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Last night's episode was touch and go. Jennifer Garnet hosted and seriously, I don't understand what all the fuss is about. She's not that pretty, her tits are tiny, she has no comedic ability and she really can't act for shit. I've never seen her show and I'm not about to go see “Daredevil” but since she's like dog shit right now I can't seem to avoid her.
Anyway. There were a few stand out skits last night. One was the junior high talk show “Wake Up Wakefield” that was having a special broadcast from the Valentine's Day dance. Maya Rudolph is definitely one of the best people that they've ever had on that show. Did you know that she's Minnie Ripperton's daughter?
I have this strange attraction to Jimmy Fallon. At the end of the show he was wearing the long-sleeved-shirt-underneath-a-tshirt look and it just so happened that I was sporting the same look (my weight gain has left me few fashion options and I find myself mentally stuck in 1994, anyway). It was kind of like that scene in Wayne's World 2 where Garth and the girl from the permit office meet at Waynestock and realize that they're soul mates.
Beck was the musical guest and I'm still torn over how I feel about him, even after all of these years. His new stuff is pretty cool, seems to have a touch of Johnny Cash. But it really does sound all the same most of the time. That's a little annoying. I don't hate him, per se. But I don't ever find myself yearning to listen to any Beck album.
The snowfall today is pretty remarkable. I kind of want to take the baby out to play in it but it's pretty cold out. I'd feel bad if he got all frozen.
I've only flipped through the NY Times this morning. I looked through the magazine and in my pre-coffee state whined, “All of these articles are so loooong!” I only say things like that in the privacy of my own home, otherwise I fear that intellectuals will detect my ruse (I'm actually very dumb) and kick me out of academic society.
Speaking of which, here was a blow to my self-esteem: Frank asked me what my QPA was. When I told him he was surprised that it was so low. As if I hadn't been feeling shitty enough…
I had a bad year a few years ago, my priorities were all screwed up. I've been working hard but a few classes have set me back. I just should have dropped that Darwinism class when I had the chance. Argh.
The boyfriend and I have important errands to run, so I'm going to try to wake him up.

Since I rarely watch TV anymore and when I do my channel choices are severely limited, I unfortunately miss out on all the great (read: perversely entertaining) game/reality shows that are out there now. Last night we watched Blind Date (which I've actually seen quite a few times before), Elimidate and the 5th Wheel. Elimidate was by far the funniest. I can't imagine how I would react if I were ever on that show. I'm sure they would kick me off because I wouldn't even participate and just get drunk and laugh the whole time. The girls on it were so fucking dumb and the guy was total garbage. The boyfriend and I started planning some kind of Elimidate sabotage where he would go on the show and demand all kinds of crazy things from the girls like, “Fight this rabid dog and then kill one of your competitors and then make out with me.” Then at the end I'll come on and flip out and pull everyone's hair.
Awesome.

So last night was our little mini-getaway to the William Penn. All in all, very nice. Our room was a little smaller than I anticipated but that didn't really matter since it wasn't like we had a ton of luggage. King-sized beds are dope and I'm trying to get one at some point. If we get a chance to do this again I want to go for more than one night. Since we got there kind of late and were starving all that we really did was watch TV, eat and drink. We didn't get a chance to go hang out in the lobby or anything. The room service menu gave us the most laughs. Most of the meal type things were priced not unlike a normal, high-class restaurant. But then there'd be things like, under the snack section, “Potato chips….$15.00.” We giggled about that for a bout 10 minutes. The 10 oz. bottles of Coke were $3. That also tickled our funny bone. Our dinner was sooo good and worth the wait. We popped open our bottle of Cristal that we had been saving and pretended we were like, Nelly or someone. Well, it wasn't that wild. We stayed up real late and were dismayed to find that we were without toothpaste. Blech. Slept in (which was nice for me since I really don't ever get to do that) and didn't have time to eat an expensive breakfast or get a fancy Starbucks drink. I'm really in the mood for fancy coffee right now. Argh. Today we got home, my dad stopped by and fretted over…nothing really. The boyfriend and I suggested that he go to Mandala Books and talk to that guy Frank. I figured he could at least find something interesting and distracting to read there, if not find some kind of relaxation technique. He's on a buttload of drugs and well, Western medicine can only take you so far. I guess he's been to church a few times but it hasn't helped. I often found that church never helped ease any of my anxieties so I can understand his frustration.
I guess due to my lack of sleep and caffeine I picked a fight with the boyfriend. It seemed justified at the time but now I'm thinking it probably looked like a scene from “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.” I'm such a bitch.
Oh my god. I DO NOT feel like doing schoolwork this week. I want to stab someone.

