kdiddy.org

Well, I've had kind of a full weekend so far. Yesterday afternoon, Stacey called me and invited me out to the Irish Festival. The boyfriend was going to be geeking it out over filter chips and synthesizers with Shawn, so I had to fenangle (?) some babysitting situation with my mom. I was just going to take the baby with me, but my mom insisted that it was an inappropriate place for babies. (She was overreacting, but whatever.) Stacey brought me my graduation present, which was one of my graduation announcements matted and framed with this blue and gold embroidery of a diploma around it. Her grandmother did the embroidery and it's very pretty. I was touched. Stacey graduated from massage school in July, so I figure on this schedule I don't have to give her a present until December. ;-p
My mom and I had a small argument over my clothing (the shirt I was wearing was wrinkled and I, not surprisingly, didn't care), so by the time Stacey and I pulled into Station Square I was ready for libations. I was also starving and in the mood for potatoes, which was good since we were at the Irish Festival. We got some shepherd's pie, which hit the spot but was a little too salty and the mashed potatoes that they scooped on top were instant. Ick. We each had three pints of Guinness, so between that and the shepherd's pie I wasn't hungry again until this afternoon. Anyway, the festival was fun enough. The crowd wasn't too annoying. My favorite person was this rather old gentleman who was wearing a rather old Pogues tshirt. It really made me want to listen to some Pogues, but instead I listened to the hipster Irish bands that were playing. The one guy who received a scowl for the evening was the dad who put his 8-year-old son into a headlock and practically threw him onto the ground for running off with his little sister's umbrella stroller. I thought he overreacted just a tad, and he looked like a total dick for doing it, especially since he was wearing a bright green glowstick around his neck.
I walked around all of the vendors, wishing that I had a little more money so that I could buy some tshirts and tchotchkes. One vendor was selling some of those “Irish Princess” shirts, which I kind of wanted. While walking around, I saw one on a guy who was, unless I'm really off here, quite gay. I cursed him for being so clever. I did buy raffle tickets for me, my mom, the baby, the boyfriend, and my grandparents. The grand prize is a trip for two to Ireland. That would be nice.
When I got home I waited for the boyfriend to get there. We were planning on going to Sauce to hear play records. called me from the bathroom at Ray's, giggling inchoherently and asking me when I would be coming down. I promised that I would be there momentarily. Of course, about ten minutes after getting off of the phone, I was passed out and drooling onto my pillow. So, sorry guys. Hope you don't hate me. :-/
Today the boyfriend and I went on a long-awaited trip to Kennywood. I hadn't been there in almost four years, and have been itching to go back. But everyone I know had been being a punk about it. But my mom scored us some Ride-All-Day tickets through her work.
When we were getting ready to leave I was feeling bad about leaving the baby. I told him that next year he would be big enough to at least hang out in Kiddieland. When he saw that we were getting ready to go somewhere, he walked into the dining room and tried to pick up his carseat. My heart audibly broke, for it was the sweetest thing I had ever seen. Then he went into the kitchen, saying, “Shoes on, shoes on.” He wanted to go with us so bad! I thought I was going to cry for cuteness. But, really, it was good for the boyfriend and I to get away and have a day for just us. We were starving when we got there and headed straight for the Potato Patch for some fries (hmm, more potatoes…could I be more of a stereotype?). Now, the boyfriend can be quite the eater when he wants to be, but sometimes I don't realize just how much he can eat. He ordered two servings of fries, so I expected one of those to be for me. I was wrong. The boyfriend suggested that I order one for myself, since he needed two for just him. Turns out that I was hungrier than I thought. I wolfed down almost an entire order just by myself. Piggy pig.
We made a pretty good circulation of all of the rides. I was proud of my stomach for not getting sick even though I hadn't been on roller coasters in so long. We did a lot of walking around, holding hands and talking. It felt so good. We did plenty of people-watching, too, of course. One of a group of kids behind us in line for one of the rides had the funniest phrase of the week: “Remember at Ozzfest when I wore my Korn tshirt as a cape?” stab. stab. stab.
The music situation was kind of odd, too. Over the main soundsystem, the usual mix of top 40 stuff was being played. But every once in awhile, a really good 80s/early 90s song would come on. I think within one hour I heard Christina Aguilera, followed by “Just Like Heaven” by the Cure, followed by Britney Spears, followed by “Rock Lobster” by the B52s, followed by Good Charlotte (stab), followed by some Talking Heads, and so on and so forth. It was kind of strange.
We just got home a little while ago, and I'm still trying to digest the deep-fried Oreos (yes, you read that correctly) that I ingested before going on the big roller coaster one last time. Oy. I need sleep. and to brush my teeth.

