kdiddy.org

My mom: out to dinner with some students.
The boyfriend: at a Steeler game.
Stacey: out riding motorcycles with her brother-in-law (what the fuck?)
Everyone else I know: has other plans or is in preparations to go to Bloomfield Bridge Tavern or Dee's (again) to get drunk (again) and fail attempts at flirtations with the opposite sex (again).
Me and the baby: here, both in various states of undress, apparently in a contest to see who can be crazier.

My hair is dirty. I'm wearing boxers.
The baby keeps threatening to take off his diaper. Nevermind, he's now completely nude. Great.

I don't know. He woke up early from his nap and threw an absolute fit for about an hour. He's also mad at the boyfriend for some unknown reason. I think they're lacking father-son quality time. We'll have to work on that.
Now he has his arm through the legholes of this inflatable baby boat water toy thing.

Now that he's completely naked I'm noticing how huge his head is in proportion to the rest of his body. What did I give birth to?

Speaking of Oedipal complexes, the boyfriend and I watched Dead Alive on the Independent Film Channel last night. Without a doubt, it was the goriest movie that I've ever seen. Awe-inspiring, really. It might be finding a home in my DVD collection soon, right next to Pieces.

Weird stuff going on in my neighborhood:
People sit on lawn chairs at night and watch the demolition taking place. They cheer as each bit of the parking garage gets smashed to smithereens.
The priest that baptized me was visiting Cass and Joe (my son's Alzheimer's buddies) and spotted us standing at the door. I went out to say hi and was confronted with the somewhat odd situation of catching up with the man who cleansed me of Original Sin and chatting while I held my illegitimate son and the thought, “I don't practice Catholicism anymore. I don't practice Catholicism anymore. I don't practice Catholicism anymore,” ran through my head. I kind of felt like saying to him, “Lotta good that did, eh?” and chucking him on the shouler. I refrained, though.

Okay, I'm just asking for trouble. I better go get a diaper on this kid.

The Sandman needs to chill out when he comes to my house. Seriously.
We went to the boyfriend's house last night to celebrate his grandmother's 75th birthday, which was slightly dampened by the fact that the baby was still kind of, “Eh…” and the boyfriend's dog was just diagnosed with fleas. Ick. His aunt and uncle stopped by, who are nice enough, but…alright, how can anyone, in this day and age, still think that it is acceptable to smoke cigarettes in a room where a baby is present? I was somewhat offended and hoped that someone would say something since they're not my direct relatives and I didn't want to cause a rift on the grandmother's birthday. But nobody seemed to notice. It was only a few cigarettes, but still…YOUR bad habit, not MINE. Leave me and my son out of it.
That whole thing got me to thinking about smoking. I'll admit that I smoked quite heavily from the time that I was 15 until I was 22. I had a hard time quitting and I still sometimes find myself craving a smoke. So perhaps my current stance against smoking, which is at times a tad militant, is a little hypocritical. I try to be understanding to people who want to quit but can't, and even people who like it too much to quit. I guess I'm being selfish when I conclude that it would be easier for me to adjust to a lifetime without cigarettes if everyone else would quit smoking as well.
Another thing that has bothered me about smoking and its status as a signal of rebellion: punks who smoke. I can't tell you how many times I have seen punks standing around with anti-globalization, anti-corporation, anti-Republican patchs blazing on their backpacks and then they take a nice, long drag off a Camel or a Marlboro. Hello? Have you heard of soft money? Just by buying that pack you're going against everything you supposedly stand for. GET A FUCKING CLUE!
Anyway, I have crap to attend to. Enough bitching.

He's still sick. I can't figure out what the deal is. His fever comes and goes. He's on his second nap today and this morning I discovered this gross bump on his finger. I called the doctor because I thought that it might be a bug bite that could have gotten infected, hence the fever. They told me to bring him in. The doctor said that the bite was actually some kind of blister or sore, and he wasn't sure how the baby got it. He checked the baby's feet and mouth for other sores to see if he had Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease but not so. His conclusion was that he's just fighting off some bug.
Poor kiddo.
Besides the laundry, I didn't get any work done yesterday or today. I'm all distracted. There's also the fact that they've progressed to the wrecking ball to do the demolition down the street, so now I have this eerie feeling that I'm in Jurassic Park. Every couple of seconds I hear a huge, distant boom and the whole house vibrates a bit.

Thanks everyone for the encouragment yesterday. I'm feeling much better.
Unfortunately, my son is not. I'm not sure what's wrong with him, since he's not exactly sick, per se. He's just a little…off. He had a touch of fever yesterday but baby Tylenol took care of that. A little bit of diarrhea today but no other yucky bodily fluids. He's just been really tired and not eating. He's napping now and I have to go the highly neglected laundry. I hope he's better tomorrow. I HATE when my kiddo is sick.

