kdiddy.org

Someone on the community just spelled avant garde as aventgaurd.
*exaggerated French accent*
I taunt you and your spelling errors, you silly king. elderberries.

I got 'em.

Anyway, two things: this here is a pretty great letter that is in the post-gazette today talking about how crappy the Family Circus is and how great the Boondocks are. The author is one half of a gay couple and also uses the podium to talk shit on Rick Santorum. I can just imagine how many angry letters are going to come pouring into the PG for the following reasons:
1) Folks in the tri-county area love them some gay-bashing (of course, these letters won't get published, which is fine by me).
2) Folks in the tri-county area also love them some Rick Santorum. “He's a fine politician and what he said about homosexuals wasn't all that bad…”
3) PG readers hate the Boondocks. Even though it's basically the same content as Doonesbury, it's seems to be very hard for white people to believe that black people are actually that angry towards the government and white America. “That Arsenio Hall always seems so jubilant on Star Search…”

Fuck, I can't remember what the second thing was because I just had the biggest white trash moment of my life. My grandfather just stopped by with one of the contractors that works for him to assess the backyard (my mom's has this old, cracked concrete out there and is looking to replace it). Now, it's not that I have a problem with this visit but I'm currently wearing what I slept in…a tshirt and the aforementioned wedgie-inducing underwear. The tshirt is thankfully providing enough coverage but it's still not a state that I would want my grandfather to see me in. I'm also quite dirty and greasy at the moment.
The guy he was with was all, “Ah, I hear you're a ballet dancer. That's really impressive blahblahblah…” All I felt like saying was, “Uh, thanks.” My grandparents need to update their casual acquaintances about my life in the last 6 years.
Anyway, there I was, tshirt, underwear, bare feet, greasy hair, illegitimate baby on my hip…I am so fucking glamorous.
Before he left my grandfather took the opportunity to lecture me on the “Re-elect Len Bodack” sign in front of our house. My cousin, the constable, put it there and I am sorry to admit that I haven't been following the local elections.
I really need to take a shower and get dressed in case any other family members decide to drop by.

Kelly, your eyes are drooping. GO TO SLEEP!

But I don't wanna.

Your son is going to be up in 6 hours! GO TO SLEEP!

But there's stuff on the Internet…

It will be there tomorrow. GO TO SLEEP!

fine….

*and this time I mean it. I'm going to bed.

Schedule driving test….check.
Schedule final driving lesson….check.
Schedule doctor's appointment….ch-

Alright that last one isn't my fault. I called but was greeted with a voice message informing that my doctor is on strike. Yes, you read correctly. There's a statewide protest regarding the high rates of medical malpractice insurance premiums. The message informed me to call back on May 5. Hopefully all of this will be cleared up by then.
I'm not sure how I feel about doctor's striking. I mean, I know that they've really been getting screwed with that whole insurance thing, but, shit, is that my vagina's fault? No.
But I'd like to make a shoutout to all of the eugenicist pricks who were so concerned about getting welfare queens such as myself on birth control and then letting the medical industry get all fuckered so that I can't get whatever pills/devices that I need.
Okay, I'm way too tired and angsty. Off to bed with me. Goodnight.

I just looked at my grade for the semester online. I got an A- in my class. 3.75 term QPA. 2.98 Cumulative QPA. I am, admittedly, pretty disappointed. I wanted that 3.0 so bad. Oh well, so much for grad school. *looks at want ads for waitressing jobs*

