Caterwauling

Oh, BTW, don’t think I enjoy feeling miserable. It’s just magnified right now. This is a habit of mine, indulging in self-pity, to avoid what’s really wrong. Besides, I just can’t share everything on these pages. I’d be glad if nobody ever read this blog but me, but because that’s unlikely, I have to retain a hold on the things that bother me the most and only share my surface problems (either that, or just act happy, because nobody wants to hear what’s really bothering you … gawd knows I can’t stand reading blogs where people are wallowing — I’d rather hear about the fun things they are seeing and doing, and here’s to hoping that my own blog will return to that point.).

My grandfather was just diagnosed with cancer. This, on top of an aneurysm, diabetes, a heart condition, a back injury from WWII, and a variety of other maladies that show up in “the golden years.” And mom continually disguises her own problems, which she discloses in small ways, here and there, but without health insurance, she’s kinda fucked. And my grandfather goes to the V.A., which is a total fucking joke … don’t even get me started on all the horror stories … there ain’t enough bandwidth in cyberspace to list all of our adventures with incompetence at the V.A. hospitals in Pittsburgh.

At any rate, I’ve always worried about my family, and now that they’re far away, it’s a mixed blessing. I mean, I know there’s not a damn thing I can do from 250 miles away, but then again, that doesn’t stop me from worrying. Had I stayed at Two Strikes, I was planning to get a bigger apartment with an extra bedroom, in the event that we lost my grandfather, my mom would always have a place to stay (because as his full-time caregiver, it’s not like she has any of her own resources). And while she’d rather drive her car off a cliff than be dependent upon me, I know the family tradition of caring for elders will continue. (of course, it was my mom who took care of her own grandmother, her mother and now her father … who’s left to take care of her? She and I are both without siblings, so there ain’t help on the horizon). So, it saddens me when mom says she’s going to try to send me money or buy cat food or whatever, when she doesn’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. I’m hiding a lot of stories within these words, of course, but it’s safe to summarize that I’d love to see my family without struggle … that is all that they have ever known, and I feel like I should have utilized (or begin to utilize) the opportunities that have come my way so that I can give back to them in some, any way. And although they’d never expect it, I still feel like I’m failing them in that respect. I should be able to help them, or at least, be prepared for the worst, although mom’s just planning to be a bag lady. lol. She’s got a spirit about her, that’s for sure! Although I did inherit her quick-to-anger streak. Both of us really do want to be anywhere but wherever we presently are, which probably explains our insane attachment to the movie and soundtrack “Anywhere but Here.”

I was once told by my grandmother that there had been a curse put upon our family. I never believed her, even though she and mom both had a strange sixth sense about everything. At any rate, I always figured I’d be the one to break the supposed curse, but maybe I’m falling right into it. How on earth can I break free?

I know that I’m not happy here, but would I really be happy anywhere? IKEA Boy invited me out tonite, so I scrubbed my butt, changed my jewelry, did my hair, painted nails/toenails, and then called him to say I wouldn’t be able to make it. I’m pathetic, I know. But I’m in no condition to speak to another human being right now, let alone go out dancing. He didn’t even ask what was wrong, but he knows. He ain’t dumb. I know he doesn’t want me to be sitting at home on a Saturday night, but I got so used to doing that when I worked at Easter Seals, I’m sure I will get used to it again. Gawd, I hate my life.

I just think about in Pgh, how when I had money, I was stupid and was always spending and sharing the wealth with friends who needed a night out but couldn’t afford it (the role IKEA Boy seems to now take with me, and while I was always enjoyed taking my friends out, I hate being in the very same position because I just feel desperate and needy and just plain annoying, and I refuse to let what little dignity I still possess slip away). If I had only SAVED a few bucks, maybe I’d be able to not only cover my bills, but enjoy an evening out, now and again. Meanwhile back at the ranch, the only reason I made it financially this month was because two of my cousins sent me a few bucks for “emergency” money. Hah. That’s gone … overdue bills were made my emergency. At least I never had kids, nor do I plan to.

I don’t understand why I’m so aggravated by living without money now … I only had wealth for one year in my miserable life. Yet I guess it shows that it is easy to become accustomed to affording the things you need and want. I’ll admit that I’ve indulged in a bit of retail therapy in my day, making purchases to distract me from some other big (and sometimes unsolvable) issues. Now that I have to budget for two lunches this week with two people I don’t even care to see, that just hurts even more, that I have to part with my last dollars to look at them for an uncomfortable hour each. Argh.