The boyfriend was slated to play records at Club Havana from 11-1. I wasn't sure if I was going to attend or not due to the baby's bout with diarrhea and diaper rash yesterday. However, by 10 p.m., the baby was nestled into bed, gastrointestinal system intact and subdued and his “wee-wee” thoroughly coated with Balmex.
We got to Havana around 10:30 and hardly anyone was there. Small clusters of Eurotrash were nestled about but looked uninterested (surprise) in the house music that Black Mike was playing.
Slowly but surely, the usual suspects began to show up: , , the Technoir guys, Ed Um, Goose, Celeste, Kelly Carter, etc. The boyfriend played a very good set and much fun was had by all.
Entertaining moments of the evening happened when a young man walked in wearing the same “KINGSTON” shirt as me. It was very strange. I started to get a teensy bit nervous when I noticed that he and a large woman who I would never hope to mess with were pointing at me and my shirt and looking generally pissed off. It was such a silly affair. However, the general concensus was that I looked better in the shirt since I have boobs that stretch out the KINGSTON lettering and that guy, well, didn't.
I ran into this guy who used to be a rather prolific member of the pb-cle-raves scene but is now just sort of a drunk. He was always very into the pyschedelics and the alcohol. In fact, I don't think I've ever had a conversation with him that didn't end with him saying either, “I'm on so much acid right now,” or “I'm so fucking drunk.” He stunk of Yuengling and spoke in one run-on sentence, pausing only to burp into my ear. I felt kind of bad. It's like you encounter people who aren't quite the crusty old drunks who sit at bars and talk shit, but the only thing holding them back is their age.
Ack, it's 5 o'clock!
More later, perhaps.

So, I've decided to say “screw HTML” because I apparently screwed it up when I posted the links to my Pulp articles. Dammit, it's just too hard. I don't get it. So, in all of their http glory, here are the links:

N*E*R*D
http://www.pittsburghpulp.com/content/2003/09_04/arts_live.shtml

Lonely Asshats
http://www.pittsburghpulp.com/content/2003/09_04/news_inshort.shtml

Again, just a reminder that these links require some scrolling down on your part.
Nyah.
I have much to tell about the time that I had last night. But not right now. I'm still annoyed about the fact that I washed my hair twice and it still smells like a pack of Camel Lights.

This is kind of pretty, this new Live Journal skin. I kinda like it.

The boyfriend's mother recently purchased The Two Towers on DVD and lent it to us last night. We had never seen it, as we've been very lazy about the whole LOTR craze. We didn't see the first one until the second was already in theaters. Even then we weren't really paying attention…just sort of doing a Mystery Science Theater 3000 commentary. Anyway, in the case of the DVD there was a little Lord of the Rings catalog where you could purchase all of your official Middle Earth jewelry and weapons. The jewelry was kind of meh, although I'm sure many Tolkien fanatics are now wearing The Ring as wedding bands without even the slightest hint of irony. The swords and axes got me to thinking. There is definitely a subset of young men (mostly) who are really into knives and swords and the like and don't scurry on past when they walk by Cutlery Plus while cruising through the mall. I know several people like this and am in fact friends with them. That's just so you know that I'm not trying to just pick on the dorkier among us.
To further defend my criticism, I'm going to reveal to you this little secret: one of my ex-boyfriends was really into swords. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I wonder how I managed to stay with him for almost two years.
Dumb stuff I did while in this relationship: I did not run screaming from the room when he showed me the various nicks in his dresser that resulted from the hours and hours that he spent throwing his favorite knife at it.
I did not hesitate when he suggested that we dress up in matching medieval costumes for Halloween.
I did not beat him severely when he insisted on speaking in the third person.
I did not raise an eyebrow when he spoke about the imaginary land that he went to in his mind on a daily basis.
I did not berate him (enough) when, upon hearing the crossing signal for blind people, he said, “I always look for that cuckoo clock but I can never find it.”

I bought him several hardcover books about King Arthur and Merlin and shit.
I gave him a very nice Claddagh ring.
I also did not run screaming from the room when I saw him “dancing” to trance at a rave.
Ick.

These skeletons have been brought to you by me and my closet.
🙂

I had typed up quite a lengthy update before but the baby walked over and turned off the computer. So much for that.

