kdiddy.org

So, I finished my paper. It clocked in at 3,800 words, 3,000 of those were required. I was sitting here at around 4:30 p.m. yesterday scrolling through and scrolling through trying to find stuff to cut but I just couldn't look at it anymore. I just emailed it to my teacher and thought, “Fiddle dee dee.” I have until Monday to revise anything from this semester so I'll probably chop some of that off and touch up my profile of the PAAI gal. That reminds me, I need to call her today to see if I can traipse around Garfield with her this weekend.
I'm feeling a huge sense of relief, even though I'm not really done with school yet. Monday I can heave a deep sigh and actually mean it. Although I don't think I'll be very relieved until I have my diploma in my hand. Monday is my last undergraduate class ever and that's just taking my emotions for a ride. College has been such a huge part of my life for so long and now it's just over. How strange. I think I take the whole thing to heart a lot more than most people, though. A lot of people think that college is just something that you do, that you have to do, or that it's a huge racket that's forced down our throats nowadays. And in a way, all of those statements are true. I think because I went into college after the hugest failure of my life (ballet) it feels good to actually finish something, to succeed at it. I don't know, I'm sure there are many more deep psychological/societal reasons why I'm feeling so accomplished but who wants to read about that crap? Not me. Besides, you know as well as I do that when I don't end up with the QPA I was hoping for I'm going to be back on here whining that I failed at college. I'm just going to start smacking myself now.
Yesterday we took the baby to the pediatrician. We decided to just grit our teeth and pay out of pocket for the visit and the immunizations since he still doesn't have a social security number or insurance. We were anticipating a $200-something bill but apparently the state has this program in place that if your kid is temporarily uninsured they'll just cover the cost of the shots and charge an administration fee, which I guess is for the nurse who actually does the injecting. So we only ended up paying $93. Not bad, considering.
The baby has grown a couple of inches and gained a little less than pound. He's still in like the fourth percentile for his weight. Skinny. His doctor said that developmentally he's doing really well and that his speech is advanced for his age! The shots were a little traumatic and he cried for a really long time. The complete opposite of the last time we were there and they did the blood test. He didn't even flinch for that. Weird.
They were giving out free samples at the doctor's office of this formula for toddlers. I think that sounds like a racket but I don't really trust those formula companies. We took it anyway because it came in this cute little bag that I can use for the baby's…lunch or toys or something. You can't really contain a woman when it comes to a free bag.
I have a bunch of housewifey stuff to do today like laundry and tidying up the room where my computer is. Since I had so much work to do the past couple of days I've just sort of let the baby run wild in here. Now it's a total wreck.
I'm working on details for the friends portion of my graduation party. I've decided to have the formal thing at the University Club be just for family and then to have the gang over to my house. I'm excited because I haven't thrown a party in a long time. It should be fun but a lot of the “gang” members have become stodgy old bitches. I'm sure there will be drama but I think I'll borrow a stun gun or something from my cousin the constable. that should keep everyone in line. Of course, I don't even think he gets any weapons issued to him. But I'm sure he could hook me up. He has to know some crooked cops from all of those evictions that he does.
On the diet front: since February 25 I've lost 8 pounds. Not bad, but I'm trying to kick things into high gear now. Since I'm sort of almost over the hump, school-wise I should be able to indulge in more mindless activities like exercise. Totally.
Alright, my kid's getting mad at me for ignoring him and responding my trying to break the window with the rocking chair…don't ask.

1,238 words out of the required 3,000. Keep in mind, that this is a revision. But I have a lot of new stuff that I have to work in there, along with a lot of old stuff that I have to take out. I fucking hate this.
Right now, I'm obviously just moping around the Internet looking for a distraction.

The Big Paper. I have to do it tonight. I can't even bring myself to look at it. I don't want to do it. I just can't get through this last hurdle of college. I want to curl up under my desk and die.