I went to get my hairs cut today. It looks…exactly the same! I went to this hairdresser that my mom and grandmother have been going to and really like. Now, granted, I'm trying to let it grow and was only looking to have it trimmed. But I have this hairdresser fantasy that someday I'm going to sit down in the chair and the scissors will transform my hair into something really fabulous. But now it looks just like it did, an inch or two shorter. And most hairdressers have this thing that when they realize that my hair will curl if they encourage it to, they get real boisterous about it. What they don't realize is just how big and out of control my hair will get if you let it. I've cajoled it into a ponytail but I have this one really big obnoxious curl dangling right in the middle of my forehead.
The baby also got his hairs cut, which was a pretty funny thing to watch. He didn't seem to mind too much, just sort of looked around a lot and made things kind of hard for the hairdresser.
Tonight the boyfriend and I have our litte mini-getaway, so I'm pretty excited about that.
Argh, I forgot to call my profile subject. I can't believe how ineffectual I can be.

While listening to Stevie, I was reminded of the one time that I went to that fucking Sing-Sing place with Stacey. We could request songs from the god-awful Jimmy Buffett fans that were in charge of the dueling pianos. One of Stacey's waitress friends advised against my Stevie Wonder request because the Parrotheads usually do a skit making fun of him. Who the fuck calls themself a musician and doesn't like Stevie Wonder? And how can it still possibly be funny that the man is blind? Ugh, I swear, some people shouldn't even be allowed to listen to music if they're going to be that stupid about it.

Went to Ladysmith Black Mambazo the other night. That was very fun, despite the fact that I went by myself. I found out at intermission that I was sitting next to Nate Guidry and James O'Toole from the Post-Gazette. I talked to them for awhile and Guidry gave me his card, told me to call him about trying to get some stuff at the PG. I was extremely flattered. I called him today and he was very nice, although he did call me Kim. He basically told me to come up with some story ideas (obviously something that they wouldn't already know about) and he would help me pitch them. That seems like a big deal to me, but I don't know. So now I'm trying to figure out what to pitch and I'm a total blank.
It's funny, when we were chatting at the show, before I found out that he was Mr. Journalist I was all cool and normal. After I found out my voice went up about three octaves. I'm terrible at talking to people I want to impress. Today on the phone I was again Miss Squeaky and said, “Mmhmm,” a lot. When he asked me if I had any story ideas I said, “Uh, no,” which I'm sure is in some Journalism textbook somewhere as exactly what not to say. The phone call ended on a pretty good note but after hanging up I repeated, “I'm such a fucking dork,” for about 4 hours. I'm actually still saying it a little bit in my head.
In other writing news I'm still trying to make some concrete contact (I love alliteration) with the subject of my profile. I can tell that even with the extension that our teacher so generously gave to us I'm going to be cramming this in at the last minute. It makes me wish that I had a nanny so that I could just leave on a moment's notice. My subject doesn't use email as religiously as I do so we've only written to each other once. There were tentative plans to meet tomorrow but I think those have pretty much fallen through. I'm going to call her in the morning. I wonder how squeaky my voice will sound then.
The baby was especially cranky today. I'm not sure what his problem was but I think it had something to do with a bothersome molar. I've been doing this thing lately to cheer him up that in most parenting circles would be regarded as strange, I'm sure. I pick him up and squeeze him, then let him down. But before he can run away I grab him up again. I do this about three times. It conditions this really fun Pavlovian reflex in him that when I set him down he takes about three steps and then in anticipation of me grabbing him he sort of shrieks and giggles and either can't walk anymore from the excitement of all of it or collapses to the floor in hysterics. Performing experiments on my kid is kind of fun. Once he recovers he'll walk around a little bit. When he sees me I just totally freak out, flap my hands at him and say, “C'mere, c'mere, c'mere,” in a voice not unlike a hen's. That just kills him.
Good times.
My dad was released from the hospital today. I didn't call him because I didn't want to force him into conversation about…stuff. My mom talked to him and said that he sounded good.
Outside of this journal I've told a few friends about what happened, mostly to see how they would react. I didn't tell anyone at first because, as ashamed as I am to admit this, I was embarrassed about it. I talked to the boyfriend, though and he made me feel much better. It's strange, so many people have so many bad things to say about him. But the other day, just when I was getting irritated with him over some little thing, I was so thankful that he was there. Someone else might have been overly concerned or overly critical. But he just matter-of-factly told me about the nervous breakdowns that his grandfather and his dad both had. They both got better and I guess the boyfriend just looks at them as things that can happen in life. I get the sense that he doesn't agree with any of the traditional or contemporary views of mental illness. When our parents were younger it was something that just wasn't mentioned. Nowadays, it's like it's another piece of consumerism. I don't think I'm too off base by saying that mental illness is practically trendy. I don't feel that way about my dad too much. I know that he's sick, and I know that there's a history of mental illness in his family that was never dealt with. But with some folks that I know, it's like their mental illness is this…conversation piece that they carry around with them and display at certain times as if to say, “This is what makes me special, this is what makes me important, this is what makes me worthy of someone's attention.” I know I sound insensitive, but I can't help it. I know that everyone gets sad from time to time. I also know how that kind of stuff felt compared to post-partum depression, real chemical imbalance, mental illness that didn't go away until a few months ago. I never sought any treatment for it, I don't think I needed to. But now I know what it feels like to really have something be wrong.
So…yeah, I was saying…the people I've told about my dad. It's kind of hard to tell. Most of my human interaction with people outside of family is electronic and I definitely have a hard time gauging emotion via ICQ. But they all seemed uninterested. One conversation even went something like this:
Me: my dad's in the hospital
Friend: what happened?
M.: he had a nervous breakdown.
F.: really?
M.: yeah.
F.: I've been feeling pretty depressed lately.
Boom. just like that. I guess that's one way to not have to worry about other people: just worry solely about yourself.
Speaking of which, in a few minutes it will be Valentine's Day. I do wish the boyfriend would make a bigger deal of said holiday. But oh well. Since I was unable to get out of the house the past few days I'm going to have to do some e-Valentines. Lame, I know but at least I'm not totally shafting my responsibilities.