Anyway, the gist of it was that I wanted to direct you folks to the two pieces that I have in Pulp this week. It's the first time I've had something in there since May! Silly.
The article that I wrote on N*E*R*D can be found…oh…wait…nevermind. Something's wrong on the Internet. I can't seem to get to Pulp's website at the moment. Perhaps by the time I'm done writing this everything will be okay.

I do have an announcement to make, however. Yesterday, with my graduation money and an endorsement from my very generous dad in hand, I went to CompUSA and bought a new computer…a laptop. I was very clammy, as I tend to get when I hand over any sum of money larger than $10. But so far, I'm very happy with my new machine. I was surprised to realize that the resolution on the screen is much clearer than on my desktop. I'm still using my desktop, by the way. With all of these computers around I feel like Batman or some shit.
Last night I was thinking about the computers that I've had. The first one I bought with money that I save up waitressing. It was $1,500 and I got it from this crack store called A2Z Computers, which I've since found out is run by the Russian mafia or something. I don't remember the specs of it, the only thing that I do remember is that it was a Pentium II. I bet the hard drive wasn't even 1 gig. Anyway, two weeks after I bought it, it crashed completely. I took it back to the store and told them the computer couldn't even be turned on. They scoffed at me but fixed it…sort of. I had problems with it on a monthly basis. Eventually, a little less than two years after I bought it, the computer died while I was in the middle of writing my term paper for my philosophy class. I lost a lot of papers and stuff that I would have liked to have kept, although I think I have hard copies of all of them floating around here somewhere.
A few weeks after that computer died, I bought (or rather, my mother bought, since I was completely unemployed then) a bare bones Dell. It cost about $900. It turned 3 this past May. It's slowed down quite a bit, though, probably due to the teeny hard drive and all that I demand from it. I plan on keeping it for at least another year.

Ah, Pulp is working now. Just a note: these links require you to scroll down a little bit. So, you know, don't hurt yourself or anything.
So, the little piece that I wrote about N*E*R*D can be found here

The article that I wrote about the Loneliest Contest can be found here

Let's see, what else. The baby and I went to CMU today to visit my mom and the Human Resources guy there. He's helping me in my quest to become a CMU employee (they have dope, dope health insurance). The job that I applied to a few weeks ago was filled internally. Ergh. So, we'll see what happens.
I think my kid is about to get in some trouble. Perhaps I'll write more later.

P.S. I'm not wearing pants.

Kind of a boring day today. It keeps threatening to rain but so far it's just been gray and headachey all day. I don't like it.

Every once in a while, the scar from my surgery will twinge and itch a little bit. It might have something to do with the weather. It's a very odd sensation, though, and I don't care for it very much.

Wow, this has been my most boring entry EVER.

Edit: The UPS guy was just here…but dropped off a package for the boyfriend. I didn't receive any good snail mail today and I'm starting to get a complex about it.
The baby, of course, is staring out the front door talking to Cass (Alzheimer's), who keeps telling him that it's raining and that squirrels are nice. The baby responds by cackling and screaming, “BUS!”
I think I'm going to go eat pie.

Edit edit: The baby just pressed the little button on his toy school bus that makes it play “The Wheels on the Bus.” When the song was over he said, “Yayyyyy” with the least amount of enthusiasm I've ever heard from a toddler all hopped up on blueberries.
I chuckled.

Sorry if my last post sounded like a lot of whining. I just had a lot of stuff to get off my chest. I feel better now.
One thing I forgot to mention was the bugs around here are getting very very crazy. I guess they're all getting ready to die. The bees were acting especially crazy, buzzing around everyone's heads and then just walking around on the deck. Lazy bees.
My thumb is feeling very arthritic. I should probably stop typing.
I've been ready to go to bed since about 5.

I'm done now, though. I finished writing an article for Pulp…which I should skim over and send off before I get sucked in to screwing around on here. Be right back…

But before I do, I have to tell you that the crazy old guy that lives across the street from me is wearing a tshirt that says, “I Climbed Mt. Everest for Parkinson's.” Bizarre. I can't read the rest of it, which is a shame because it might explain the overall meaning of the shirt.

Alright, it's sent. Let's all heave a sigh of relief.

My weekend has been pretty full. We didn't go to Ray's or anything because we just didn't have any spending money. On Friday we were especially broke and tired so we just stayed home and watched Queen of the Damned, which is one of the dumbest movies I've ever seen. That's saying a lot, too, because I've seen many many dumb movies. The boyfriend fell asleep halfway through but I stayed awake so that I could continue cutting up on it to myself. Some of the gems produced:

“This is, like, the gothest movie EVER!”
Upon seeing the huge gathering of goths for the concert in Death Valley: “That's my worst fucking nightmare…being stuck in the desert with a bunch of morons who can't dance and watching actors in leather pants lip sync to Korn.”
“Aaliyah…she's so goth she's black.” (I have to credit the boyfriend with that one.)

