day that same-sex couples will be able to legally wed in California. I’m just so pleased to share such a happy anniversary. Even cooler: a photography service is offering free photographs to all couples married at City Hall that day.

Today is also, most likely, the last day that Schenley High School will be in existence. The PG has a great video of the students speaking about the closing of the greatest school ever.

Sigh. Angela and I discussed it and we decided that maybe it’s time to take it back to the old school and rock some colonization. The guidance and discipline might be good for us. She’s on the phone with England.

This is the only video floating around so far of the protest staged by students (and other attendees, it looks like) at Washington University’s commencement ceremony. The protest was over WU’s decision to award Phyllis Schlafly an honorary doctorate.

Schlafly, if you didn’t know, has made a career of traveling the country…and lecturing on why women shouldn’t have careers, because domestic life is the greatest aspiration that a woman can have and, quite appallingly, insists that there is no such thing as rape between a married couple.

During the portion of the ceremony honoring Schlafly, the students silently stood up…and turned their backs on her. And really, I can’t think of a more fitting tribute to the woman.

People will say many things about her surrounding this event. As offended as I am by some of her beliefs, probably the worst thing you can accuse her of is being a ballsy old broad. So, Dr. Phyllis, from one ballsy old broad to another: fuck you, very much, sweetie. 🙂