kdiddy.org

Ah, yes, L'Internet…my friend, my companion, the source of much joy, the source of much angst. Since our (late) meeting in September of 1997, we've hardly spent one day apart.

Yesterday L'Internet and I had a huge fight.

It all started when I noticed that my email was acting a little funny. I get email through three servers: Verizon, my ISP (via a weak post-partum moment and a telemarketer); chemlab, my main email; and Pitt (I'm not sure how much longer I'm going to be getting email from them…I should probably transfer all of the mailing lists that I have on that address soon). For the Verizon email I kept getting an error message and most webpages weren't loading correctly. Thinking not much of it, I restarted the modem and then restarted the computer. When both came back on, I couldn't even get Verizon to connect.

One franticly annoyed call to tech support later, I found out that Verizon, for shits and giggles I suppose, cancelled my DSL account. No one could give me an explanation as to why this might have happened but offered me some complimentary dial up service for the interim period. All I had to do was call the tech support number at my earliest convenience to set it up. I had other stuff to do at that point so I decided to call later.

During that time I walked to the piercing place, which was closed, walked the rest of the way up Liberty Ave to get some exercise, walked back, fed and napped the baby, watched “Muriel's Wedding,” decided that I don't really like Australian accents, talked to Shanley and his life as a reporter to the stars, wandered around in a daze because of lack of email, got into an argument with my grandmother, got into an argument with my mother, greeted Jwan at the door who had come over to pilfer the washer and dryer, got into an argument with the boyfriend, gave Jwan a little too much information about my sex life, all before finally calling tech support to get icky dial up ready.

I was on hold for almost a half hour, but finally got through to a rather nice young man. It's important to note that this young man had an Indian accent because it makes the following story that much funnier.

All the guy really needed to do was to give me the dial up number and I could have set up the connection myself. But since I had been on the phone so long I figured why not make it worth our while.

So we went through the whole, “Click on Start, click on blah blah blah…” Then the conversation went something like this (again, keep the accent in mind):

Tech support: Okay, in the My Computer menu, click on Network Connections.
Me:……um….I don't see that in here
T.S.: What version of Windows are you running again?
Me: XP
T.S.: and you don't see Network Connections in the My Computer menu?
Me.: No…oh wait
T.S.: Yes?
Me: Is the icon a little computer screen with a globe behind it?
T.S.: Yes, that's it.
Me: (embarrassed) Oh, sorry, my boyfriend must have changed the name of the icon.
T.S.: Oh, okay. Well, just tell me what it's called now so that there's no further confusion.
Me: (blushing furiously) um….
T.S.: Yes?
Me: poop.
T.S.: poop?
Me: yes.
T.S.: Your boyfriend changed Network Connections to poop?
Me: yes (snickering)
T.S.: (starts laughing) Well, that's what I would have changed it to, as well.
Me: laughing
T.S.: Ok *snicker* click on poop!
Me: *snicker* Ok, clicked on poop!
T.S.: Ok *snicker* now in the poop menu…

You get the idea. I was laughing the rest of the night. I hope I make it into fourth grade.

Well, my kid stinks and we have stuff to do today.
Later.

I have nothing to report.
Oh I do have one thing. The ball from my nosering fell out at some point yesterday. I have practically no hope of finding it. Today might be the baby's first trip to the tattoo/piercing shop. I should probably bring my camera.

My two cents. I fucking hate this and everyone I come into contact with says it. I also hate any clever alterations to this saying, such as my 5 cents, my 50 cent, my 2.5 cents, my 8 billion cents. etc.

Nuff said. Good. Then quit talking.

More to come, I'm sure.

CDs in current heavy rotation…that is, my son's rotation…that is, CDs that are his current favorites to throw around the room despite my protests:

Air – The Virgin Suicides OST
Ninja Tunes – Xen Cuts
He really likes that last one because it's three CDs and a little booklet. Drives Mommy crazy!

