kdiddy.org

I forgot to mention two classic exchanges from yesterday's graduation mini-party. One was between my dad and me.
Dad: How do you get a WVU graduate off of your porch?
Me: How?
Dad: Pay him for the pizza.
Me: hehe. Funny, but I think I've heard that applied to Pitt graduates as well.
Dad: Stephen King?
Me:….
Dad:….
Me: ?
Dad: ?
Me, slurring: More champagne?

The other isn't so much of an exchange as it is a recurring theme. My grandmother insisted on calling my friend Jwan by the name Tyrone. She does that a lot, just makes up names for people. She calls Frank “Stush.” She called Clint, my old boyfriend, Ellwood. We have no idea how she came up with that. I think with Jwan the formula in her head was something like: black person + non-caucasion name – my recollection of his name x oh, just pick some stereotypical black name, Patsy, you'll probably be right = Tyrone. Of course, these names tend to stick so Jwan will forevermore be known as Tyrone. It could have been worse. She might have decided to call him Maliqua or Busta or something.

In other news, I finished writing that piece for Pulp. I was pretty unhappy with it. I just couldn't concentrate. argh. not much more to say about it than that.

I'm hoping that grades will be posted on Pitt's website tomorrow. I really want to know what I got in my Nonfiction 2 class and what my final QPA is. I just know it's going to be a 2.99. again, argh.

My room is an absolute hellhole right now. My mom decided to pile even more furniture in there, specifically the crappy particle-board K-Mart bookshelves that were formerly residing in this room. Our combined book collections are on those shelves…and on the floor…and beside the bed…too many books. Most of them are mine. I keep telling my mom that she needs to get all of that Danielle Steele/Oprah's Book Club stuff out of my room because it's making me look bad. I work pretty hard at maintaining a very elite book collection. Plus, you can tell which books of mine were Christmas presents from her and my grandmother. Stuff like “My Sergei: A Love Story” by Yekaterina Gordeyeva (the ice skater), “The Leonardo DiCaprio Album” (pictures, masturbatory material for girls and boys ages 12-whatever), “Chicken Soup for the Soul, Vol. 6,000,000,000,” and so on.

My CDs are in a shambles. I'm so ashamed.

I don't feel very good. I think I celebrated a little too much yesterday. *burp* I think I had somewhere around 5-7 glasses of champagne plus a good bit of food. Nothing like being drunk by 5:30 p.m. I actually felt fine until around 10:30 when I came down with a splitting headache at Jwan's house. Then when I got home I had to stay up for a little while writing my column for Goose's thing. While doing that my stomach started to make its presence known and my bowels demanded to be moved. In the bathroom I kept thinking that if I threw up I'd be really pissed. Got into bed, read half an article about John Malkovich in NYT magazine then started pass out. As I drifted off to sleep I began to have paranoid fantasies that I might die in my sleep, choking on my own vomit or whatever. The potential shittiness of that situation prompted Alanis Morisette's song “Ironic” to begin running through my head. I fucking hate that song. So it was a good day but a bad evening. I'm trying to work on this piece for Pulp (I'm not real sure how long it's supposed to be…I should find out) but my headache keeps interrupting. Ick.
Graduation was kind of fun. I only knew one person there. We used to work together at Music X. He's a sweet kid but he has so many annoying friends and very poor taste in music. (“Do you like Dashboard Confessional? They're my favorite band. Do you like Avril Lavigne? I love her.” argh.) This one friend of his came over and started babbling about how she had been crying all day and that she really wanted the fact that she was graduating summa cum laude broadcast over the entire school. I kept having these visions of throwing my cap at her head, shooting-star style. Then of course she started going on and on about her fiance and flashing her butt-ugly engagement ring in my face. I can't stand women sometimes. gah. Why are they so retarded?
I really wish someone was here to take care of Kingston while I curled up in bed for a little while longer.
ugh.

The baby and I had a very nice sleepy time. We've been listening to Ladysmith Black Mambazo at night and it's very soothing for everyone involved. He kept snuggling up to me and giving me kisses and hugs. mmm, so sweet. And there is absolutely nothing better on this earth than having your baby fall asleep in your arms. I just stared into those big blue eyes of his and watched him drift off to sleep, knowing that he felt completely safe and loved and didn't have a worry in the world. In the background, Ladysmith hummed and prayed for world peace. Sitting there, feeling him breathe, I allowed my thoughts to wander and found myself thinking, “Maybe everything will be okay.” Who knows?
Anyway, enough of that gushy stuff, back to cynicism where I'm comfortable. I've been looking at gory pictures on rotten.com and I just know that I'm going to have nightmares tonight. yay.
uggghhhh I can't think of anything to say right now. hmm…

