kdiddy.org

I like the new layout, but it doesn't make any sense in the context of my friends page. There's no “earlier” link and when I clicked on this little arrow that was at the top and the bottom of the page it took me to friends entries from yesterday morning. Not what I was looking for. Also, in the old system it would allow to make your friends page a different style than your entries page. As far as I can tell, that option is no longer available. Why would you upgrade something only to make it dumber. Huh, LJ? What's up with that?

I'm not sure why I'm still up. I've spent quite some time just fiddling around LJ, perusing other people's journals. I will confess that I did one 9/11-related thing today…well, yesterday. I went through some of the journals on my friends list and looked to see what people had to write on that fateful day. And that's it. I'm done now.
I kind of pigged out on Teddy Grahams earlier and I think I got the special kind with added crack. That's why I'm all awake and goofy right now. That might also explain why the baby was being such a spaz earlier. Granted, I had him locked up in my room with me so that I could watch TV (bad mom) so that might have been a contributing factor, but still. Once he got bored with taking sips of water from his cup and spitting them on the floor, he started pulling records out of their sleeves. (I think the boyfriend is subtly trying to break up with me by accumulating so many records that eventually there just won't be any room for me. I'll just stand out on the porch, my breath fogging up the window while my family ignores my cries of “I love yooooooouuuuuuuuu!”) He settled down for a minute, but I should know better than that. I heard my nightstand drawer close and he walked over to hand me a bottle of Astroglide. “Here you go, Mum.” I can only thank whatever force is responsible for the fact that he didn't open it and proceed to make a lube-tastic mess of my bedroom. This incident, combined with the condom shopping trip, makes me think that I should get my knees sewn together and forget about sex completely. I wonder if Target sells iron underwear.

Side note: Mya, you're really not a very good dancer. I'm just letting you know. I'm watching the “Like Wo” video at the moment and the segment with the red and blue tennis outfits is just…hysterical. It's so very Mary Katherine Gallagher. It's subtle, but my trained eye can see Molly Shannon under that glamour.

About a year ago, I bought these exercise tapes with some of my tax refund. I was into them for awhile, but then got lazy. I pulled them out again today and remembered how much I enjoy them. It's this nice combination of yoga and Pilates. It's easy on my old dance injuries, but still gets me sweating and whatnot.

Another cool thing was that Shawn and Jwan told me that they're going to take me out to Soba as a thank you for all my hard work on the article. That'll be nice. I haven't been there yet.
Alright, now I'm actually tired.

venereal disease posters, 1920-1945.
http://www.livejournal.com/community/found_objects/780537.html

Hmm…
I'm messing around with the layout of my journal. I don't know about this. It might be a little too busy.

One thing that I'm really loving about the weather starting to cool down is that I can now eat oatmeal for breakfast and not feel like I'm going to have a heat stroke. I bought these fancy varieties of Quaker Oatmeal at the store awhile back and I'm finally getting to enjoy them. Right now I'm feasting on some Banana Bread oatmeal and feeling all good inside.
I know that it's probably in poor taste to joke about what day it is, but I think they should have held off on the demolition for today. The occasional sound of large sections of a building collapsing are kind of unnerving.
Now, I'm just going to touch on this quickly, because it would be silly for me to ignore it altogether. I am not watching any television today, because around September 13, 2001, I had seen the films of the World Trade Center and the Pentagon and the plane crash in Somerset just a few miles away from me so many times that I was becoming numb to it. I resolved last year that I never wanted to see those films again because nothing could ever erase those images from my memory. Actually sitting down and watching it happen all over again just seems vulgar.
There was a program on the Discovery Channel with Thomas Friedman last night. Basically it was him being snooty to a bunch of Muslim teenagers and some crafty editing to make it look like he was just silencing them into submission with his master debating skills. (And they say Michael Moore is a charlatan.) It was rather upsetting, as it made me realize that, even with yesterday's suicide bombing, we have yet to use the events of 9/11 as a basis of relation with the countries who dislike us. After Friedman “silenced” a young girl, who was arguing that we automatically associate the Middle East with terrorism, by telling her in a condescending tone that every time we've been attacked it's been by the Middle East (yeah, except for those funny instances when it was angry white guys from our own backyard), I changed the channel and tried not to think about it.
Another phrase that bothers me is how 9/11 “woke us up” or was “a loss of innocence.” I think there have been plenty of times where we've been forced to wake up, but we seem to keep hitting the snooze button and snuggling back under the sheets to continue breathing in our own morning breath. I wonder how long it will be and what will have to happen before the covers are whipped off of us and we will have to get up and GO TO SCHOOL.
So, I'll end this 9/11 portion of this entry by saying that my heart aches when I think about what was happening at this moment two years ago, and it aches when I think about how it didn't change the world.

