kdiddy.org

why is their website so uninformative? I *need* to watch the new seasons of Sex and the City and Six Feet Under and their .com ain't givin' it up. No one else seems to know.
*whimper*

I think my house is haunted. The baby has many toys that play some snippet of music or make some supposedly pleasant noise when touched, or pushed, or hit, all in the name of a developmental reward system. He has this Leap Frog activity table that plays different songs and despite the fact that my son is upstairs sleeping, it keeps playing music. I'm not sure how to handle the situation. I was considering turning it off because it is simply annoying but I don't want to anger whatever spirit has decided to play with his toys. The horse on his Little People Animal Sounds Farm often whinnies for no apparent reason. The other night the little musical toy in his crib started playing while we were both downstairs. Restless poltergeist spirit of some lonely little child? I hope he/she is friendly.
Anyway, as Jimmy Crack Corn plays in the background, I had two nightmares last night. One was that the boyfriend had died. It was most distressing and I think it was brought on by him telling me about his mother's concerns that he would be drafted. Of course, that possibility has entered my mind from time to time but I try not to think about it. I don't know what we'll do if it comes to that. Mortality can be such a motherfucker.
The other was that I was hiding in some old abandoned mansion from an oncoming tornado and some mafia guys who I owed some money to. That was just kind of goofy.
I kind of hate being in this house by myself.

I went to Pitt's basketball game tonight with my dad. I hadn't been to a game in many years (school spirit is not my forte) and it was my first time at the Petersen Events Center. That motherfucker cost $96 million. It's pretty nice. I didn't see too much of it since we got there late. It was a pretty good game but I have this tendency to let my mind wander when watching sports. I don't really have anything against sports themselves, I just don't really care about them all that much. Friends of my parents were there. Their daughter went to Yale, works on Wall St. and just applied for a Fulbright scholarship. They must think I'm retarded compared to her. Oh well, fuck 'em. Anyway, I thought about that for awhile. I also thought about the boyfriend and whether or not we'll get married. I think we will but probably not for a few more years yet. I'm feeling extra squishy about him today because we had an excellent night last night. 😉
We watched Singles last night which definitely rates as one of my all time favorite movies. But it made me a little depressed thinking about how I was such a teenager when I saw it and now, 11 years later Layne Staley is dead and I'm getting older. But the one comforting thing is that everyone else is getting older too. ha.
I'm a little annoyed because I have another paper due on Monday. It's a profile and I have no idea who I'm going to profile. I might just do Mama again. I think it might be easiest to just build on the piece that I already wrote about her for Pulp since I'm kind of in a pinch. I think she hates me, though. Oh well.

But before I do, I must tell a quick story. My grandmother, compulsive shopper that she is, went to some going-out-of-business sale at some strange tchotchke shop in Oakmont. She bought me some zen tchotchke that's essentially this rather attractive dark wood box with chimes and beads in it. You turn it over, the beads fall on the chimes very slowly, occasionally releasing a “dooooooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnngggggggggg” (actually it's more like a “tiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnggggggggg”) sound that is supposed to be soothing. Last night I snuggled into bed, rather exhausted and fretting over a paper that's due tonight. I had *just* drifted off and was whipping up a dream when I heard “tiiiiiiiiinnnggggg.” I think I pulled muscles in my eyelids from opening them so quickly. Due to my state of sleep I could not think of what could be making that noise. But I can remember the possibilities that ran through my mind. The first was that it was a kitchen timer and that something was done baking. The second was that it was the Grim Reaper. Yeah, apparently in my mind the Grim Reaper sounds a little chime when he's come to collect your soul. The third was that there was someone in my room, some sort of intruder. Again, announcing their arrival with a chime? I realized what it was after a few seconds but that didn't stop me from having a few heart attacks when it chimed two more times during the night. Consequently, I'm exhausted. Fuck zen. It scares the shit out of me.

When I was in the kitchen earlier I kept thinking of all of these great little tidbits I wanted to write about but now I've forgotten them all…well, no, now they're slowly starting to come back.
I've been wondering more and more why we, as a society, are so fanatic about projecting the “Everything's fine,” image. I mean, for the most part, things aren't horrible. Nearly everyone that I know eats everyday, has a loving family, a roof over their head, their neighborhood isn't massacred by rival religious groups like in India last year (which, sadly enough, I didn't hear about the massacre until yesterday). There are so many unsavory things that we do as people that we don't let anyone else know about. It's this strange competition among us that I don't understand. Is capitalism to blame? Being raised by people who grew up in the shadow of the Red Scare? Perhaps. I find that when things with the baby and the boyfriend are going through a rough patch, I fervently insist to friends that things couldn't be better. There's a strange competitive spirit between my friends and I as well. None of them think that the boyfriend and I will make it as a family. So I constantly feel the need to project the “no, we're great” stuff. Honestly, though, the boyfriend and I are doing pretty well, emotionally. Financially and otherwise, we got dick. But you'd think that the financial and otherwise was the most important part.
I've also been feeling like a loser lately. Chatted on ICQ the other night with Frank. It was an alright conversation. But I feel like he looks down his nose at me…that he laughs about me and how stupid he thinks I am. During our conversation I kept mentioning my amazon.com wish list and the PR internship trauma. He reminded me that I had already told him about both and man…if blushing could be transmitted over the internet….I don't know why his opinion of me worries me so much, though.
It must be the weather, but it seems like everyone I know is in a deep funk. Rebel that I am, I've decided to reject the mainstream Seasonal Affect Disorder and be (or at least try to be) somewhat upbeat…as upbeat as I can be. I'm not a generally cheery person. My dad's a wreck. Paco's depressed. My mom's been acting a little crazy.
I'm running out of steam.