My mom brought me some pretty cool souvenirs from New Orleans. Three of them were just sort of gifts: this cute tshirt that has this old bowling picture on it, homemade soap scented like Nag Champa (yum) and a new du-rag. She says she was getting tired of the red one. The new one is yellow and summery. La. She also brought me a bunch of crazy Cajun spices and stuff to cook with and “The Poor Man's Rice Cookbook.” Really crazy old fashioned Southern recipes. Usually the first ingredient is “two cups of bacon drippings.” Fun. not for WW. cringe.

I think women who wear glasses should be exempt from their period. After I got out of the shower it was a few minutes before I could put my glasses on and realize that the bathroom looked like the scene of a murder.

Capitalism must have had a really crafty PR department when it was first starting out.

Why can't we have two sunny days in a row? is that really too much to ask? argh.

I woke up around 3 a.m. last night in a panic over what to do about the whole job/child care situation. I always do this…get so worked up over something to the point where I can't do anything about it.
I just don't know what to do. I'm not sure if I should just grit my teeth and enroll him in the super-expensive program where I would like him to go, thereby having to ask my family for more help financially…god, will this never end? bleh, I can't even think about it right now. Plus, I keep getting this sinking feeling that I will never be able to actually attain a job that is worth a damn. That government subsidy for child care is such a fucking joke I can't even get into it.

My son is asleep upstairs and I just got finished folding the 6 billionth load of laundry that I've done this weekend. Oh yeah, the weekend's over. duh.
First off, I want to send a quick apology to and for my absence from their couch party on Saturday. After my conversation with Frank on Friday I felt like such an ass that I got the boyfriend's mother to come to our house so that I could go out. The plan was for me and the boyfriend to go to this birthday party that he was already planning on attending and I was going to meet Kelly Downlow there. She and I were then going to go out to Aspinwall for a bit of…couching. However, there was some screw up with some flyers she was printing and she ended up not getting to the birthday party until almost 12. When she saw me she gave me this exhausted and forlorn look and asked, “Is it okay if we don't go out there now?” I said that it was fine. Besides, she said that Frank didn't sound too disappointed that we might not be going out there at that point, so fuck him. ;-p kidding.
But Saturday turned out to be pretty fun, regardless. The music was so good and everyone was just so relaxed and having such a good time. It was pretty extraordinary. The funniest moments of the night had to be when a crew of about 4 or 5 17-year-old girls showed up with a six-pack of Yuengling, strutting around like they owned the place. I couldn't be sure but I'd be willing to bet that they attend Allderdice. Two beer queers, all of them and the puzzled looks on their faces when Dee-Lite and Bill Whithers were played were priceless. and I made a number of jokes at their expense, but not too loud since I was pretty sure they would turn around and call us bitter old hags…and they'd be right. And who needs to hear that anyway?
The other golden moment came when I got Jwan going on some “women are insane” tangent and he started bitching about this and that. He's good at it, though, and did it in a way that didn't make me want to punch him. Quote of the evening: “I don't want to know how I rate sexually or how big my dick is compared to the last guy. You know why? Because in my mind I'M THE KING!” heh, that still makes me chuckle.
A guy friend's boyfriend was there, decked out in this hideous electroclash ensemble. Before I knew he was said boyfriend I couldn't tell if he was retarded or trying to be ironic. In any case, the ratty Adidas hi-tops, the tight acid-washed floodpants, the Cosby sweater, and the tragic-Flo-bee-accident mullet were just inexcusable. This. Must. Stop.
On a related note, the NY Times had an article in their Sunday Styles section yesterday about mesh-back caps. I'm considering cancelling my subscription.
Six Feet Under last night was pretty crazy. I think I'm going to watch it again tonight. That show is, as the boyfriend would say, off the meatrack.
Depressing superficial shite: this morning I got my period…all over a pair of my new cute underwear. Someone is going to have to die. I then did my WW weigh in and discovered that I had gained a pound. Someone is going to have to die. I'm hoping/guessing the two are related.
Not to sound like the Worst Daughter Ever, but it's been extremely nice having a break from my mom.
Last night the boyfriend and I were in the mood for some late night crappy TV. We watched this horrible “reality” show called Cheaters. I insisted that it was fake. The premise is simple: you suspect that your partner is cheating, you hire Cheaters to follow them around for a few days and get the scoop, you confront them and make them look like jackasses on national TV. perfect. Drew and Danielle were the first couple. Drew was this mousy dorky guy who probably really really really likes Slipknot and suspected that Danielle was cheating on him. She of course was, otherwise they wouldn't be on the show. But there was a twist. She was cheating on him with a girl! There was some hilarious commentary by the host as we were shown the surveillance tapes: “Danielle, on the way to her SUV, enjoys a tasty cappucino.” But the best part was the confrontation. Drew busts in on Danielle, who's in the bedroom with her girlfriend and some other chick. The bedroom is draped in yellow CAUTION tape, dildos and various vibratory mechanisms are hanging from the ceiling, a strobe light is going, some crap music is playing. Danielle is tied to the bed, getting eaten out by her girlfriend and the other chick. The two “other women” are naked except for some construction worker hats and vests and their faces are covered in some Insane Clown Posse makeup. They pounce off the bed upon hearing Drew's “What the fuck is going on here?” leaving Danielle tied to the headboard. She has to beg someone to untie her and give her some clothes, which was hysterical enough. Drew screams at her for a few minutes and Danielle, through an overly exaggerated trembling lip, confesses that she's been into bondage and crap for years but had never been brave enough to tell him. Heterosexual men across the country were slapping their foreheads as realization spread across Drew's face. You could practically hear him thinking, “Multiple chicks? ALRIGHT!” He quickly forgives Danielle and they lived happily ever after.
Okay, I think my kid is up from his nap.
later.