I never did record the one incident with our 80-year-old librarian. Two weeks ago, she had suggested that we do lunch, and I was super-busy and said it would be better if we waited a week or so. Well, I was treated to a NASTY e-mail from her last week, stating that if I didn’t intend to have lunch with her, I should have just said so. Oh, she went off on a tirade, and I felt obligated to schedule a date post-haste. Now I’m going to feel like there’s a gun to my fucking head while I’m eating with her. Great. Not like I am the most emotionally stable human being right now, anyway, and I’m afraid to postpone for the mere fact that she’ll pitch another bitch.

I can already hear IKEA Boy when he reads my recent posts — he’ll be telling me again that I need counseling. For the record, I am avoiding the whole subject of seeing a counselor or psychiatrist because, well, I don’t need a professional problem-solver who earns per hour what I earn per week to tell me that I’m depressed. In fact, the depression is the symptom, not the cause. Think about it … I would have to pay co-pays for doctor’s visits and meds, therefore pulling me further below the financial current. Something tells me that seeing a doctor or counselor would only serve to depress me even more!

Off to Washington Jobs to see about fixing my problems!

Blew off work after a few unproductive hours and went window-shopping. Thanks to LB, I had a GC to Kohl’s, where I had full intentions of picking up some cross-training shoes for gym time (as my cute, $10 cloth wonders aren’t doing a thing for me), but the selection sucked and while I did find a pair on clearance that I rather liked, they were a half-size too big and my feet kept sliding around when I hoofed around the shoe area.

How weird is it, after having no money whatsoever at my disposal, trying to get rid of a $25 GC was like chasing after a pot of gold … I just couldn’t do it. I really wanted to ask if they could just hand me the $25, because after two and a half hours of wandering aimlessly, I was tired, desperately in need of cross-training shoes because of my aching feet, and pissed off. Finally, I settled on a purple lamp for my office, which I desperately needed, a hand towel to take to the gym (my usual bath towel seems too cumbersome) and a necklace for Wobin’s b-day that I know she’ll like. So, it was like getting stuff free! Yay!

SM and I have decided that the first topic we’re gonna tackle for our side show is customer service. That’s one topic that sends us into a frenzy of hot flashes, and neither one of us are nearly old enough to have those! While SM’s hot button is CVS (six people were behind the pharmacy counter, ignoring her, the sole customer in line). I, on the other hand, have hated Verizon and MCI for weeks now, but today brought a few more places to add to the list:

1. Burger King at Kingstowne: So the gal behind the counter didn’t speak good English and barely computed my “Number One with cheese, mayo only, medium drink, for here” that I articulated at least three times. Then I handed her a $5 (my bill was just below that), and she handed me the change and also returned my fiver to me. Woo hoo! Usually I correct such mistakes, but I’m po’ and I thought it was a gift. But then Mamacita realized what a fucking moron she was, and she asked for the fiver back. Dumb bitch. Maybe she needs an abacus with a Pesos to Pennies conversion chart to help her out? (look, I ain’t prejudiced, but god damn it, I am sick of retail and food and telemarketing establishments hiring people merely to fill positions and not provide service. ARGH!)

But it gets worse. Let me just insert that I avoid fast food joints, for the most part — seems like a lot of money exchanged for a lot of grease — but here is a customer service cesspool waiting to overflow. After getting my pop, I saw neither a napkin nor a drop of ketchup in the joint. Perturbed, I sat down in the empty dining room, determined to not make a mess (which of course I did because I never know how to put those plastic lids on the cups). Bleah. But to make my dining experience just that more joyous, the guy in line behind me (and his OBNOXIOUS kid), sat at the very next table, as though there were not 120 other seats available to them. While Daddio ooked (yes, ooked, not looked. There is a difference. When somebody ooks, they stare at you in similar fashion to the way Mennonites eyeball tourists in Amish Country. Rhymes with KOOK), the little bastard kept yapping at me and ooking like daddio was. To make my experience that much more uncomfortable, I saw that Mamacita behind the counter had given them a whopping pile of napkins and ketchup packets. Unbelievable!!!

