kdiddy.org

Apparently, I’ve seen everything on the internet and am just starting over at the beginning.

I forget where I saw the link for those pictures that I posted about yesterday, but I’m guessing it was Google Reader. This morning, one of my friends’ shared items was a link to a post on MetaFilter about the same pictures and the discussion was full of complaints about it being a re-post at least 5 times over. Following the links in the discussion, I found myself at this video and realized that I had definitely seen those pictures and that video months ago and had completely forgotten about them.

Is there a name for this phenomenon wherein a dork spends so much time looking at dumb shit on the internet that it eventually starts looking new to her?

I don’t know. ‘Tis a question for the great minds of our day. Alright, I’m off to email everyone about this unbelievable Lysol douche ad and this hilarious video game translation. Because as far as I’m concerned, those are brand new all over again.

Looking at these pictures, I’m not entirely convinced that spray tan isn’t the new blackface.

I mean, seriously…

If that was my gene pool, I would manually remove my reproductive organs. And what’s with that hairdo? Dudes obviously should not have access to hair product. It’s too bad, especially since the girls are relatively cute and normal, shiny prom dresses notwithstanding.

The mother-in-law picked the baby up from school on Wednesday, and when we got to her house to pick him up, I noticed a smudge on his forehead. The mother-in-law had indeed taken him to Ash Wednesday services and had indeed asked the priest to “bless” the baby and, according to her, he just happened to bless him with his ash thumb.

Now, she’s pulled this subversive Catholicisim stuff before and I don’t appreciate it. Because while I’m not against the baby practicing some sort of religion, I really don’t want anyone besides me or the husband dishing it out with him. I don’t want him getting the idea that Catholicism, or any religion, is superior to any other, which is what I’m pretty sure will happen if I put his religious education in the hands of the mother-in-law. I say that because when we griped at her for the ashes, she snotted that it’s not like they were off doing witchcraft or weird rituals.

And, like…ugh. Dude. Just because you grew up with them and you happen to live in a country where Catholicism is mainstream, doesn’t mean that you’re not doing rituals and that they wouldn’t be perceived as weird to other cultures. I mean, doesn’t one of the main rituals involve eating the body and blood of Christ? Plus there’s chanting and incense and bells and dudes in robes. Shit. Put that outside on a solstice and add some topless bitches. THEN tell me how it’s not like witchcraft.

Anyway, Bolt asked the mother-in-law about this and the mother-in-law told her what she also told us, which is that we all used to go to church and loved it. And we should be repentant for our sins. God, back off lady. And then she added that when we discovered this thing called independent thought, we would surely return to the church.

Quoi? I mean, not to say that all practicing Catholics or whatever are devoid of independent thought, but, uh, my independent thought is what led me to peace out from the church quite some time ago.

But, seriously, if I’m doing my thing and being a good person and Catholics are doing their thing and being good people, can’t we all just get along leave each other the hell alone?

Anyway, I was thinking about the upcoming presidential election yesterday. I don’t know, it seems to be the hip, in thing to do these days. Also, this piece on Jezebel got me thinking, because I do think it’s bullshit that women’s tendency to cry more than men is perceived as a sign of weakness. I think it was Wanda Sykes who said that God made women the weaker sex because otherwise we would just go around beating the shit out of people.

I mean, I cry when I’m sad or devastated obviously, but I also cry when I’m angry and it’s so annoying. I wish I could stop because I think it gives the objects of my anger an opportunity to be like, “Oh, whatever, she’s not THAT angry.” And it’s like, “No, I AM, motherfucker. I just can’t box for shit and I’m furious and everything’s starting to, like, SEEP or something. Here, why don’t you just choke yourself with my hand and we’ll call it even. Cool?.”

But, yeah, the presidential election. Folks are grasping onto the two times that Hilary has managed to hint at crying and prove that this is why a woman can’t handle being president. Fuck that. Hilary is just as self-serving and psychotically ambitious and centrist-serving as any other person that makes a serious run for president…which is what makes her campaign and Obama’s campaign such a drag. I got to thinking about how I cry often about the state of the world. I mean, it just fucking bums me out, you know? I can’t imagine if I was the president and had access to ALL of the information of just how fucked we are…I would be splattered on the sidewalk outside of a tall building about 15 minutes into my administration.

LOOKIT.

The past few mornings, the baby has accompanied our routine by singing everything in this virbrato, operatic voice. Sometimes he counts to 100 in this voice or sings the ABCs, he often answers questions or commands in this manner.

“The baby, go put your shoes on.”
“OkaAaAaAaAyYaYyaY!”
“The baby, did you take your vitamin?”
“YeEeEeEeEeEsssss!”

I am always happy to provide the responsorial chorus of “Would you fuc–…just STOP! Talk normal!”

But we got his report card yesterday and he’s doing really well in school. The only sub-par marks were for listening and paying attention. No big surprise there.

I don’t have much else to report. My hair has insane frizz today. I want to shave it off.