The whole Daylight Savings thing has definitely screwed us up. The baby was uncharacteristically resistant to a nap this afternoon. Eventually, after sitting with him to both Carl Craig and Brian Eno mp3's, I decided the best route would be to put him in his crib while I took my shower. He fussed for awhile but now I hear him sleeping away over the baby monitor. I was having a ton of trouble waking up this morning. I was beat. I think it's just that time of year where stress just gets to me and makes me shut down for a little while, whether I have time for it or not.
Yesterday was my aunt's 74th birthday which meant that a sizable chunk of my loud family came to our house for cake and champagne way too early in the day. Esquire says that girls from big families are more fun and that may be, but I sure wasn't the picture of pleasantness when I was trying to finish my piece for Pulp and had to fend off my pretentious (but lovable) Uncle Jimmy who wouldn't shut up about that crap Far From Heaven from the moment he walked in the door. My Uncle Jimmy is definitely my strangest relative. It's not that his life is very peculiar but he has all of these personality quirks that just strike me as insane. He's generally a snob and likes to talk a lot of shit about things like Italian Neo-Realist films, opera, and literature. Since he and I happen to share a lot of the same artistic interests he's always looking to strike up a conversation, which is fine, but I tend to disagree with him on just about everything. He also has this annoying prejudice that any music produced after 1960 is utter garbage, but whatever. He also has this habit of grabbing the arm of whoever he's talking to in order to ensure their complete attention. And a kiss goodbye from him is never a simple peck on the cheek. It's always this loud production that involves the recipient getting up close and personal with his nicotine stench and perma-stubble. Anyway.
I'm also getting annoyed that, due to my big family, someone is constantly having a birthday/anniversary/birth/christening/death/whatever involving lots of high-calorie food that I can't eat. I'm eying this saucy dress I'm trying to fit into around graduation time and I can't take the distraction.
So my trip to the Creepy Christian Church in Cranberry was very interesting. I went with the Little Sister, her friend Sarah, and Tricia. It was an odd group and I still can't quite believe we came together for such a strange activity. We listened to the usual sermon about how pitiful gay people are and shit. Afterward, the hip, young members of the church, undoubtedly drawn to us by our piercings and “outrageous” hair colors, were way too eager to meet us. They generally asked three questions: What did you think of the service? Where are you from? How did you hear about us? To which we vaguely replied: Nice. Pittsburgh. Pulp. After I was home I started having these visions of Pulp getting flooded with propaganda from Victory Christian Fellowship. (By the way, Shanley and whoever else Pulp-affiliated who reads this: if that does happen I'm really sorry.)
The people there were pleasant enough, but in a Stepford Wives kind of way. Very glazed, permanent smiles, very cheery and very encouraging of us to join them…join them…join them.
By some lapse of my sanity I decided to join them for post-light-gay-bashing vittles at Denny's. That was just weird. And they all talk about Christian sex just way too much. Sluts.
Well, I'm starved and the kitchen is a mess, mostly due to the sopping wet New York Times spread out on the floor to dry. That didn't stop me from reading more about SARS and getting a little freaked out.
Alright, I'm going to pass out soon.

I was able to sleep in today, which I really needed. I've gotten less and less sleep over the past week and a half. Today I actually feel well-rested.
My mother is pissed at me for some undiscernable reason. We keep bickering lately. Every time we do I keep thinking, “Now I remember why us living together is such a bad idea.” We're usually fine when we're not sharing living space. When we are…have you ever heard that saying, “No kitchen is big enough for two women?” Sexist, I know, but there's a kernel of truth in it, at least as far as my mother and I go. We just both have different living styles and the two don't always mesh.
I went to the creepy church again last night with quite the motley crew. I'll write more about that later.