2. Claire’s at Landmark Mall: Okay, so I had to indulge in the 10-items-for-$5 racks … made it feel like I was getting a lot (meanwhile, I had to CHARGE that $5 … lol … and it probably put me over my limit!). At any rate, I was in that store for an hour and was never even greeted. Not a huge deal, but I did have questions. Then I approached the register, where the assistant manager and another worker were gossiping about who’s working tomorrow. I fussed and fidgeted, but no acknowledgment. Just as I was about to leave, a girl ending her dinner break came flying out of the back room, saw me, and said she’d be with me in two seconds (to basically compose herself and shove her drink under the register). True to her word, she got it together and rung me up. Too bad the assistant manager couldn’t have provided such friendly service.

3. Kohl’s at Kingstowne: Come to think of it, in 2 1/2 hours, not a soul spoke to me. Normally, I do love being left alone, but there were clearance racks everywhere and now that I’m back on a budget, I had a few questions about prices and missing sales tags. But I am not one to take shit up to the registers and pitch a bitch up there (like the stupid family in front of me, who wasted way too much of my time); instead, they lose the sale — that is my revenge.

I didn’t really go anywhere else. At least, I didn’t make any other purchases. But I did visit Landmark Mall for the first time, and even though IKEA Boy says it’s ghetto and FOB, I think it’s a decent place to kill an hour or two. It was weird, I parked by Hecht’s, a sister company of my beloved Kaufmann’s, where I worked for two years in Pgh, and they were playing what I call “the Kaufmann’s theme song” in the store. How funny … for a minute, it was like nothing had ever changed, and then I realized that the word “Kaufmann’s” is no longer in the song, and it kinda bummed me out.

Sent Maddie’s website to Wobin (in the printed version) via snail mail today. She called briefly, with the hunch that I’d decided to drive to Pgh for the long weekend anyway. Seemed most disappointed that I didn’t. A part of me is glad that I’m staying, ‘cuz everybody was driving like lunatics today, even more so than usual! My heart can’t take all the dumb shit that people try to pull!!! What is it about holidays that makes people berserk on the roads?!?!

1. What’s your favorite piece of clothing that you currently own?

I am wearing it today! Just a simple beige scoop-neck top with long, slightly-flared sleeves. It’s cute and goes with this frayed-denim skirt with beige suede ties that I am wearing with it. Another reason I love the shirt is that it is either mis-sized or I really do fit into a smaller size! lol

2. What piece of clothing do you most want to acquire?

Something in a size 6. Not only do I want to acquire it, I also want to be able to fit into it. 🙂

3. What piece of clothing can you not bring yourself to get rid of? Why?

Oh, that’s easy. Wobin bought me a cute shirt from Quaker Steak and Lube in Pittsburgh, and it’s a black v-neck babydoll top that actually fits. However, it says, “THE LUBE” across the front of it — not something to wear in public! Yet I keep it hanging in the closet, for the “right” occasion. ;P

4. What piece of clothing do you look your best in?

My standard “uniform,” if you will, is a denim skirt with some kind of low-cut top. It works for me, most of the time, especially if the shirt is black. That’s typically when I get the most admiring looks from boys. heh heh. I’ve also decided that Maddie’s fur, in tan, black and white, complements just about any outfit!

5. What has been your biggest fashion accident?

White denim, fringed leather jackets, broomstick skirts and shoulder pads all bring back pretty heinous memories, and yet I still see these items in stores today. WTF?

“And if you ask me,

I’ll keep saying that I am fine

So just don’t ask.

And if you see me,

I’ll keep flashing that winning smile

‘Cause that’s my mask.”

— Tara MacLean, “That’s Me” —

I’m tired of pretending things are all right, when they’re not. And acting like I give a shit about people and things when I don’t have the heart to care about anything related to my own life. Or maybe it’s that I care too much about my issues that I just want to smack other people till they fall silent and retreat. For awhile, I thought I was on the right track and that I was making the right decisions … I’ve come to the conclusion that I am going to spend the rest of my days convincing others … and myself … that my decisions were the best ones that could have been made. And concurrently, I’ll work on undoing the damage that I’ve done.

I’ve made it my habit to date accountants for a reason … I just checked my bank statement online and was once again confounded by my lack of addition-and-subtraction skills. I was hoping to have a bit of a cushion to at least afford to send my mother a birthday cake, since I’ll be missing her b-day next week. Hell, I even contemplated buying a cake and driving up to Pgh tomorrow, just for kicks. I guess that’s out of the question. And it’s not like I spend money like I used to … but I forgot I took out a couple of bucks a few weeks ago (“survival” money) and I forgot a purchase of catty litter and three Hallmark cards and a very small b-day trinket for Mom … nothing like the usual gifts I like to lavish upon her. It’s just so fucking sad that such tiny transactions literally screwed up my entire account. I hate living like this. This isn’t living, although at this point, I don’t know what “living” is. 🙁 I want my mommy, and I am too afraid to drive this weekend without a buck in my pocket. Gawd, I’m pathetic.