In happier news, I attended the Gay Talent Show last night at Images. It was a hoot. I'm definitely attracted to gay men in hot pants. There's something wrong with me. I'm going to be writing something about it for Pulp, so that should provide some interesting interviews.

Alright, off to be Suzy Homemaker.

I stole this from .

I get the feeling that the people who write these have some serious issues. Any psychology majors on here? Is there any correlation between writing these surveys and issues of the authors?

+Boyfriend's name: The boyfriend
+Age: 23
+livejournal user name: Aside from the Talking Points Memo, he thinks blogs are strange…so, none.
+How long have you been together? Two years, nine months, four days
+How long did you know each other before you got together?: We met in high school back in 1995, although I don't remember him from this time period. We became friends a year and some change before we started dating.
+Eye color: brown
+Hair color: brown
+How serious is it?: We live together and have a son, but we act like 6-year-olds, so not very. ;-p
+Do your parents like him?: They had barely met him when I got pregnant, so then they kind of hated him for awhile. Now they really like him.
+Do you trust him?: Yes. I have bouts of paranoia, which I tell him about. Then we have good conversation and my faith is restored.
+Would you share a toothbrush with him?: I kept using his toothbrush in Conneaut. Whenever he saw me brushing my teeth with it, he would wrinkle up his nose and say, “That's gross.” I couldn't figure that out. It's not like we don't exchange bodily fluids on a regular basis. I don't have any qualms about him using mine, though. I'm sure that's some sort of metaphor for how dysfunctional and inegalitarian our relationship is, but oh well.
+Does he let you wear his pants?: I wore a pair of his pants when I was pregnant but it was kind of silly. He's quite taller than me and has maintained his “pregnancy weight.” I mean, he would let me, but I have no desire to.
+Do you have a shirt of his to sleep in that smells like him?: I have several shirts of his that I sleep in, but they don't have a particular scent…except maybe Cheer with Color Guard.
+Can you picture having kids with him?: Um, well, yeah. We have a son.
+how many kids?: We're good with just the one. Would I have more kids with him? Yes. I just don't want any more at this point in life, period.
+What do you like the most about him?: He's sweet to me, he's an excellent father, and very loyal.
+What bothers you the most about him?: He can be a big baby. Also, his less-than-healthy diet. I'm working on him about that, though.
+Does he have a temper?: Yeah. He gets highly irritated over little things. Then I get irritated with him for being irritated, then we start bickering. The key is to just ignore him when he gets like that.
+What is the best present he has ever given you?: On a purely material level, my Archos Multimedia Jukebox and tickets to the Maxwell concert. On a more lovey-dovey level, he gave me my adorable little family.
+Does he have a cute nickname for you?: He's the one that started calling me Kdiddy. He also used to call me kbdst3, which was my Pitt email address. What a dork.
+Are you happy to be with him: Very. We've been through a lot, and I'm not going to lie and say that I've never had any doubts. But I just know that we're going to be together for a very long time, and that makes me very happy.
+Do you think you could do better?: No. Oh, sure, I could find someone with better career prospects, more money, etc, etc, but when you get right down to it, what does all of that matter?
+What's their most attractive feature?: He has the best smile.
+Does he smoke, drink, or do drugs?: No smoking, no drugs, and only the occasional drink.
+Does he have any piercings/tattoos?: No tattoos, he has his ears pierced and used to have a bunch of other things pierced. They've all closed now, though.
+Is he a party guy or homebody?: He goes out pretty regularly, but is never very raucous. He's usually just as happy to sit at home, though.
+what are foods he hates?: Ohhhh, he's pretty picky. To name a few, salad, meatloaf, most condiments, most vegetables…
+how long did it take for you to like him?: Well, all together, I suppose five years.

In short, I failed my test.

Let me explain.

I got up early this morning feeling nervous but confident. I did some breathing exercises (all tests make me very nervous, not just driving exams), visualized myself parallel parking, and all other sorts of zen driving techniques. I got the baby and the boyfriend situated, kissed them both goodbye and my mom and I were off. It took awhile to get out there, but I was kind of glad that it was out in the sticks. That way the actual road portion of the test wouldn't be too stressful.
We got in line and when it was finally our turn, the examiner came up to the window to get all of the paperwork done. He asked me for my permit and I handed him the little update thing that they had sent me in the mail when I had failed the test the first time. Randy, the examiner, informed me that this wasn't my actual permit and I needed my original in order to take the test. The original, of course, was sitting in my purse at home. Since this was the last day that my permit was valid, I had the option of renewing my permit on the spot and waiting around to see if he could squeeze my exam in between appointments. I was getting flustered, but figured that I should at least renew my permit. We drove to a National City to buy a money order, since neither of us had our checkbooks.
Back to the driving center, where I waited in line while several snotty teenagers got their snotty pictures taken to put on their snotty driver's licenses. After I got the permit renewal all squared away, I ran into Randy on my way out. I asked him if there was any chance I could test today or if I should just reschedule. He looked at his clipboard and told me to go ahead and get in line. Word.
When it was my turn again, we started doing all of the paperwork. Randy looked at my mother's registration and asked her where the little sticker was that was supposed to be on her license plate. She had no idea and he began to look more exasperated. He told us that due to the inconvenience, he would test me today. If I failed, however, she would have to get the sticker before I retested. Whew.
The test began and I went through all of the horn, lights, wipers, signals stuff with ease, unlike the first time when I choked and couldn't remember how to turn the headlights on. I was feeling confident as Randy got into the car and told me to proceed to the parallel parking obstacle.
I was surprised at how calm I felt. I backed into the space and ended up using all three of my backups, but was able to straighten it out perfectly. “I rule,” I thought. “I'm actually going to pass this bitch.”