Anyway, with that out of my system, I will go on to tell you all about the fascinating things that I've been up to.
Yesterday and most of the day before that was spent fielding many, many emails and IMs from the Technoir guys (those folks I wrote about for the PG). The photo shoot was scheduled for yesterday and there was a great deal of confusion. I had to keep thinking of new, clearer ways of saying, “Be at Shawn's house at 5:30. Smile nice. Get your picture taken. Get on with your life.” No matter how I said it, I kept getting emails asking, “Yes, but what do we do?” My eyebrows are now sore from being furrowed for so long.
However, the pictuer has been taken and all seems to be going well. The official run date for the article is next Thursday, the 18th. I will be sure to post a link to it on here…or, since I am so http-challenged, I will just tell you guys where in the general vicinity of the Internet the article is located and you can find it yourselves.
I've been writing this entry for over an hour. The baby and I had to go upstairs to putz (change diaper, go to the bathroom, get dressed, make the beds, put in contact lenses, brush teeth, get hurt a couple of times, the usual).
I'm definitely going to have to start getting up earlier. Right now I wake up when the baby wakes up, which lately has been around 9 a.m. That isn't too bad, but I can't seem to get anything done (besides goof off on here while he poops). I would like to start getting some exercise in and take a shower before he wakes up. I think our days would be much more productive that way.
But I do have to get going soon. I have to mail my freelance agreement to the PG, mail some stuff so I can get the rebates for my laptop, and go to Eckerd so I can pick up my prescription and some film.
That reminds me, I keep thinking of all of these classes that I want to take for my own personal enrichment, like photography and Spanish. Of course, I don't have any money to spend on classes right now, which is why I need to get a job. However, once I have a job I know that I won't have nearly enough time to work, write, spend quality time with my family, and take classes. Argh. I'm taking the job process slowly right now, anyway. I would really rather not spend money on day care if I can help it and the boyfriend's schedule is kind of wacky right now. Being broke and living with my mother is definitely not ideal, but it's what we're going to have to do for right now. I'm having to work rather hard and not feeling like a failure for that, especially since I know that there are people my age who are living with their parents for much lamer reasons.

Frivolous stuff that I just want to get off my chest:
I'm wearing this shirt that the boyfriend's mother gave to me. It's this v-neck black knit thing with 3/4 length sleeves (a little too much for today). It's very nice, but it rides up strangely on my shoulders. I don't get with the problem is. It's very irritating and I think I might have to change.
My hair needs to be trimmed.
I taught the baby how to say hola. Too cute!

I hope it gets through.
Pippy aka , I hope things are okay with you. I'm sorry to see that your journal is no longer around. Hang in there, kiddo.

http://www.believermag.com/issues/august_2003/ahmir_thompson.htm

I stole this from .

1. How did you first find my journal?
2. Why did you originally decide to friend me?
3. What's your favourite part of my journal?
4. What's your least favourite part of my journal?
5. Ask me a question. Be as random as you want.
6. Recommend a band to me. I'm curious what you think I should be listening to.
7. Recommend an LJ user to me.