The war between the sexes continues to wage on. Find living proof in this excerpt from an IM convo I had with my past. *Note, IM handles modified to protect the guilty. 🙂

Cav: boys are stupid

C74: and icky

Cav: they have cooties

C74: and they burp a lot

C74: Still, you cant stay away…like me with women…

C74: They’re mean

C74: cold hearted

Cav: it’s addicting, ain’t it?

C74: soul sucking

C74: self centered

C74: and I cant get enough

C74: lol

Cav: boys can be shallow, have short attention spans and no concept of how to use a telephone

C74: girls can not identify what the truth is and how to tell it

Cav: boys never stick around long enough to rebuke whatever stories girls tell

C74: Guys need to wander, women don’t get that

Cav: women wander for awhile and finally get tired of running after nothing

C74: Whats your definition of nothing???lol

Cav: ah, there’s so much nothing out there, it would take all day to describe it. lol. Since the convent is out of the question, it might be time to start chasing girls … maybe they’ll let me catch them!

C74: girls are trouble too….just have carefree casual no name sex, like me….lol.

C74: I would try men, but I dont really want to have to resort.

Cav: yeah, that’s slumming. lol

Touched base with Two Strikes today … after email from Lori and IM from Susan, re: damn dinner theater.

You know, I have to rant. I have been gone from that place for two months, yet I still get that bizarre mixture of panic and frustration and fear and heartache every damn time something arises that pertains to the work I did there. And the reason they needed me was no big deal, and if Incoherent Twit were the least bit competent, she could have figured it out for herself. But what does it say about her that people are more willing to contact me at my job in Virginia than walk down the hall to ask her stupid ass a simple question that they know they can’t answer?

I’m at the end of my pier of guilt, the one that makes me feel terrible about some of the loose ends I left there in June as well as because I only spent a bit more than a year on-site there (on top of nine months as a consultant, of course, but somehow that never counts in my mind). But maybe if those assholes hadn’t given me projects up till my second-to-last-day there, after having given a month’s notice that I was leaving, perhaps I could have finished everything I started. Damn it, how can Twit not know that she could simply call Victoria Hall to find the date for which I scheduled the dinner theater? How fucking dumb must one be? Why did the task find its way to Lori and Susan, who have higher-level tasks to accomplish? It’s not their jobs to deal with such piddly shit … if it were, I can guarantee that both of them would have thought to call VH for any info on whatever plans I had made at the venue that Twit knew I had reserved. AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!!

Whew.

As far as I am concerned, HRP et. al. know damn well that I would be more than willing to serve as a consultant. Even F/OM had joked with me during my final days, wondering if I’d be answering the phone when they called to ask me to work on the event. I had said flat-out that I’d love to do it … for a fee. That hasn’t changed. Granted, F/OM had nothing to do with today’s events, but still. I could always make the argument that calls from Two Strikes shouldn’t happen while I’m at my *paying* job, but then there’s that pesky twinge of guilt that occurs when Two Strikes has my friends ask me stuff, because OF COURSE I want to help them … it’s a masochistic impulse that keeps people working there, and I take pity on them and want them to have at least one easy moment in their days. And besides, I really do believe in that stupid charity and would love to see it succeed … because I know I had something to do with that success.

But that got me to thinking … Twit is making more money than Tiff and me, people with genius-level IQs, educations we didn’t squander, common sense (for the most part!), ambition and most of all TALENT, and Twit sits on her stupid fishnet-clad ass all day, staring at the ceiling because she’s too dumb to form a thought. And I tried, oh how I tried, to drag her kicking and screaming into caring about doing a good job. I wasted weeks and months of my life, trying to re-do her second-class work, which HRP had deemed perfectly acceptable because Twit went to public school (LIKE I DIDN’T!!!!).

Oh, gawd. Here I go again. …

I stumbled across some old journal entries last night that were written BB … Before the Blog. I saw the hurt, anger and pain in my words, and I had written so elusively about the situations and events that had I not been there, I would never know the true motivation behind the words. But as I said, the pain was there, and that’s enough to show me how bad things really were.

Ugh.

Oooh, “The Virgin Suicides” is on Showtime right now. Must watch!