I'm tired. I'm tired of homework.
Fin.

I remembered one of the dreams that I had the other night that was amusing. I dreamt that I was trying to explain to someone how Spirograph works. My description was pretty good if I remember correctly. Someone in my Nonfiction 2 class compared the wallpaper in her 1970s den to something created by someone using Spirograph. I think that's what spurred the dream.

Let me see, what has happened since I was here last.
Job search trauma: Called a guy at the CLO about an internship there. I left my name and number on his voice mail. While I was in the shower I heard the phone ring and hoped that it was Mr. CLO Internship calling me back. Played the message and heard, “Hey baby. What are you doing here so early? Oh…hahahahaha. *click*” Ew. I *69'ed, ready to lay the smackdown on the moron who would dial incorrectly, leave a dumbass message and then not even apologize. But, lo and behold, it was Mr. CLO Internship's number. What to do? I decided to avoid any direct contact and emailed him yesterday. I played dumb and pretended that I had never heard back from him, assuming that he would have been embarrassed by his obvious mistake. But no, he insisted that he had called me back and had left a message on my answering machine. Now I'm not sure what to think…except that he's either a total retard or a pervert. Maybe both.
Father's nervous breakdown: Dad's also having job trauma. Due to an argument that got a little ugly with a co-worker, he's essentially fired. Since he's union he can fight it and perhaps get reinstated. But he's not sure if he should do that or just retire now. He'll get his pension no matter what so that's good. I went to his house the other day and he was shuffling around in these old ratty slippers, smoking cigarettes (which I had never actually seen him do before) and moaning about how his life was fucked. I felt bad for him, but I was furious with him more than anything else. I can't handle it when my parents get all “human” on me and make me realize that they can't always fix problems as they arise. It scares me. I kept pushing his slumping shoulders up and grabbing his saggy cheeks, telling him that everything would be alright. I wanted so badly for him to just snap out of it and go, “You're right! What was I so worried about?” My dad's “girlfriend” also stopped over but ran out the door when she realized I was there. That just made the whole afternoon that much stranger. I don't want to talk about this anymore.
Pulp: I talked to Mike Shanley about possibly getting tickets for the sold-out Ladysmith Black Mambazo show. I can get *one* (boo hoo) in exchange for writing a Live This Week about them. Of course, I am happy to do so. I should be working on it now (along with my revised memoir) but I just don't feel like it. Talking to Shanley was nice. We chatted for a bit about several things. He said that he misses me dearly and I hope that's true. I really liked working there. Sigh.
Aunt: She had to go to the hospital the other night with some ulcer perforation. She's okay. I'm glad.
It seems that life in general is turning some corner. I don't know how to describe it. Lots of people close to me have died. I guess that's the weirdest part. I have these moments of reflection that really piss me off. All of a sudden I think about past boyfriends, what I've done in college, shit like that. And I start to get upset about stuff and I have to remind myself that it doesn't matter anymore.
I should get back to my homework.

I don't know if I can really express how much fun I had last night, but I'll try. We got to the Improv early and decided to endure the cold in order to get a good seat. We were outside for about 45 minutes and just when I was certain that I was going to have to get my feet amputated the doors opened to let the 8 p.m. show out. We shuffled in and I got the distinct feeling that the presence of Kennywood nearby must have had some effect on the operations at the Improv. The staff was very loud and militant and ordered us to turn off our cell phones, save our cigarettes for later, and to order two items. We were rushed to a table and you can't imagine my delight when I saw that we were literally five feet away from the stage.
Things got started promptly and a young man named Bruce Daniels came out to warm us up. I felt uneasy, as I usually do for opening acts, and hoped that no one would heckle him. They didn't need to, though, since he was very funny. His faux impatience while explaining various aspects of homosexual social life to the straight people in the audience garnered many laughs.
Then suddenly it was time for Ms. Cho. She came down the aisle and I got a good look at her. I don't often see people who I recognize from the big or small screen in real life so it's always very disarming for me. Cho is gorgeous. She is older now than the last time I saw her on TV but she still manages to light up a room. She wore an adorable mish mash of vintage clothing including a green Girl Scout uniform, fishnet panty hose, thigh-high purple leather boots and black and white elbow length gloves. She's also very thin, which made me furious with Hollywood for remembering how often the jackasses out there grill her for her weight.
She was somewhat intoxicated, as was made evident by a few random slurred words and some instances of her not maintaining her balance in her high-heeled boots. But she is a pro, and the audience was soon reduced to hysterical tears for the rest of the night.
Her performance was interspersed with more serious moments, more than she had allowed herself in the past. She reminded us of the state of racism, sexism and homophobia in America and how we needed to do something about it. She didn't preach, though. She merely stated her dissatisfaction and managed to put her distinctive comedic twist on it all. She touched on familiar subjects, such as her mother and father, her weight, dumb shit people say to her because she's Asian, and her frustration with Hollywood.
It didn't last nearly long enough and I wanted her to just keep talking for hours. When she finished I was one of the first people to jump to my feet and actually yelled, “YEAAAA!” I was so proud of her. She rushed down the aisle, literally inches from me, her eyes focused on the floor.
When she was gone I felt energized and renewed. My stomach hurt from laughing and I felt like I should send her a thank you note. She rules.

I keep doing this because I don't like any of the appearance options given to me. I suppose if I really want to do something about it I shall have to start paying Live Journal but, quite frankly, fuck that.