So, guess who's not playing on her sexy new laptop? Me! The boyfriend and Jwan have been hogging it all day. Jerks. My laptop. MINE! Give it!
It's okay, Dell. I still love you, too. *stroke stroke*
The weather today was absolutely gorgeous. While the baby was napping (and the boyfriend and Jwan were in the bedroom watching football and hogging the laptop), my mom and I went for a walk to Starbucks. The streets of Bloomfield were all deathly silent because everyone was inside watching the Steelers. Although, walking past the rubble of St. Francis and not seeing any other humans outside gave me a very post-apocalyptic feeling. It was cool for a second but then I started to freak out (perhaps at the very idea of spending the rest of my days on the planet with only my mother to pick at me…shudder). Luckily, a crazy old drunk guy walked past us wielding his cane like a cutlass. I beamed.
I think my mom was trying to have some mother-daughter quality time, which I was down for, but the drink that I got at Starbucks tasted like shit so it kind of soured the mood. I think it may be that I've just consumed too much Equal in my life and now everything tastes like NutraSweet. I'm screwed…
Goose called us to see if we wanted to come down to his house to watch Sex and the City. I told him we would let him know. About an hour later I called back to tell him that we wouldn't make it since the boyfriend had taken Jwan to the Shadow Lounge for something. He sounded quite pissed at me, shooting off a “Whatever. Bye,” and hanging up. I, of course, since I'm insane, became very concerned about his reaction and called the boyfriend on Jwan's cell phone to consult him.
Me, “Did you make plans with him earlier?”

Boyfriend, “No.”
M, “Because he sounded really pissed.”
B, “I dunno, maybe he had an argument with his roommate.”
M, “But he said 'Whatever.' Just like that…'Whatever.' I think he's mad at me.”

B, “Well, then call him back and find out what the deal is.”
M, “Are you coming home soon?”
So, I called him and I guess he had just driven here from Philadelphia and was just generally pissy. He did sound confused about my phone calls, though. Great.

Me and the baby curled up on my bed, ate some Cheez-Its and watched Muriel's Wedding. Love that movie. So does the baby, apparently. He was enraptured like he's never been with the TV before and got all concerned when Toni Collette started to cry. I can't blame him, though. She does that whole wheezing and sticking her tongue out thing that's just pretty disturbing.

My eyes are starting to blur. I'm going upstairs. By the way, , I'm watching The Queens of Comedy tonight.
Word.