I got my hairs cut today. It looks very nice. And the young man was kind enough to straighten my hair so I'll look all professional tomorrow for graduation. My hairdresser was telling me about how he used to have this girlfriend and he would do her hair and makeup before they went out. My wheels started turning and I thought, “A hairdresser for a boyfriend? What a great idea! Why have I never thought of that?” I was trying to think of ways to convince the boyfriend to become a hairdresser but the ridiculousness of that situation (especially if you know my boyfriend) was just too hysterical to contemplate any longer. I may have to dump the boyfriend for a hairdresser. Not mine, though. He's a little too dim. And he hinted toward some baby mama drama. Not fun.
So, yeah, last night…after the electroclash crap finished I decided that I needed a cocktail, especially since I got to hear all of the lewd comments that Shawn made about the supermodel bartender. I don't know why, amongst all of his male friends, he chose to turn to me and say crass and cliched shit like, “Now that's what I'm talkin' about…I'd like to get a piece of that.” Shut up, Shawn. She's like, 20. What would she want with your 31-year-old ass? And put your bike goggles away, you're embarrassing me. Imagine my delight when I went to the bar to get a Cosmopolitan and the supermodel bartender was all in my Kool-Aid. Yes, a very attractive young woman flirted with me and I was feeling punchy enough that I flirted right back and gave her a big tip. It was the only flirtatious attention that I got all night, however. I sat at the bar by myself for a full twenty minutes with no male attention. I fear that I might be losing “it.” Crap. Liz Janco flirted with Manny for me, though, which really wasn't neccessary. He gave me some happy meal prize that he had been playing with the whole night…American Justice something. It had wings and was very greasy. Thanks.
The Dutch doods played some very good music, but I didn't realize how long they were going to be playing. I was there until 2 a.m. yawn. Too late for this old hag. I kept marvelling at the height and skinniness of the Dutchmen. It was very strange. All of them had this POW-chic thing going. I did respect them for trashing the electroclash band with everyone else, but adding an hysterical Dutch twist: “This sucks, ja?”

The ex-boyfriend was there. *grumble* He was drinking heavily and flirting with his ex-girlfriend which made me feel kind of good. The fact that he's still acting like a dick no matter who is girlfriend is makes for some kind of closure for me. Like, the problem wasn't me it was him. I do feel bad for his current girlfriend, though. Since she's, like, 12 she can't go out with him anywhere. And I'm sure he guesses that he sees his ex on many occasions. While she could be having a much better relationship with someone much more deserving of her affection (and closer to her age) she's hanging out with that smelly loser. By the way, what was I thinking?
When we finally got home I crashed into bed, reeking of smoke, read an article in Pulp and then fell somewhat asleep. Lucid sex was had, that half-awake stuff that you're not sure if it happened in the morning. sleepfucking, I guess you could call it.
Anyway, I have to run down to Oakland for some stuff, but I'll have more musings later.

Last night the boyfriend and I went to see these Dutch doods play synthesizers at the Rex Theatre. It was pretty fun. It was a Manny event and despite that there were a good number of people there. We got there in time to see the first Dutch dood finishing up, at which point this electroclash band came on. *fumes* Look, I don't care if this knocks down my hipster status a few points or not, electroclash sucks and you know it. For about twenty minutes I watched these two jokers from Ohio, clad in Speedos and 80s exercise gear flaunt about on stage and get increasingly belligerently drunk. So. not. entertaining. Of course, all of the retard hipsters thought it was grand and laughed wholeheartedly when one of them shoved a bottle up his ass…argh I'll have to finish this later.

I have been stewing over this here article
that was in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette the other day about Hummers. I don't know if I can properly express how furious I get when useless yuppie twits who live in cul-de-sacs buy monstrous off-road vehicles like Hummers. And then they say stuff like, “It's a very patriotic vehicle, I feel like I'm driving a huge American flag” just to piss me off even more. Another operative quote you'll find in that article is something to the tune of, “This is America, I should be allowed to drive whatever I want.” Yes, in America, if you have hundreds of thousands of weak dollars burning holes in your pocket you should be able to go buy an essentially useless (in the civilian suburbs) vehicle that gets 8 mpg. What the fuck?
Okay, answer me this: if our country is so “kind” and altruistic enough to “liberate” another country from an oppressive regime (since the latest trend in propaganda is that we're not doing this because of WMD we're doing this because we care about the Iraqi people), why are we not altruistic enough to buy fuel-efficient vehicles?
And I don't have the energy to get into the teeny tiny article in the Post-Gazette tossing a mention that yes, N. Korea has two nuclear warheads but *gasp* we found, like, two hand grenades in Iraq! eeeek!
In other news, some 14-year-old kid blew away his principal and then shot himself in the head upstate. Tragic, yes.
Now, say what you will about school shootings, but I find it amusing that the articles always somehow manage to focus on what music the Trenchcoat Mafia du jour was listening to. This one was listening to Limp Bizkit. *snickers* Ordinarily I get enraged when they try to blame music for the horrible things that kids do. But in the case, I hope they take the opportunity to castrate Fred Durst for destroying America's youth…or something…whatever…just get that guy out of my face for good. I'll never forgive him for the 500 boxes of Chocolate Starfish and the Hotdog-Flavored Water cds that I had to unpack many moons ago during my life at Music X. But who am I kidding? They'll probably just find a way to blame it on Marilyn Manson, anyway. Poor guy.
Also, I don't know if I have any Limp Bizkit fans reading this at the moment, so I apologize if my comments regarding Senor Durst offended you. Any conservatives, Hummer drivers, or Rick Santorums who might be reading this can bite me.

