kdiddy.org

It's not bad and I'm not very upset, but dumb crap has happened today.
So, I've dived back into my job search. I emailed my resume to a couple of artsy places (dance companies, the symphony, etc.). Also, I had an interview today at CMU, the place that I really want to work. Why do I want to work there so bad? The most amazing health care package that I've ever seen, they pay everyone pretty well, they have an amazing daycare/preschool, and, best of all, FREE GRAD SCHOOL! I've been conversing with some of the people in HR over there for months but it's been a fruitless process so far. But anyway, my interview today was with a guy in the athletics department for a position called Sports Information Director. Yeah, I know what you're thinking….Kelly? Sports? But from what I had heard it was going to be a sort of media relations type deal. Not quite. The guy who interviewed me was very nice and it might actually go down as one of the best interviews that I've ever had. But no job. They wanted someone with a little more sports knowledge, plus the fact they had already interviewed two people who were currently working as sports information directors at other colleges. No way I could top that. Not to mention the fact that I was still extremely tired from my sleepless night and early morning. At a few points during our conversation I was literally braindead.
After that was over I walked over to the coffeehouse at the University Center to get a tasty beverage to warm me up. Now, I've heard of several lovely ladies on my friends list, namely * and , singing the praises of this stuff called bubble tea. It sounds kinda fun. So I got a cup, expecting it to be some nice hot tea with…I don't know…bubbles in it or something. Instead I got this weird slushy type stuff with an obscenely huge straw. It didn't taste bad, per se, but imagine my surprise when, during my acts of fellatio on this tube of yellow plastic, I sucked up a big chunk of tapioca…or whatever they put in there. I was not impressed. It just wasn't what I was looking for.
I met my mom at her office and we went home, springing her a little early. My mom thought that I was going to be upset but I was really okay with it. I mean, sports really isn't my niche and I'm sure that after a few months, glorious paychecks and health care aside, I would be hating it. Besides, what does a girl writer care about sports anyway? ;-p
When I got home, however, I was greeted by….NO PAYCHECK FROM THE PG! argh. I went to email the woman who had sent me the contract and realized that all of this might be my own ditzy fault. Apparently I was supposed to sign the contract, fax it over there, and THEN mail them the original. Whatever. Free-lance contracts close out the 15th of every month and then the checks are sent out the 25th. So, I have a bad feeling that I'm going to have to wait another month to get my check. Fuck.
Also, as you may or may not remember, I was proposing some PR work for this modern dance company. The AD wrote me this evening telling me that while the board of directors liked my writing they just didn't have any money for me at the moment. Sigh.lk
So, I have stuff to write for Pulp still but besides that I am thoroughly unemployed. My cousin was just over and told me that I might be able to snag her old job over at PNC, my favorite bank (barf). I don't know about their benefits package, but at the very least I would get free overdraught protection.
Alright, it's getting to be around bedtime and this entry has been boring enough. I'm so tired.

*Edit: I noticed this morning that I spelled Miss Joline's user name incorrectly. I've corrected it, but what I had before took the reader to a journal that I have no connections to. Sorry for any confusion. Dur.

My kid got up at 7:30 this morning. This in and of itself is not so much a problem, but I really didn't get any sleep last night. So when I groggily peeled open my eyes this morning to hear, “MUM! MUM!” I honestly just didn't believe it. My mom came into my room on her way out the door to go to work to confirm my fears.
Last night, after struggling with Microsoft Word for hours to make a presentable resume, and after putting the crazed baby to bed, the boyfriend and I watched High Fidelity…just because. When that was over, I sort of drifted off to sleep but the boyfriend stayed up and watched more TV. Apparently I started talking in my sleep and the boyfriend played off of it to confuse me, asking me random questions and ordering me to kiss my sock monkey (which I did). Anyway, around 3 a.m. I was forced awake by the ending scenes of Requiem for a Dream. Not pleasant. All of the electric-shock therapy, buttfucking, limb severing, and prison guard screaming forced me to roll over and look at the boyfriend with my best, “What the fuck?” face. He turned off the TV, but we stayed awake for awhile, chatting and miscellaneous groping. He fell asleep around 4:30 but I was wide awake and thinking about, oh, EVERYTHING. I hate when I do that. I got out my laptop around 5 and just tooled around for a little bit until I finally started to get drowsy again around 6. So, yeah, all and all I think I got about 3 hours of broken sleep. Now I'm up and trying to be SuperMom. I also have to write some stuff for Pulp today (along with 6,000 other things for wintermittens). Yay.

This website is cool.

http://www.hometownfavorites.com/shop/htfg.asp

Hard-to-find groceries. Word.

I'm having a weird money day. My check from the PG still did not arrive *flips out*, but my grandmother sent me some grocery money *smiles*. However, I got a notice from the bank saying that I overdrew my account by about 5 cents so they went ahead and took out $30 *flips out*. However however, I got a refund check from the baby's pediatrician for $44 because I overpaid at some point *smiles*.