Alright, so yesterday I thought that things had calmed down after the baby's morning rage…and they were, but not for long.
When I got up yesterday my mom said that my eyes looked kind of red but I insisted that I was just tired. After morningbabyrage, the day became pretty normal. The baby went down for his nap around 2. I sat down in the living room and started reading. My right eye was feeling a little weird but not hurting or itching or anything. I went upstairs to put in my contacts because my glasses were really starting to bother me. I looked in the bathroom mirror and my right eye was this very alarming shade of pink. I decide against putting in my contacts for the time being. About an hour later, the eye became very watery and…sticky. In a matter of minutes, it was swollen shut. I went back to the bathroom to inspect it, pulled open the lid and found what looked like a sack of gunk sitting in my eye. I tried poking at it but to no avail. Nothing quite like this had ever happened to me so my mind started racing. Then I got really angry when I realized that I didn't have any insurance and by that point I was sure that I was going to need my eye to be amputated. I decided to call my doctor anyway who tells me that it sounds like an acute allergic reaction. To what, I don't know, because I don't have any known allergies.
During this time, the baby has woken up from his nap and thankfully the boyfriend was here to take care of him while I stumbled around with one eye screaming “eye SARS! I have eye SARS!” The baby, of course, takes this opportunity to take the Largest Shit Known to Man. Fatefully, I decided to handle this diaper change. Suffice it to say that I had a mess on my hands, the likes of which would turn the stomachs of the hardest individuals. Strangely enough, as the fumes from this mess hit my face, the sack of gunk in my eye burst open, providing me with some much needed relief. The swelling continued to go down thanks to some ice. My mom stopped by the pharmacy on her way home from work and picked up some eyedrops that the doctor had recommended.
But the fun doesn't stop there. Oh no. As my eye was clearing up, my neck started to relapse into that stiffness that I get all the time nowadays. So not only was my vision impaired more than usual, I couldn't turn my head.
Today my eye is still very pink and oozing stuff. My neck is still stiff. I'm thinking of buying some ergonomic pillows today since I really can't take this shit anymore.
But last night was good! As I mentioned before, the boyfriend's car finally bit the big one so we're in negotiations with my mom to buy her car. She sent us to the store with it to buy some groceries. While at the Waterfront G.E., we stopped at Barnes & Noble to pick up the Criterion edition of Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas that we had ordered. We also got the Criterion edition of the Harder They Come and some Spanish books for the baby. He was so cute this morning. He's starting to really imitate people. So while I sat at the table, sipping coffee and reading the paper, he would take sips of juice and read one of his Spanish books, watching me the whole time to make sure he was doing it right. sigh.
I had said before that I was going to get a whole bunch of stuff done yesterday like call to make an appointment for my driving test and stuff like that. Obviously, I never got around to it. I'm going to try to do all that today, barring anymore bizarre events.
eeehhhhhhh I had more to say but I can't think of it. It'll come to me.

I went to the laundromat last night to wash my comforters. While there, this odd woman with her two odd little offspring walk into the laundromat. The daughter, who was about 6, starts running around and peering at all of the machines like she's checking out monkeys at the zoo. The following exchange took place:
Daughter: What is this place?
Mom: It's a laundromat.
D.: What's a laundromat?
M.: It's where people come to do their laundry.
D.: *snort* why don't they just do it at their own house?
M.: Because some people don't have washing machines or dryers at their house.
D.: That's dumb.
M.: I know, can you imagine?

Then the daughter looked at me like she was some kind of missionary about to tell a bushwoman about the power of Christ. Granted, I do my laundry at home but I'm quite fond of laundromats and wanted to defend their merits to this little twerp. They left, bewildered.
I think a poopy diaper is calling my name.

We had a bad morning. At some point during the night, Satan came in through the window, stole my precious little baby and replaced him with Problem Child. I can't really explain what happened but let me just say that in the space of about a half hour, pancake was ground into the floor, yogurt flung onto the table, many fake tears were shed, a “Goddammit” or three were uttered, and I have bruises on my chest from being kicked while changing a diaper. On the bright side, my son is apparently going through the terrible two's and he's only 17 months old. He's so advanced. *smugness smugness smugness fuck*
Things have calmed down considerably.
Uh, I don't know what else to say. I have a lot of crap to do today so this might be my only entry. Sorry it's so poopy.
fiddles.

Thank you, screaming_rose.

20 years ago:
I am 4 years old and already having problems making friends with the other kids at St. Thomas nursery school. Memories are in flashes but nursery schoolmate Bridget Kelly rings clear. I have a crush on her. She has curly hair and a huge smile. When my heathen parents finally decide to have me baptised they tell me I can pick my own middle name, but that it had to start with a B (long story). I lobby long and hard for Baloney but eventually settle on Bridget. Get it? Kelly Bridget-Bridget Kelly. I often hide beside our horribly out-of-tune upright piano and wait for my dad to come home from work while my mom cooks dinner in the kitchen. When he walks in the door he has a perfectly good view of me. I don't understand the concept of hiding too well. Another important development: my very first ballet classes.