Need coffee.

I had fun last night, despite several abrupt changes of plans. There were several moments where I was thinking, “Ugh, why the fuck don't I have my license?”

My kid stinks and I don't feel like typing.
Later.

You would use a sharp metal object [which is most
likely rusty] that you found on the street to
kill Avril you angry fucking bastard!

How would you torture and kill Avril Lavigne?
brought to you by Quizilla

hehehe

Yes, I did just quote Evenflow for the title of this post. For a few seconds I felt 13.
Ever since my last post I've been imagining my grandmother's “I told you so” sessions at the funeral of my boyfriend if he were to be tragically cut down in a drive by shooting in E. Liberty/Garfield/whereever black people live. I, of course, would faint several times in between throwing myself onto the coffin while wearing a black suit, one of those pillbox hats with the little veil and clutching a white hanky. Perhaps Jimmy Cliff could stop by to sing “Many Rivers to Cross.”
Wow. I have gotten absolutely nothing done yet today. My dad stopped by so that I could type a letter for him to his insurance company. They made some bullshit charges to him so now he's trying to get them to take it back. That took longer than I anticipated and afterward I realized that the baby was probably starving since I was. We had one of the strangest lunches ever. I had a fancy salad that was really just an absurd combination of low POINTS foods while the baby had a Healthy Choice hot dog, some strawberries and some tapioca pudding. Whatever. All of the food is still sitting out in the kitchen turning sour and my laundry from last night is sitting in the washer turning moldy. I am a shitty housewife. I should get a job. later.
Alright. I really need to go do something.
flingin flangin.

I have the whole house to myself today. Well, obviously the baby's here but my mom is in New Orleans until Monday and the boyfriend is at work until 7. It's almost 11:30 and my immediate plans are to have another cup of coffee and sit in my pajamas a little longer…and maybe take a dump. The baby already has. I'll go change him. Wait there…

Alright, I'm back. Diaper changed, dump taken, second cup of coffee poured. I just discovered a bug bite on my leg. I hate discovering those shortly after I've gotten out of bed because it means that a bug was in bed with me last night and that really creeps me out. Anyway.

It's been such a long time since I've been able to sit down with LJ with no potential interruptions. *makes out with monitor* I've missed these long posts.