I talked to my dad today and he seems to be a lot calmer. I'm still rather anxious that this won't be the kick in the pants that he needs. But, we shall see. It's like he wants to be depressed, and I can't understand that mindset. He searches for something to freak out about. It's weird. I see aspects of his personality in myself, however. This whole episode has really snapped my mind into shape, I think.
Well, in other news, working on this profile for Nonfiction 2. I'm trying to get together with this girl from the Penn Avenue Arts Initiative. When I told my teacher about my subject she didn't seem too excited. I don't know. I'm an A&E dork and I just don't ever think of writing about anything else. I think I need to change that.
My teacher is also rather intimidating. She's constantly coming in and telling these stories about all of these famous people she's written about. She told us last night about the time she spent with John Travolta and Kelly Preston at the Scientology conference in Clearwater. That was pretty funny. Apparently they're both very…odd and way too into the Scientology shit. Her and I were cutting up on the whole thing for awhile but this girl got a little offended at what she saw as our Christian-centric view of an alternative religion. I felt the need to explain that I think all religions are dumb, but that one's especially silly. I mean it's based on a sci-fi novel and you have to give them all this money…well, that sounds like pretty much any religion. I heard that L. Ron Hubbard and Robert Anton Wilson had a bet to see who could start a successful religion first. Hubbard won, obviously. I get the feeling that that's how most religions started…a bet or a dare. How funny.
Should I start an Oscar pool? I admit it's dumb and none of my friends will want to participate because they're snobs. I think I'll start one with just me and the Boyfriend.

My dad is in the hospital. He had a nervous breakdown. I'm going to visit him tomorrow. The only thing that I feel towards him right now is anger. I can't really explain it. I don't understand why he feels the way that he does. I don't know how to act towards him anymore. When he tries to talk to me I don't know if I should be sweet and understanding or firm and encouraging. I've tried both. Neither worked, obviously. And of course, I blame myself so that makes me angry with myself, too. I don't think I really had a big part in it, though. I wonder if I'm going to have to take care of him now and I just feel it's too soon for all that. I had told him that he was most worried of losing the rest of his suburbanite, white bread status, those aspirations of a perfect family. Now I can't help but envision my family's future as this bleak, dystopian piece of shit. Unmarried, with a kid, no career, going to visit my dad in a mental institution. I can't wait for a war now. It'll give me something else to think about.

So Tim and Pete did call me and I did go out and visit with them. Our first stop was to this rather irritating college party in South Oakland's student ghetto. I was there to visit old friend Chris but he was up to his elbows in cocktails and sorostitutes. I did one shot of tequila and when I heard “Nuthin' but a G Thang” blasting from downstairs and 100 white kids singing along, I was more than relieved when everyone in my group decided to leave. I've been in college about five years and I think I've only been to five college parties. I'm simply too old. We went to this kid Joe's house who lives in this apartment building that is notoriously hideous. The thing looks like its about to either fall apart or burst into flames. But it was better than that TRL shit a few streets down. I smoked some stuff for the first time in about 3 years. Needless to say, it didn't take long for me to start giggling hysterically at the screen. Joe had put on Adult Swim, which I had never seen before. It was uproarious from my vantage point. I get the impression that it does alright on its own, too. We sat and giggled for a long time, talking about our days as Music X employees. It brought back a lot of good memories, but it made me feel sad at the same time. I was glad to hear that many people my age are living at home, and for much lamer reasons. I just got dropped off a few minutes ago. These monthly excursions back into youth often make me confused. I suddenly get very insecure, wondering if I'm really missing anything any time I stay at home on a weekend, lamenting my lack of social life and friends. I have fun, and I think it's good for me to get a release sometimes from being a mom and a girlfriend. I definitely don't want to be one of those moms who goes out *too* much.
I'm rambling. But yeah, it was nice to hear about Tim's love woes. He's such a romantic and I get the impression that he's very heartbroken about his ex.
Ah, but what does any of this matter anyway? War gets closer every minute. I hope someday history books describe W. as a madman.

I slept weird last night and now my neck is extremely stiff and painful. If I want to look at something I have to turn my whole body. It's kind of embarrassing. Friends Pete and Tim said that they were going to call me tonight but I think I knew in the back of my head that they were not. I could call them. But I think, if I know them at all, they're at some place that has many drunk and they're either a)not thinking about me or b)worried that my presence might ruin their game. Oh well. Another Saturday night at home alone. No wonder I'm getting so fat.