On Saturday night, we went to see Dan Bell play records. It was at this reception hall in Bellevue and the whole thing was very odd. Bellevue, which has a really awesome sign when you enter it that says, “Live. Worship. Shop,” (“It’s like something out of They Live!” –the husband) is sort of a classic Pittsburgh suburb and the reception hall just screamed “yinzer wedding.” It was awesome. It had wood-paneled walls and a parquet dance floor, nauseating carpeting and a teeny-tiny bar with a sign that read, “BEER ONLY.”

There were a ton of people there, most of whom I didn’t recognize and looked really young. The music was awesome and everyone was dancing. I commented that it really felt like one of the after parties in Detroit. Very weird.

What was especially rad was that I saw at least 3 people I wasn’t really trying to ever see again, one of whom said to me, “You guys own a house? That’s retarded.”

Another guy attempted a rather awkward and, I imagine, drug-fueled conversation with me and at one point he asked me, “So, you’ve been around a long time? You’re kind of old?”

That’s me. Retarded. Old.

I happened to look over as a huge light fell about 3 inches from Jwan and spent the rest of the night telling him how glad I was that he wasn’t dead, because that would have bummed me right out.

This one girl was wearing this iridescent…bikini? And she was grinding up against this guy who was rubbing all over her and toward the end of the night he walked over to Bolt and I and asked for a high five. Maybe if I were wearing latex gloves, dude.

When we were getting in the car to go home, a guy in a pick up truck asked if we wanted to go to Club Erotica. “They got wings n’at.” We declined.

I love Pittsburgh.

Obviously, I’m very happy that the Patriots loss. Do not like that team at all. As we watched the last minute or so, I said that the only way this victory could be sweeter is if it was the Steelers doing the defeating. Then the husband said that the Steelers could never beat the Patriots in a Super Bowl and I said that that wasn’t the point, it would still be sweeter, and he said that I had no point because it’s not possible and then I stabbed him in the neck. At least he’s quiet now.

What I thought was the most telling moment was when Bill Bellichick walked off of the field before the game was technically over. Real coaches go down with their ship, Billy. To the bitter end. Punks walk off with their heads down.

And it was pretty cool to see Plaxico Burress getting a big win. I like that guy, even if things didn’t work out with him when he was here.

ANYWAY, the other big victory tonight were these:

Green tea cupcakes with pomegranate frosting. Motherfuckers.

Hmm, I’m not sure why her frosting is off-white and ours is rosy pink, but whatever. It tastes good as hell. Bolt found that recipe the other day and today I declared that we had to make them. Bolt had the unfortunate task of procuring matcha powder. Obviously, she could have found it in an Asian market in the Strip but we had no idea what the hours were for those, so Bolt battled crowds and less-than-knowledgeable staff at Giant Eagle and Whole Foods, before recruiting the help of a friend at Starbucks.

One note about those. The recipe is for mini cupcakes and we made full size ones. The 12-minute baking time in the recipe isn’t enough, but I can tell you that 17 minutes is entirely too long. I think about 14 was the right amount of time for these. Go forth. Bake.

Be sure to watch the commercial.

I guess since I go to school for writing and occassionally receive monetary compensation for stringing words together about some topic, I tend to analyze writing and trends within it. This sounds way more fancy-pants intellectual than it really is. If I were to go on to get a PhD, which I so fucking wouldn’t because I am so over school at this point, one of the 500 different areas I would be compelled to dissertate on is the styles of writing that bloggers employ and the little trends that I tend to notice. Other dissertation topics would be “Willie from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom: Why Does She Suck So Much, Especially Since She Was Probably Already Diddling Steven Spielberg?” “Eli and Paul Sunday from There Will Be Blood: WTF?” and of course, “Dissertations: Why Must They Always Have a Colon in the Title?”

Anyway, back in the Bronze Age of blogging (2003ish), I complained about a phrase that was running rampant, and that phrase was “le sigh.” It started out kind of funny and cute and suddenly it was everywhere and I got really sick of reading it. Now, I don’t ever see it. Le sigh went out of style.

Nowadays, the blogging tic that is really driving me crazy is breaking normal sentences up into a question and its answer. A rough example of this format would be, “Because blah blah? Is blah blah blah.” Or “And also? Blah blah blah.” I feel kind of bad pointing this out because practically every blog that I read and enjoy employs this tactic, but it’s just not cute anymore and it needs to stop. It’s overused, plain and simple.

See, if I were a good critic I would offer an alternative tic to glom onto while the mid-sentence question inflection died a dignified death. But I? Got nothing. ;-P

It’s mad frozen here.

The baby has a two-hour delay and when we walked outside this morning to take me to school, the husband gave a hearty, “Aw, hell naw.” So, we’re chilling in the house for a little bit. I am out of coffee. Go ahead and ask me how excited I am about that.

I’m not real sure when the school bus is supposed to get here. When there was a delay on Wednesday, the bus came at 9:30, but who knows because the driver’s kinda…I don’t know. I think he wants to fight me. Which is fine. We can throw down whenever, dude.

Anyway, check out my kid doing his breathing treatment.

Cute, no? Thankfully, the cough and congestion and the runny nose finally seem to be going away. As an added bonus, the prednisone gave him an actual appetite. He’s eating like a normal human being now and not like…Amy Winehouse.