Ugh, where was I?
So, last night my grandmother and I got into this rather amusing argument. She and my mother, whether justified or not, seem to think that I am either a) perpetually 9 years old, b) mentally retarded, c) a terrible terrible mother or d) a spoiled rotten brat who is entirely ungrateful for all of the things that people do for her. Possibly a combination of all four.
Let me back up. My grandmother grew up here in Lawrenceville which, according to some, is the ghetto but it's really just kind of poor and doesn't have very good taste in lawn ornaments/holiday decorations. To many, it is indicative of all that is wrong with Pittsburgh: too working-class, too many Steelers fans, not enough artsy fartsy, not enough young people. Pittsburgh does have ghettos but from what I've been told they are not nearly as bad as those in L.A., NYC, D.C., Detroit and the like. Pittsburgh just isn't a major metropolis so its good and bad points just aren't on the same scale as those of a bigger city.
Anyway, my grandmother has this very old school, small minded mentality which tends to irritate the fuck out of me. She moved out to the suburbs of Oakmont the first chance she got so now I get a little annoyed when she claims to know all about the current problems of the big bad city when her only interaction with it is riding through on the bus on the way to spending thousands of dollars at Saks.
Mind you, I love my grandmother and I'd be totally fucked without her but that still doesn't mean that her personality quirks aren't grating.
She suggested yesterday that the boyfriend and I go out to Oakmont for lunch tomorrow (Saturday). I informed her that the boyfriend would be working at the record store all day. The conversation then went something like this:
Grandmother: What record store?
Me: 720 Records.
G.: Where's that?
Me.: East Liberty.
G.: Oh my god.
Me.: *sighs, knows what's coming.*
G.: Kelly B., he has to get out of that job.
Me.: Gram, he wants that job. He likes it there.
G.: I know, but that's a baaaaaaad area.
Me.: Gram, it's really not. They have a nice business district there.
G.: That's Garfield!
Me.:….How can it be Garfield? It's East Liberty. Those are two different neighborhoods.
G.: I know but he has to go through Garfield to get to East Liberty.
Me.: Yeah, for like 5 seconds. Besides, Garfield isn't that bad either.
G.: There was a shooting there last night!
Me.: That was on Kinkade St. The boyfriend stays on Penn Ave. to get to E. Liberty.
G.: Kinkade St. is Penn Ave.!
Me.: How does that work? A glitch in the space-time continuum?
G.: Kinkade is off of Penn Ave!
Me.: Penn Ave and Garfield are being gentrified anyway. It's not nearly as bad as you think it is. You just watch the local news too much.
G.: You don't know about the city. You don't know how it is.
Me.: Gram, how much can you know about the city when you've lived in Oakmont for the past 25 years?
G.: I take the bus through there all the time.
Me.: Ok, that's really not enough experience to “know what it's like.”

And so on. Then we started arguing about the name of East Liberty Presbyterian Church. It is certainly called East Liberty Presbyterian Church and apparently used to be called Mellon's Church and that proved that I didn't know what it was like to live in the city. Anyway, I don't try to pretend that I know what it's like to live in E. Liberty or Garfield or Homewood or the Hill District. I have a feeling the actual residents of those places would be very offended by my assumptions and conclusions drawn from watching WPXI News and a John Singleton movie or two. Bottom line: if the boyfriend is ever involved in a drive-by shooting my grandmother is going to take great delight in saying “I told you so.”
So yeah, then my grandmother tried to tell my mother that I shouldn't be alone in the house all day and what was I going to do? Um, same things that I do when I'm here by myself every other day? She of course ended the conversation by telling my mother to remind me to lock the screen doors to “keep the drug dealers out.” Man, I wish a drug dealer would just walk into my house some time. I could use some.
My, this entry is getting long. You don't care do you?
I'm not sure what's going on tonight. I think today I'm going to do some housework since it's not very warm outside. I don't think a walk with the baby would be very fun.
Speaking of the baby, he's getting kind of annoyed. I'll be back later.