kdiddy.org

Let me just spurt them out so I won't forget them, then I'll explain each:
pimple
william safire
weird dream

Okay, the pimple is inside my right nostril and way up there, past my nosering. It hurts. A lot. I don't know if I can even attempt to pop it. And with what? Shoving a needle up my nose just doesn't seem like a good idea. If you're about to make some crack about how I didn't seem to have a problem shoving a needle up my nose to pierce then you can just go sit somewhere else.

William Safire declared in his column yesterday that the manner in which the words “severe” and “acute” are used in the acronym SARS is not redundant. I know you were all getting really worried about that.

The dream that I had last night was definitely one of the more bizarre ones of my life. First off, I drove to Vegas by myself just to hang out for awhile. Me? Driving? Vegas? By myself? Completely bizarre. Then when I got there I busted into a hotel room to fine my ex-boyfriend's current girlfriend having an affair with a very dirty Pete Finelli. The ex-boyfriend showed up, I revealed all, they got into a huge argument, I left them to battle it out. I have no idea what that means.

gotta mop.

I had a great weekend. It was very long, but it was great. Saturday I woke up, sat around for a bit, got a shower, woke up the boyfriend with some quick and hushed canoodling, then got dressed. We headed over to the place where my formal, family graduation party was being held and found out that a bodybuilding competition was going on next door at Soldiers and Sailors Hall. I had my video camera with me and got some good footage of these Masters of the Universe-looking people standing around in Speedos. Oh yeah. The formal party was pretty nice. I got lots of money and ate two pieces of cake. Oh, the decadence. From there we had to hustle back to my house to set up for the party I was throwing at my house for my friends. The party seemed to come off as a huge success. I think around 15-20 people showed up. Much food and drink was consumed. The baby hung out for awhile and tried to participate in the conversation. I was glad that none of my friends seemed overly freaked out about his presence. My mom was there and she kind of took over for me as far as the baby was concerned so that I could just hang out and enjoy myself. It was very nice of her, although I felt decidedly white trash that someone was taking care of my kid while I sat out back getting drunk. I'm a shitty mother.
There was much good conversation and goofy behavior…I just wish I could remember more of it. I pulled out the video camera again but no one was really down with the brightness of the light that was required. So after blinding several of my nearest and dearest I put it away.
I got some great presents, too. Two DVDs: Beetlejuice and UHF from Paco and Jon. Sexcellent book: Fast Food Nation from Frank and Cara (plus the feather boa things on the bag served as Epill-fabulous fashion accessories for the rest of the night. rawk.) My amazon.com wish list is, like, the greatest thing ever. I can't wait to go through it and delete some of the things that I now own! Woo! Akil gave me some plastic ponies and Shawn gave me a Slinky and a beach ball. I'm the luckiest girl in the world.
Around midnight, I gathered the troops together and we paraded up the street to the Bloomfield Bridge Tavern. There, in all of their glory, were the Mofones singing about cats and drunk people (how appropriate!). I had brought by video camera with me and tried to make a music video. I haven't watched the footage yet but I'm sure it's hysterically wobbly. I remember being in love with Mama's shirt and staring at her chest because it said “FBC” on it. I was all bewildered by what that could possibly mean. It stood for First Baptist Church which made me all excited and I started blabbering about the piece I wrote about the Creepy Christian Church in Cranberry. I hope she wasn't thinking of punching me. dur.
Some random guy called me over to talk to him and I think I told him to fuck off in nice but very blunt way. If I remember correctly I said something like, “I don't know who you are. I can't understand what you're saying. I'm going to go stand over there and not talk to you anymore.” What? It worked. No one seemed to know who he was anyway.
By the time we got home I was no longer in a partying mood and just got into bed while several of my guests remained downstairs. After the realized that I was done entertaining for the evening, Stacey and Paco came up to say goodbye. I slurred some thank yous and gave Paco some inspirational “You-need-quit-being-depressed-you-white-male” words. Then I passed out.
I woke up on Sunday feeling stinky and a little sick. I was up before anyone else so I got into the shower and used up all of the hot water. My stomach started to really bother me and I was getting really pissed at the fact that I had to get dressed up and go to lunch with my grandmother and other female family members at the OCC. After a few dry heaves in the bathroom and an oath that tequila would never again pass my lips, I chose to ignore my condition and just got dressed and left. I fell asleep in the car both going to and coming back from lunch.
When we got home the boyfriend surprised me with a graduation/Mother's Day gift which made me a little teary. He gave me the DVDs of Drop Dead Gorgeous, Pieces, and Baraka. Very good choices, indeed. He had borrowed the usual suspects off of Akil, which we started to watch but I fell asleep.
So now, here I am, graduated, celebrated, officially unemployed. Now what?

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.