I was getting a little irritated with the baby for awhile because he got into the junk drawer, wrapped himself in Scotch tape, and then refused to eat anything for lunch but a few sips of PediaSure and some graham crackers. But when the mailman came to the door he said hi to him in the sweetest voice. *melt*

Alright, I'm busy and important.

So, I found this picture of me at Sauce while tooling around on the Internet this evening

That's me in the white shirt in the middle of the room. The real question is, what exactly am I doing? Everyone around me is dancing and going nuts to Norm Talley and I'm, like, reading a book or something. Gah.

So, I was thinking today that I haven't done a sex filter post in a few days. I'm happy to inform you that last week was a very fulfilling week. We rendezvoused twice which was just enough to keep me glowing. Both times were initiated by the Mister and required no cajoling on my part. No extreme acrobatics as the sprained ankle was still bothering him, which was fine since the recent chill in the air has made me reluctant to leave the warmth of the covers until a sufficient sweat has broken. I've also noticed that he's been flirting with me a lot more, which makes me even happier.
I can't put my finger on what gets to him from time to time that causes him to not want to bump uglies, but it seems to come in cycles which leads me to one conclusion: The Man Period. I've read before that men go through hormonal phases as frequently if not more frequently than women do. I'm thinking that at certain points during the month the Mister has a Man Period. While no maxi pads are required, he's just generally not feeling sexy. I can related. Good god can I relate.
Speaking of periods, mine is next week, so I'm going to be pushing for at least one more rendezvous in the next few days to tide me over. I used to not mind Sloppy Period Sex, but now it just generally bothers me. Extra laundry and whatnot. And that blood seems to get in the darndest places. When Tom and I first got together, I started my period right when we were ready to start doing the deed. In some weird twist of fate it became the longest period I ever had: 13 days. I thought we were going to lose our minds. I think somewhere around day 10 we said “fuck it” and just armed ourselves with towels and damp washclothes.
My, this has been a descriptive entry, eh?
Well, I'm off to pretty up. I'm hoping for a bonus rendezvous this evening.

I really don't like emailing the editor at the PG about anything. He always sends me these clipped, short replies and while I'm sure it's because he's busy at his job and not sitting at home in Nick & Nora slippers fretting over what people think of him like I do, I can't help but let it freak me out. I'm not sure what I'm expecting. I guess I've been spoiled by my email correspondence with Shanley, who always manages to send humorous and warm emails. Another thing that worries me is that if I say thank you for anything (Thanks for your help, thanks for the opportunity, thanks for the correction) he never says “you're welcome.” My only comfort is the fact that my phone conversations with the PG editor have always been pleasant enough.
My fragile little ego…it's such a pain in the ass.

I saw one of the new Porsche SUVs while out walking today. I must say, I don't get it. They just don't even look that cool.

I'm convinced that PNC is just making their own withdrawals and deposits just to mess with my head and send me into cold sweats when I check my balance online every five minutes. I have three bills that I have to pay, like, yesterday but I'm afraid to actually pay them because I'm not sure exactly how much money is in my account. Today alone a mysterious withdrawal of $30 was made and filed under “Miscellaneous Check Card Purchase.” Oh, really? Tell Miss Cellaneous to give me my goddamned money back before MasterCard comes here to collect the baby for payment.
In other money news, I was hoping to receive my paycheck from the PG today, but no such love.
Disappointment.

Anyway, ever since I had The Cold, my ears have been continually popping and clogging up. I don't get it. It's very annoying.

Oh and re: last night's flailing and screaming post…I was just at the end of a long, blah weekend. We went to Brookline to visit the boyfriend's family in honor of his birthday last week. That in and of itself wasn't bad, but you know when you go to visit relatives and after about two hours you just start thinking to yourself, “I want to be home right this instant.” I was getting that. Then when we finally did get home and put the baby to bed, I was all set to relax in front of the boob tube and await Bill Maher's show. When I turned on the TV, however, post-game Steelers analysis was on and the boyfriend wanted to watch it. Augh. Watching the actual game really doesn't bother me. Analysis of football just doesn't make any sense to me. I mean, it's football. Nothing different will ever happen. So I did what any mature woman would do…I started whining until he let me change the channel. So that's what that whole little tantrum was about.
Bill Maher, by the way, was pretty good last night. The panel was Aaron Magruder, Michael Moore, and Charles Barkley. I've noticed, however, that Mr. Maher doesn't let them talk very much. I guess it is his show but if you're going to have guests let them complete a thought.
Criminy.

Other pointless news: I shaved my legs on Saturday. I know this doesn't seem like a big deal to you but I hardly ever shave. I just don't care. So when I do I tell everyone like it's some kind of magic trick. “Look, Ma, no hair!”

Alright, I have to change the kiddo and put him down for a nap.
Ta.

AUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
AUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

*flails*

AAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH

*dies*