Well, I've had kind of a full weekend so far. Yesterday afternoon, Stacey called me and invited me out to the Irish Festival. The boyfriend was going to be geeking it out over filter chips and synthesizers with Shawn, so I had to fenangle (?) some babysitting situation with my mom. I was just going to take the baby with me, but my mom insisted that it was an inappropriate place for babies. (She was overreacting, but whatever.) Stacey brought me my graduation present, which was one of my graduation announcements matted and framed with this blue and gold embroidery of a diploma around it. Her grandmother did the embroidery and it's very pretty. I was touched. Stacey graduated from massage school in July, so I figure on this schedule I don't have to give her a present until December. ;-p
My mom and I had a small argument over my clothing (the shirt I was wearing was wrinkled and I, not surprisingly, didn't care), so by the time Stacey and I pulled into Station Square I was ready for libations. I was also starving and in the mood for potatoes, which was good since we were at the Irish Festival. We got some shepherd's pie, which hit the spot but was a little too salty and the mashed potatoes that they scooped on top were instant. Ick. We each had three pints of Guinness, so between that and the shepherd's pie I wasn't hungry again until this afternoon. Anyway, the festival was fun enough. The crowd wasn't too annoying. My favorite person was this rather old gentleman who was wearing a rather old Pogues tshirt. It really made me want to listen to some Pogues, but instead I listened to the hipster Irish bands that were playing. The one guy who received a scowl for the evening was the dad who put his 8-year-old son into a headlock and practically threw him onto the ground for running off with his little sister's umbrella stroller. I thought he overreacted just a tad, and he looked like a total dick for doing it, especially since he was wearing a bright green glowstick around his neck.
I walked around all of the vendors, wishing that I had a little more money so that I could buy some tshirts and tchotchkes. One vendor was selling some of those “Irish Princess” shirts, which I kind of wanted. While walking around, I saw one on a guy who was, unless I'm really off here, quite gay. I cursed him for being so clever. I did buy raffle tickets for me, my mom, the baby, the boyfriend, and my grandparents. The grand prize is a trip for two to Ireland. That would be nice.
When I got home I waited for the boyfriend to get there. We were planning on going to Sauce to hear play records. called me from the bathroom at Ray's, giggling inchoherently and asking me when I would be coming down. I promised that I would be there momentarily. Of course, about ten minutes after getting off of the phone, I was passed out and drooling onto my pillow. So, sorry guys. Hope you don't hate me. :-/
Today the boyfriend and I went on a long-awaited trip to Kennywood. I hadn't been there in almost four years, and have been itching to go back. But everyone I know had been being a punk about it. But my mom scored us some Ride-All-Day tickets through her work.
When we were getting ready to leave I was feeling bad about leaving the baby. I told him that next year he would be big enough to at least hang out in Kiddieland. When he saw that we were getting ready to go somewhere, he walked into the dining room and tried to pick up his carseat. My heart audibly broke, for it was the sweetest thing I had ever seen. Then he went into the kitchen, saying, “Shoes on, shoes on.” He wanted to go with us so bad! I thought I was going to cry for cuteness. But, really, it was good for the boyfriend and I to get away and have a day for just us. We were starving when we got there and headed straight for the Potato Patch for some fries (hmm, more potatoes…could I be more of a stereotype?). Now, the boyfriend can be quite the eater when he wants to be, but sometimes I don't realize just how much he can eat. He ordered two servings of fries, so I expected one of those to be for me. I was wrong. The boyfriend suggested that I order one for myself, since he needed two for just him. Turns out that I was hungrier than I thought. I wolfed down almost an entire order just by myself. Piggy pig.
We made a pretty good circulation of all of the rides. I was proud of my stomach for not getting sick even though I hadn't been on roller coasters in so long. We did a lot of walking around, holding hands and talking. It felt so good. We did plenty of people-watching, too, of course. One of a group of kids behind us in line for one of the rides had the funniest phrase of the week: “Remember at Ozzfest when I wore my Korn tshirt as a cape?” stab. stab. stab.
The music situation was kind of odd, too. Over the main soundsystem, the usual mix of top 40 stuff was being played. But every once in awhile, a really good 80s/early 90s song would come on. I think within one hour I heard Christina Aguilera, followed by “Just Like Heaven” by the Cure, followed by Britney Spears, followed by “Rock Lobster” by the B52s, followed by Good Charlotte (stab), followed by some Talking Heads, and so on and so forth. It was kind of strange.
We just got home a little while ago, and I'm still trying to digest the deep-fried Oreos (yes, you read that correctly) that I ingested before going on the big roller coaster one last time. Oy. I need sleep. and to brush my teeth.

The boyfriend was slated to play records at Club Havana from 11-1. I wasn't sure if I was going to attend or not due to the baby's bout with diarrhea and diaper rash yesterday. However, by 10 p.m., the baby was nestled into bed, gastrointestinal system intact and subdued and his “wee-wee” thoroughly coated with Balmex.
We got to Havana around 10:30 and hardly anyone was there. Small clusters of Eurotrash were nestled about but looked uninterested (surprise) in the house music that Black Mike was playing.
Slowly but surely, the usual suspects began to show up: , , the Technoir guys, Ed Um, Goose, Celeste, Kelly Carter, etc. The boyfriend played a very good set and much fun was had by all.
Entertaining moments of the evening happened when a young man walked in wearing the same “KINGSTON” shirt as me. It was very strange. I started to get a teensy bit nervous when I noticed that he and a large woman who I would never hope to mess with were pointing at me and my shirt and looking generally pissed off. It was such a silly affair. However, the general concensus was that I looked better in the shirt since I have boobs that stretch out the KINGSTON lettering and that guy, well, didn't.
I ran into this guy who used to be a rather prolific member of the pb-cle-raves scene but is now just sort of a drunk. He was always very into the pyschedelics and the alcohol. In fact, I don't think I've ever had a conversation with him that didn't end with him saying either, “I'm on so much acid right now,” or “I'm so fucking drunk.” He stunk of Yuengling and spoke in one run-on sentence, pausing only to burp into my ear. I felt kind of bad. It's like you encounter people who aren't quite the crusty old drunks who sit at bars and talk shit, but the only thing holding them back is their age.
Ack, it's 5 o'clock!
More later, perhaps.