Not so.

Randy opened his door to reveal that I was roughly four feet from the curb.

Oops.

Randy looked at me, grinned and said, “Well, you obviously have a lot of work to do.” I wasn't sure if he was going to just pass me on the parking section or not. I mean, I really didn't do that bad. However, he told me to pull up next to the building and he would send out my mom.

Sigh.

I was kind of upset, but I didn't burst into tears…at least not right away. I waited until we were out of the parking lot.

I don't know. Maybe it's just not meant to be. I guess I'll try one more time but I'm seriously so over this entire process.

My driving test is in an hour and a half. I'm calm. I'm serene. I will pass. I will NOT burst into tears at the exam center like a total wuss.

My grandmother passed on this month's huge honkin' 20th Anniversary edition of Vanity Fair, which is all about royal families (yawn). In one of their little filler, “Vanities” sections, they had these funny little Venn diagrams. The best one had one circle that said “Out-of-work journalists,” another that said, “Computer dorks” and the little sliver that blended them was dubbed “Bloggers.” Ha.
Alright, I have to go back to being pissy.

Today, I've had to wrestle a computer virus to the ground, attempt to type with a huge fucking band aid on my thumb that's covering a cut that I gave myself with my own fingernail, deal with a very annoying offspring (I don't know what his problem is), and attempt to drown out the white trash family's children who are just screaming at each other in between fistfights. The screaming is only interrupted by their drunk grandmother who comes out every two hours to tell them to “Shut the fuck up.” Oh, but only a few more days of this. They've been evicted since they haven't paid their rent in three months. Lovely. I'm also fretting because my driving test is tomorrow and no one loves me enough to take me parallel parking. I also applied for a job a week ago and am still waiting to hear something. AUGH!
For good measure, I also hate my clothes and my hair.

Last night I watched Riding in Cars with Boys, the Drew Barrymore chick flick from two years ago. It's not a good movie in and of itself, but I saw it when I was about six months pregnant and had a pregnant/scared/mother-son moment that I just can't shake. Hormones will do that to you. Barrymore's character has some nasty moments as a mother. I don't think we're supposed to feel sorry for her, but some of the things she says could easily be thoughts that run through my head at my most insecure moments. Luckily, I don't ever actually say them. And I definitely don't write them down in a book and have the book turned into a movie so that everyone can see what a little prick I can be.

The baby and I went for a walk today to the library. I was envisioning some quiet mother-son time, poring over books that I loved to read when I was little and then patting myself on the back for being such a great mom. ;-p However, when we got there and walked into the children's section, we were greeted by two little boys. One was about 4, the other maybe 6. I looked around for a parent but figured that the only person in charge of them was their slightly older brother who was engrossed in one of the computers, distracted only when they would occasionally tap him on the arm to tell him something. “Oh, well,” I thought. “Maybe we'll just have a little impromptu playgroup.”

The two other boys were very nice but just didn't quite understand how to play with the baby. They tried to do some kind of conga line with him as the leader which just sort of confused him. Then all three of them started pulling books off of the shelf and despite my suggestions that we sit down and read something, I mostly just ended up with a lap full of books. The baby, of course, got excited and started running around the children's room squealing. Sensing the irritation of the adults at the nearby computers (but not the older brother…argh), I began making preparations for our exit. After I had scooped up the baby and received a scowl from a curmudgeon at the computer cluster (ergh), I found the two other kids crawling all over and into the stroller and making engine noises. Hi, it's an Evenflo, not a Porsche. Thanks.
I told them that we had to go home for lunch but would be back the next day. Honestly, I probably will go back tomorrow because I forgot my library card today. If there were just another parent there to help me out it wouldn't have been a problem. But, shit, I can't deal with three kids. Especially when I only have true authority over one of them.

So we left and took our time going back home. I took a picture of this rather gorgeous black cat who was nice enough not to cross our path but did sit and pose prettily. Lawrenceville really does have some amazing houses. They're not huge but they have a lot of original architecture and detailing that just looks so classy. Maybe when the baby wakes up from his nap we'll take another stroll and check out some other houses.