10 years ago:
I am 14 and having what I think is a really great year. I have started dieting/quit eating/using diet pills and am suffering a few side effects (ie, a UTI and a mysterious pain in my side that came and went and never explained itself). I have gone from being 5'2″ 110 lbs to being 5'4″ 95-100 lbs. I look gaunt in pictures from this time but still a little part of me thinks I look fabulous. I have a great year in ballet, improve a ton, get accepted to Pacific Northwest Ballet's summer program. Opt instead to stay at PBT for the summer to ensure a spot in the Schenley Program for the upcoming year, a decision that still smarts today. I am still at Riverview High School but itching to get out. I have a better year than freshman year, less teasing, although still recovering from Justin Pappa's ruse of spreading gossip that he likes me, prompting me to pass a note stating that I liked him, which (I bet you know where this is going) led to him laughing in my face and me becoming the joke of the entire school for quite a few months. Sadly enough, this is the third time that has happened to me in my short life. Justin and I come to be on speaking terms once again, but with a lot more caution on my part. I am doing a lot of shopping at Contempo Casuals. On the way to ballet one sunny weekday in April, a special report comes on the radio that Kurt Cobain has committed suicide. I am crushed.

5 years ago:
I am 19 and just about to quit my waitressing job at the Grand Concourse due to fuckingsickofthisshititis. Fairly recent resignation from ballet still gives me nightmares and depression. I write some really bad poetry about it. My parents have been separated for a year. I live with my mother in a crappy apartment in Oakmont. I go to Richmond to visit Stacey and drink pretty much nonstop while I'm there. We throw a huge and legendary party that is still spoken of in hushed tones today. I discover Target. Clint and I have just started going out and having sex in his stuffy little room above Little Chicago's Pizza (aka Castle Gayskull) on the South Side. I end up spending most of my free time/living there with him. I fall in love with him fast but am increasingly uncomfortable by his utter lack of cultural knowledge. Memorable quotes include, “Who's Aretha Franklin? Who's Van Morrison?” *shudder* I will begin college at Pitt in the fall. I go on birth control pills and my breasts explode. I buy my first computer and quickly fall in love with L'Internet. CCeallaigh@aol.com is born, causing many to say, “How the hell do you pronounce that?” I am about to move into an apartment with an old ballet friend, Anne. Her boyfriend and I clash, I place a ladybug on his marijuana plant. I faint and throw up in the lobby of Jimmy Tsang's Chinese Restaurant due to some kind of food poisoning. I am horribly embarrassed.

3 years ago:
I am 21. I am drinking a good bit but probably a normal amount for a 21-year-old. I am recovering from a rough fall semester, during which my grades plummeted. I manage to pull myself up and score a spot on the Dean's List. My weight has fluctuated since ceasing BCP and taking up drinking. Clint and I broke up in November, but I occasionally still hear from him. He has moved back to the Poconos. At the boyfriend's persuasion (though, obviously he wasn't the boyfriend at the time) I am dating/sleeping with/being used by Geoff, who manages to drive me a little crazier with each passing day. A brief, ill-advised affair with Tad begins, but is soured when he tells me that his mother would hate me. We remain on speaking terms for only a few more months. Frank is coming in and out of town and staying at my house, resulting in late late late nights full of senseless but heartwarming conversation and drives through Oakland to sniff the air and pet dinosaurs. I am having trouble finding a job for the summer. I get a new computer.

1 year ago:
I am 23 and caring for my 4-month-old son, who I am psychotically in love with. He and I are living with the boyfriend in a charming apartment in Squirrel Hill, which has a lovely view of the Temple from our bedroom window. We live with Jessica and Phoenix but never see them. I am doing well in school and struggling to lose weight…again. I watch a lot of TV due to many hours spent on the couch nursing my son. Because of the roommate and various financial situations, it soon becomes apparent that we will have to move out of this apartment. Life is seemingly in constant upheaval. I continue to battle the residual effects of post-partum depression. There are days when I can barely speak, but I am determined to come out of it. I feel at times severely isolated from my friends and family. kdiddy@chemlab.org is born.

Yesterday:
I am recovering from the post-graduation celebration and writing a piece for Pulp. My son walks around, babbling, and trying to get hurt. I do not see the boyfriend due to his commitments to his grandmother and a change in his work schedule. I miss him immensely. yes, I am still that in love with him. My mom and I squabble about housework. I do not make my bed. I struggle with my weight.

Tomorrow:
Will be interesting. The boyfriend's car has finally bit the big one so I imagine whatever we do will be within walking distance. My son will walk around, babbling, pooping, trying to get hurt. I will call to make appointments for my driving test and with my gynecologist. I will work on preparations for big huge graduation parties on Saturday. I will do laundry. I will struggle with my weight.

I hadn't even heard about this shit. Jay Leno's a moron anyway and he treats his band like a bunch of servants. I think Conan and Letterman should gang up and kill him. Eubanks should also grow a pair and smash in that huge dome with his guitar.