Anyway, I was starting to wonder why Aaliyah had to walk all serpentine-like. It was really getting on my nerves. Oh yeah, but of course, the Egyptians all walked with their torsos facing sideways and their arms akimbo. So I guess that's not too far off base, stylistically.
*snort*

Saturday I got up kind of early because I was meeting a guy on the South Side to interview him for the article I was writing. My mom was being very strange and menopausal, however, which resulted in us having several tiffs before even leaving the house. I was getting very irritated with her and the boyfriend because I often find that when I'm doing something “work-related” those two suddenly become extremely inept at child care. For instance, while I was supposed to meet the guy at 10 and at 9:15 I was not yet dressed and was making breakfast for the baby. The boyfriend was checking his email and my mom was sitting at the kitchen table complaining about hot flashes. My mom suddenly got all snippy with me and said, “Don't you have to meet that guy at 10? You'd better get ready, you're going to be late and that is unprofessional!” Bitch, don't tell me about unprofessional. I told her that I was aware of that but I had to make my son breakfast since apparently no one else was going to. My mom got the hint and helped the baby out with his food.
Earlier in the morning, my mom and I decided that she would drive me to the South Side while the boyfriend stayed home with the baby. I told her to please get the car seat from her car so that if the boyfriend needed to go somewhere he wouldn't be stranded. My mom just sort of looked at me but I figured that she understood. While I was getting dressed the boyfriend decided that he was going to take the baby out to Brookline to visit his family and therefore would be able to pick me up when I was done. It made sense, since my mom had to go somewhere with my grandmother. When I came downstairs the car seat was still in my mother's car and all three of them were sitting at the kitchen table, the baby picking at his french toast. My mom scrunched up her face at me and said, “The baby's shivering cold.” I looked around and noticed that not only was the ceiling fan on, but both the windows and the door were wide open.

“Why don't you close the door or something?” I asked.
“Because I'm hot,” my mom said.
I then got to use one of my least favorite lines. It's one that my mom always uses on me when she's trying to make me feel like a horrible person: “Well, it's not about you, it's about the baby.”
Oh, snap.
But we finally got out the door and got the car seat straightened out. On the way to the South Side I noticed that my mother was crying.
“Why are you crying?”

“I'm not crying!”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I'm not!”
“Yes, you are.”
“NO, I'M NOT!”
“You're crazy.”
That made her cry even harder and then she went off on some tangent about how I was keeping the boyfriend's plans from her. I explained to her (I admit that I did not use my calmest voice ever) that I did not know they were going to Brookline, it was something they decided at the last minute, and what was the big deal anyway? She then blubbered about how she couldn't deal with spur-of-the-moment plans and that I needed to be sensitive to that. I didn't see what she and her inflexibility had to do with any of it but whatever. I refrained from asking her if the surgeon didn't accidentally perform a lobotomy when they removed her uterus. I wanted to really bad, though.
Anyway, the interview went pretty well, although I didn't care too much about the contest that the guy is holding: The Loneliest Single Guy and Gal in America Contest. (You can read about it later in Pulp.) The guy was nice enough, though. Once the interview was over we were chatting and whatnot and the guy, Joe, said to me, “Do you mind if I tell you something completely off the record?” He then proceeded to tell me that he thought that I was very beautiful and blahblahblah. I was blushing furiously. I was flattered but uncomfortable since I was not attracted to this man what.so.ever.
I spent most of the day out in Brookline, dealing with the boyfriend's menopausal mother. She is constantly 50 degrees hotter than everyone else and doesn't seem to realize that while she is obese and menopausal, we are not. Therefore, we are not as hot as she is. augh.
The boyfriend's sister drove me home since the boyfriend stayed behind to help his uncle with some building. I realized as soon as we pulled into the driveway that I had forgotten my keys. It wasn't an extremely desperate situation as my mom was at the grocery store and due back soon. But I was pretty hungry and sitting on the deck for an hour was a little torturous. It was fun, though. The baby ran around while I sat and picked at ingrown leg hairs. Delightful.
Yesterday we had some friends and family over for a Labor Day picnic. I pigged out on food and champagne, chatted a little bit but spent most of the day by myself. My grandmother decided that after five years it was high time to pick on me about my nosering. It was odd, because it seems that any time an elderly person starts to do that, the person they're picking on, no matter what their age, suddenly becomes a sullen teenager.