I had sugar in my coffee, some sweettarts for lunch, jelly bellys after that (see last entry) and now I'm enjoying a diet vanilla coke. I'm a little wired. But not wired in a way where I can get a lot done. I'm just sort of sitting here fidgeting because I can't decided on anything to do.
I'm also nervous for two reasons. 1) my Archos Jukebox thing is not turning on. I don't know what this means, but I'm hoping it's just making like a Furby and taking a nap.
2) The baby's Social Security card is supposed to come in the mail today. If it doesn't, I'm going to be very unhappy. For some reason the mailman hasn't been coming until 4:30 the past few days. That's a very cruel thing to do to a person who is waiting on important mail.
Last night I played some Final Fantasy until I got to this puzzle and just gave up because it was just so RPG and dorky. “Take the sphere…Place the sphere here…A glyph glows on the wall…” SHUT UP! I'm much more cynical with this game this time around. Now whenever I get a new aeon I name it stuff like Ifarted or Dick. It's fun being 9. I must say that the one character, Lulu, is very hot *touches finger to tongue and places it on imaginary Lulu, makes sizzling noise*
I can't believe I just typed that out. Let me try to find a picture of her and you'll see what I mean. Talk amongst yourselves. I'll give you a topic: Jelly Bellys are neither jelly nor belly. Discuss…

http://darkstar-sifi.co.uk/figures_final_fantasy_x_12_inch.htm

Scroll down a bit. That was the best one I could find. Since it's safe to presume that the majority of the artists on staff for Final Fantasy were frustrated young men, it shouldn't surprise you that I often enjoy lengthy shots of Lulu's heaving cleavage, her dress staying on despite the forces of gravity.

Yes! The mail just came and the baby's social security card is in it. *big weight slides off of my shoulders.* I'll be back.

*wrestles with bag of jelly belly jellybeans*

SOMEBODY TAKE THESE FUCKING THINGS OFF OF ME!

Yesterday, bleary-eyed and groping for my sweet, caffeinated nectar, I reached into my box of Equal packets and pulled out…NOTHING! They're all gone!
*dies*
I hate when I go to the store and completely forget one very essential item that I should just buy/steal every time I walk into a food-selling establishment.
And, of course, I got all wrapped up in going to Tram's for some pho that I completely forgot to get any while I was out. So this morning I clenched my teeth and put regular sugar in my cup. blech.
But it gets worse. While sitting here, reading entries of my LJ friends, I completely neglected my coffee. Now it's just sitting there with a tiny splash on the bottom, cold and far too sweet. dur.

So, yes, last night I went to Tram's with Paco and his roommate Jon. We were going to attend the American Shorts reading series but it started at 7:30 and we didn't get our entrees until 7:15. We decided to take our time instead of rushing over there and walking in late. Plus, I had the babe with me and the switch of the car seat from my mom's car to Jon's would have taken way too long. And I'm sure that once we got there he would have gotten all cranky. There would have been awkwardness.
Tram's was delicious, as always. I can't believe that place exists. The baby was so good the whole time we were there. I keep thinking that I should enjoy this while it lasts. Apparently when they turn two they explode into irritating behavior. sigh.
Anyway, sitting across from us was this gorgeous couple. And I don't mean artificially, preppy, Abercrombie gorgeous, like actually just naturally stunning. The woman just had such a pretty face. They were there with their two well-behaved children who were happily eating the food placed in front of them and not whining about wanting freedom fries. I glanced at them every once in awhile, slightly envying their good looks and perfect family life. Then their daughter turned around to look at us and I realized that she had Down's Syndrome. I immediately felt bad for assuming that their life was all rosy. Not that their daughter's condition was the one blemish on their life or anything, but I was just trying to imagine them as a very young couple, unsure of their roles as parents and then having to take on the extra challenge of having a child with Down's.

I hate when I really really really want to listen to music but I can't decide on what. Then I spend about 40 minutes flipping through mp3's but come up with nothing. Finally I break down in tears.
I really hate the shirt that I'm wearing.
I'm tinkering with some new user images. The one I have now I think underrepresents me. Nice syntax on that last sentence, eh?
The baby finally went down for a nap about three hours late. I have a couple loads of laundry to do and a pile of dishes to tend to, but I just don't really feel like dealing with those, okay?
I'm just enjoying my peace and quiet.