I'm having a day that is much more stressful than yesterday.
A couple of things are going on. The article that I'm writing for Pulp was going pretty good but I can't get in touch with the other lady I'm trying to interview at all. I don't know what the deal is. So I've just been sort of casually working on it (even though I wanted to have it done this afternoon) and I'm slowly realizing something: I suck at writing. Seriously. I think I have like three or four cliches in the first paragraph alone. And I started out with a quote which is such a gay thing to do. ergh.
The social security thing continues to get wackier. They sent me an application in the mail today but they're saying that they want me to send them the baby's original birth certificate. Considering the “Oh-we-just-didn't-process-your-application-we-don't-know-why” crap we just went through I don't know how I feel about just sending them my son's birth certificate. I guess I'm going to have to just go back to the SS office in E. Liberty but…are they broken? It seems silly to go back to a place that is as ineffectual as that place.
My camera has been broken for quite some time. I took it to this camera repair place on the N. Side but it was going to cost way too much to get it repaired. In the meantime, I found this extended service plan from Ritz that allows some free repairs. So my mom was nice enough to drop it off there today. The repair will still be free but it's going to take 6-8 weeks. Why does shit always slow to a crawl around me?
The church thing for my Nonfiction 2 class is also causing me much stress. Stacey forgot that we were going there tonight and decided to take an impromptu road trip to Richmond. So I was scrambling around trying to find another companion/ride out there. I've convinced the boyfriend's sister to take me as a thank you for getting her some books out of Hillman Library. But I am going to hook her up with some Krispy Kreme afterward and I told her that there would be hot young Christian boys there. I think that titillated her.
Today I've mostly been running around screaming about the lack of diet food in the house, which is compounded by the fact that the boyfriend and I are both broke.
My fingers are tired.
Fin.

My son figured out how to take his pants off. He's walking around now on his little chicken legs looking very proud of himself. What a goofball.

I posted a while back about how Medicaid cancelled the baby's insurance because he didn't have a Social Security Number. I may have also mentioned that I applied for his Social Security Number about a month ago. They told me that it wouldn't take longer than 30 days. Today, when the mail came and I still hadn't received his number I decided to see what was up. I called and found out that they just never processed my application for whatever reason. They couldn't even explain it. I asked why that would have happened and was it because of something I had done wrong and they said no, everything had been in order the application had just never been processed. So I have to reapply. In the meantime, I can't get insurance for my son so if something happens to him and I have to take him to the hospital we're all fucked. I'm extremely disappointed and angry with the government in general. I'm considering contacting the local Senator and tell him about what's been going on. There's really no excuse for this.

I'm amazed at how unconcerned I am about all of the stuff I have to do over the next two weeks. Could it really be senioritis? I've never been this laidback about important tasks in my life…Article for Pulp that I need to write today, otherwise I won't have time: that's cool. 3,000 word immersion for Nonfiction 2 due on Wednesday (on which hangs the balance of my entire QPA): not a problem. Actually now that I'm really looking at it in print I'm starting to get a little freaked out. But not panic-attacky like I usually am.
I'm going to graduate from college in two weeks. Holy shit.
I'm going to be 25 in six months. Fucking groan.
I was quoting Singles last night, in particular the part where Bridget Fonda's character Janet talks about being 23 and how somewhere around 25 bizarre becomes immature. I had this small, cathartic moment when I realized that the film heroes of my youth, preserved forever in celluloid, are now younger than I am.
I was out with Paco last night. We had good conversation and made ammends for infantile behavior on both sides. Good times…but I'm sure we'll have another argument before the year is through…that's just sort of how we operate. It's silly, I know. But over hummus and Belgian beer at the Sharp Edge restuarant, we talked about our relationship going all the way back to high school, when we dated for a few months. Ha, what a bad match we were. But even then, we were constantly bickering and when we broke up we didn't speak to each other for almost 4 years. Weird.

Alright, I'm getting a little annoyed with my son because he keeps tearing up all of these cute little books he has.
I really need to shave.

My grandmother just stopped by on the way back from the hairdressers to drop off invitations for my graduation party. She's a fucking whirlwind. She was here 4 minutes tops and in that time she managed to criticize my entire house and lecture me about locking my screen door in order to “keep the drug dealers out.” (Gram, did it ever occur to you that I might want to let the drug dealers in? ;-p) So she's walking out the back door, fake hip in tow, then leaps back into the house when she notices the cats creeping around next door. Her screams of “JESUS CHRIST!” were, fortunately, not enough to wake up my son. What a freak.