“Kelly B., why do you have that ring in your nose?”
“I dunno.”
“Well, what's the point?”
“I dunnno, I just like it.”
“Well, who started it? Someone must have set the trend.”
“I dunno.”
I could have gone on some tangent about “tribal” customs making their way into white society and finding pleasure in pain and all that but I didn't feel like it. I'm not very spiritual about my piercings the way that some people are but I still don't like being bothered about it.
My grandmother also could not get over the Britney/Madonna/Christina performance at the VMAs. I'm not sure why she even watched it but it's been all that she's been able to talk about for days. Coincidentally, when I was in Brookline on Saturday, the boyfriend's sister was watching the VMAs as she had missed them the first time. The boyfriend's grandmother and mother have this weird habit of watching shows and commenting on the breasts of every woman who flashes across the screen. “Hers are huge…hers are tiny…hers are saggy for such a young woman…why do they wear those outfits? they leave nothing to the imagination.” God knows that the last thing that I feel like doing at this point is talk about Christina Aguilera's taste in clothes one more goddamned time. You know why she dresses that way? Because she's obviously a little crazy. End of conversation. Perhaps if Kim Jong Il were to start dressing in little dresses made of pink feathers Americans would start paying attention to him and discussing him at any sort of length instead of just staring blankly and saying, “Who? Isn't Kim Jong Il that female rapper who wore that skimpy dress to the VMAs that one year?”

But I digress. Back to the cookout. I suppose my alocohol consumption, while not in excess but still to the “toasty” level, prompted me to state that I thought that Madonna looked gorgeous and that I would have totally kissed her. My grandmother, the boyfriend's grandmother, and my mother's best friend looked at me as though I had just shit on their plates. Realizing that I had maybe gone to far, I retreated to the bathroom.
A surprising number of my friends attended, although they mostly clustered to themselves and didn't talk to anyone in my family. All in all, a pleasant day.
Today we're just hanging out, eating leftovers. Speaking of which, relatives are here.

I watched the Video Music Awards last night. Why? Because I felt like it. I am not cool. I'm fine with that. Some of my thoughts:

The Madonna/Britney/Christina/Missy performance was interesting. Say what you want about Britney and Christina, but those girls can't hold a candle to Madonna. They don't have an ounce of the class that she does. Maybe the lip locking will help, but I doubt it. Speaking of which, the reaction shots of Justin Timberlake and Mary J. Blige were hysterical.

Chris Rock's comments were funny and much needed. (Note: I edited this sentence because after posting this entry because I realized that it was bad and redundant.)

In between segments they had Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey (bitches) outside manning the trivia contest. Contestants answered questions about past VMAs and, if they answered correctly, won $25,000. I'm guessing that in order to play the contestants had to be at least 18 years old. So you can imagine my dismay when a girl who looked at least that hemmed and hawed over answering, “Who was hit in the head with his own guitar during the 1992 VMAs?” Easy, right? Well, she answered correctly after several nail-biting minutes…sort of. She pronounced his name, “Kris Noverselic.” My heart aches.

What was that Revlon contest all about? There were all these commercials for it and absolutely no explanation. Whatever, I don't care.

Chris Rock was right on the money when he said, “Good Charlotte? More like a Mediocre Green Day.” Mediocre, I think, is a bit too kind. Those kids are awful! How can no one else see that? Then afterward they were being interviewed by the new MTV News correspondant who isn't Sway. NotSway asked them, “How did you come up with the idea for those goth cheerleaders?” I flailed at the screen. THEY GOT THE IDEA FROM NIRVANA, YOU MORONS! Have you heard of “Smells Like Teen Spirit?” Augh!

Of course, I missed a lot of the show because I was busy killing bugs. I'm not sure what happened last night but in my bedroom and in the kitchen we were more or less swarmed by those little ants with wings. Blech. Then I guess a sample of every other species of bug in Pittsburgh heard about the party and started showing up. I must have killed at least 30 bugs. I was not happy.

I wasn't able to take a walk yesterday because it took me way too long to write a 250-word article about the upcoming N*E*R*D show. N*E*R*D, if you've ever tried it, is kind of hard to type. The middle finger on my right hand was getting very achey from reaching up to the 8/*. I'm glad that's over. I'm going to be busy writing some other stuff this weekend (wintermittens, I'm looking at you), but I'm bound and determined to spend quality time with my son today. So I will see you all later.